If it be true that time and tide wait for no man, it is equally true, we
rejoice to know, that authors and readers have a corresponding immunity
from shackles, and are in nowise bound to wait for time or tide.
We therefore propose to leave the Gull-stream light, and the Goodwin
sands, and the sloop Nora, far behind us, and, skipping a little in
advance of Time itself proceed at once to Yarmouth.
Here, in a snug parlour, in an easy chair, before a cheerful fire, with
a newspaper in his hand, sat a bluff little elderly gentleman, with a
bald head and a fat little countenance, in which benignity appeared to
hold perpetual though amicable rivalry with fun.
That the fat little elderly gentleman was eccentric could scarcely be
doubted, because he not only looked _over_ his spectacles instead of
through them, but also, apparently, read his newspaper upside down. A
closer inspection, however, would have shown that he was not reading the
paper at all, but looking over the top of it at an object which
accounted for much of the benignity, and some of the fun of his
expression.
At the opposite side of the table sat a very beautiful girl, stooping
over a book, and so earnestly intent thereon as to be evidently quite
oblivious of all else around her. She was at that interesting age when
romance and reality are supposed to be pretty equally balanced in a
well-regulated female mind--about seventeen. Although not classically
beautiful--her nose being slightly turned upward--she was, nevertheless,
uncommonly pretty, and, as one of her hopeless admirers expressed it,
"desperately love-able." Jet black ringlets--then in vogue--clustered
round an exceedingly fair face, on which there dwelt the hue of robust
health. Poor Bob Queeker, the hopeless admirer above referred to, would
have preferred that she had been somewhat paler and thinner, if that had
been possible; but this is not to be wondered at, because Queeker was
about sixteen years of age at that time, and wrote sonnets to the moon
and other celestial bodies, and also indulged in "lines" to various
terrestrial bodies, such as the lily or the snowdrop, or something
equally drooping or pale. Queeker never by any chance addressed the
sun, or the red-rose, or anything else suggestive of health and vigour.
Yet his melancholy soul could not resist Katie,--which was this angel's
name,--because, although she was energetic, and vigorous, and
matter-of-fact, not to say slightly mischievous, she was intensely
sympathetic and tender in her feelings, and romantic too. But her
romance puzzled him. There was something too intense about it for his
taste. If he had only once come upon her unawares, and caught her
sitting with her hands clasped, gazing in speechless adoration at the
moon, or even at a street-lamp, in the event of its being thick weather
at the time, his love for her would have been without alloy.
As it was, Queeker thought her "desperately love-able," and in his
perplexity continued to write sonnets without number to the moon, in
which efforts, however, he was singularly unsuccessful, owing to the
fact that, after he had gazed at it for a considerable length of time,
the orb of night invariably adopted black ringlets and a bright sunny
complexion.
George Durant--which was the name of the bald fat little elderly
gentleman--was Katie's father. Looking at them, no one would have
thought so, for Katie was tall and graceful in form; and her
countenance, except when lighted up with varying emotion, was grave and
serene.
As Mr Durant looked at it just then, the gravity had deepened into
severity; the pretty eyebrows frowned darkly at the book over which they
bent, and the rosy lips represented a compound of pursing and pouting as
they moved and muttered something inaudibly.
"What is it that puzzles you, Katie?" asked her father, laying down the
paper.
"'Sh!" whispered Katie, without lifting her head; "seventeen,
twenty-two, twenty-nine, thirty-six,--one pound sixteen;--no, I _can't_
get it to balance. Did you ever know such a provoking thing?"
She flung down her pencil, and looked full in her father's face, where
fun had, for the time, so thoroughly conquered and overthrown benignity,
that the frown vanished from her brow, and the rosy lips expanded to
join her sire in a hearty fit of laughter.
"If you could only see your own face, Katie, when you are puzzling over
these accounts, you would devote yourself ever after to drawing _it_,
instead of those chalk-heads of which you are so fond."
"No, I wouldn't, papa," said Katie, whose gravity quickly returned.
"It's all very well for you to joke about it, and laugh at me, but I can
tell you that this account _won't_ balance; there is a two-and-sixpence
wrong somewhere, and you know it has to be all copied out and sent off
by the evening post to-morrow. I really can't understand why we are
called upon to make so many copies of all the accounts and papers for
that ridiculous Board of Trade; I'm sure they have plenty of idle clerks
of their own, without requiring us to slave as we do--for such a
wretched salary, too!"
Katie shook her curls indignantly, as she thought of the unjust demands
and inadequate remuneration of Government, and resumed her work, the
frowning brows and pursed coral lips giving evidence of her immediate
and total absorption in the accounts.
Old Mr Durant, still holding the newspaper upside down, and looking
over the top of it and of his spectacles at the fair accountant, thought
in his heart that if the assembled Board, of which his daughter spoke in
such contemptuous terms, could only behold her labouring at their books,
in order to relieve her father of part of the toil, they would
incontinently give orders that he should be thenceforth allowed a salary
for a competent clerk, and that all the accounts sent up from Yarmouth
should be bound in cloth of gold!
"Here it is, papa, I've got it!" exclaimed Katie, looking up with
enthusiasm similar to that which might be expected in a youthful
sportsman on the occasion of hooking his first salmon. "It was the
two-and-sixpence which you told me to give to--"
At that moment the outer door bell rang.
"There's cousin Fanny, oh, I'm _so_ glad!" exclaimed Katie, shutting up
her books and clearing away a multitude of papers with which the table
was lumbered; "she has promised to stay a week, and has come in time to
go with me to the singing class this afternoon. She's a darling girl,
as fond of painting and drawing almost as I am, and hates cats. Oh, I
do so love a girl that doesn't like cats. Eh, pussy, shall I tread on
your tail?"
This question was put to a recumbent cat which lay coiled up in earthly
bliss in front of the fire, and which Katie had to pass in carrying her
armful of books and papers to the sideboard drawer in which they were
wont to repose. She put out her foot as if to carry her threat into
execution.
"Dare!" exclaimed Mr Durant, with whom the cat was a favourite.
"Well, then, promise that if Mr Queeker comes to-night you won't let
him stay to spoil our fun," said Katie, still holding her foot over the
cat's unconscious tail.
As she spoke, one of the rather heavy account-books (which ought to have
been bound in cloth of gold) slipped off the pile, and, as ill luck
would have it, fell on the identical tail in question, the cat belonging
to which sprang up with a fierce caterwaul in rampant indignation.
"Oh, papa, you _know_ I didn't mean it."
Mr Durant's eyes twinkled with amusement as he beheld the sudden change
of poor Katie's expression to intense earnestness, but before he could
reply the door was thrown open; "cousin Fanny" rushed in, the cat rushed
out, the two young ladies rushed into each other's arms, and went in a
species of ecstatic waltz up-stairs to enjoy the delights of a private
interview, leaving Mr Durant to sink into the arms of his easy chair
and resume his paper--this time with the right side up!
Let it be understood that the old gentleman was employed in Yarmouth
under one of the departments of the Board of Trade. We refrain from
entering into particulars as to which department, lest the vindictive
spirit which was accredited to that branch of the Government by Miss
Katie--who being a lady, must of course have been right--should induce
it to lay hold of our estimable friend and make an example of him for
permitting his independent daughter to expose its true character. In
addition to his office in this connection Mr Durant also held the
position of a retired merchant and ship-owner, and was a man of
considerable wealth, although he lived in a quiet unostentatious way.
In fact, his post under Government was retained chiefly for the purpose
of extending his influence in his native town--for he counted himself a
"bloater"--and enabling him to carry out more vigorously his schemes of
Christian philanthropy.
Cousin Fanny Hennings was a "darling girl" in Katie's estimation,
probably because she was her opposite in many respects, though not in
all. In good-humour and affection they were similar, but Fanny had none
of Katie's fire, or enthusiasm, or intellect, or mischief; she had,
however, a great appreciation of fun, and was an inordinate giggler.
Fat, fair, and fifteen, with flaxen curls, pink cheeks, and blue eyes,
she was the _beau-ideal_ of a wax-doll, and possessed about as much
self-assertion as may be supposed to belong to that class of the
doll-community which is constructed so as to squeak when squeezed. As
Katie Durant squeezed her friend pretty often, both mentally and
physically, cousin Fanny squeaked a good deal more than usual during her
occasional visits to Yarmouth, and even after her return home to
Margate, where she and her widowed mother dwelt--as Queeker poetically
said--"in a cottage by the sea." It was usually acknowledged by all her
friends that Fanny had increased her powers amazingly while absent, in
so much that she learned at last to squeak on her own account without
being squeezed at all.
After the cousins had talked in private until they had made themselves
almost too late for the singing-class, they issued from the house and
betook themselves to the temple of music, where some amazing pieces were
performed by some thirty young vocalists of both sexes to their own
entire satisfaction, and to the entire dissatisfaction, apparently, of
their teacher, whose chief delight seemed to be to check the flow of
gushing melody at a critical point, and exclaim, "Try it again!" Being
ignorant of classical music we do not venture to give an opinion on
these points, but it is important to state, as bearing on the subject in
a sanitary point of view, that all the pupils usually left the class in
high spirits, with the exception of Queeker, who had a voice like a
cracked tea-kettle, knew no more about music than Katie's cat--which he
adored because it was Katie's--and who went to the class, which was
indebted for its discord chiefly to him, wholly and solely because Katie
Durant went to it, and thus afforded him an opportunity of occasionally
shaking hands with her.
On the present evening, however, being of a shy disposition, he could
not bring himself to face cousin Fanny. He therefore left the hall
miserable, and went home with desperate intentions as to the moon.
Unfortunately that luminary was not visible, the sun having just set,
but from his bedroom window, which commanded a view of the roadstead, he
beheld the lantern of the Saint Nicolas Gatt floating-light, and
addressed the following lines to it with all the fervour incident to a
hopeless affection:--
"Why blaze, ye bright benignant beaming star,
Guiding the homebound seaman from afar,
Lighting the outbound wand'rer on his way,
With all the lightsome perspicuity of day?
Why not go out at once! and let be hurl'd
Dark, dread, unmitigated darkness o'er the world?
Why should the heavenly constellations shine?
Why should the weather evermore be fine?
Why should this rolling ball go whirling round?
Why should the noise of mirth and music sound?
Why should the sparrow chirp, the blackbird sing,
The mountains echo, and the valleys ring,
With all that's cheerful, humorous, and glad,
Now that my heart is smitten and my brain gone mad?"
Queeker fetched a long deep-drawn sigh at this point, the agony of
intense composition being for a moment relaxed. Then, catching his
breath and glaring, he went on in a somewhat gentler strain--
"Forgive me, Floating-light, and you, ye sun,
Moon, stars, and elements of Nature, every one;
I did but vent my misery and spleen
In utt'ring words of fury that I hardly mean.
At least I do in part--but hold! why not?
Oh! cease ye fiendish thoughts that rage and plot
To bring about my ruin. Hence! avaunt!
Or else in pity tell me what you want.
I cannot live, and yet I would not die!
My hopes are blighted! Where, oh whither shall I fly?
'Tis past! I'll cease to daily with vain sophistry,
And try the virtue of a calm philosophy."
The effect of composition upon Queeker was such that when he had
completed his task he felt greatly tranquillised, and, having shut up
his portfolio, formed the sudden resolution of dropping in upon the
Durants to tea.
Meantime, and before the love-sick youth had begun the lines above
quoted, Katie and her cousin walked home by a road which conducted them
close past the edge of those extensive sandy plains called the Denes of
Yarmouth. Here, at the corner of a quiet street, they were arrested by
the sobbing of a little boy who sat on a railing by the roadside,
swaying himself to and fro in an agony of grief.
Katie's sympathetic heart was instantly touched. She at once went up to
the boy, and made earnest inquiries into the cause of his distress.
"Please, ma'am," said the boy, "I've lost a shillin', and I can't find
it nowheres. Oh, wot ever shall I do? My mother gave it me to give
with two other bobs to my poor sick brother whom I've comed all this way
to see, and there I've gone an' lost it, an' I'll 'ave to lay out all
night in the cold, for I dursn't go to see 'im without the money--boo,
hoo!"
"Oh, how _very_ unfortunate!" exclaimed Katie with real feeling for the
boy, whose soul was thus steeped to all appearance in woe unutterable,
was very small, and very dirty and ragged, and had an extremely handsome
intelligent face, with a profusion of wild brown curls. "But I can make
that up to you, poor boy," she added, drawing out her purse, "here is a
shilling for you. Where do you live?"
"At Ramsgate, ma'am."
"At Ramsgate?" exclaimed Katie in surprise, "why, how did you manage to
get here?"
"I come in a lugger, ma'am, as b'longs to a friend o' ourn. We've just
arrived, an' we goes away agin to-morrow."
"Indeed! That will give you little time to see your sick brother. What
is the matter with him?"
"Oh, he's took very bad, ma'am. I'm sorry to say he's bad altogether,
ma'am. Bin an' run'd away from 'ome. A'most broke his mother's 'eart,
he has, an' fall'd sick here, he did."
The small boy paused abruptly at this point, and looked earnestly in
Katie's kind and pitiful face.
"Where does your brother live?" asked Katie.
The small boy looked rather perplexed, and said that he couldn't rightly
remember the name of the street, but that the owner of the lugger
"know'd it." Whereat Katie seemed disappointed, and said she would have
been so glad to have visited him, and given him such little comforts as
his disease might warrant.
"Oh, ma'am," exclaimed the small boy, looking wistfully at her with his
large blue eyes, "_wot_ a pity I've forgot it! The doctor ordered 'im
wine too--it was as much as 'is life was worth not to 'ave wine,--but of
course they couldn't afford to git 'im wine--even cheap wine would do
well enough, at two bob or one bob the bottle. If you was to give me
two bob--shillins I mean, ma'am--I'd git it for 'im to-night."
Katie and her cousin conversed aside in low tones for a minute or two as
to the propriety of complying with this proposal, and came to the
conclusion that the boy was such a nice outspoken honest-like fellow,
that it would do no harm to risk that sum in the circumstances. Two
shillings were therefore put into the boy's dirty little hand, and he
was earnestly cautioned to take care of it, which he earnestly, and no
doubt honestly, promised to do.
"What is your name, boy?" asked Katie, as she was about to leave him.
"Billy--Billy Towler, ma'am," answered the urchin, pulling his forelock
by way of respectful acknowledgment, "but my friends they calls me
Walleye, chiefly in consikence o' my bein' wery much the rewerse of
blind, ma'am, and niver capable of bein' cotched in a state o' slumber
at no time."
This reply had the effect of slightly damaging the small boy's character
for simplicity in Katie's mind, although it caused both herself and her
companion to laugh.
"Well, Billy," she said, opening her card-case, "here is my card--give
it to your sick brother, and when he sends it to me with his address
written on the back of it I'll call on him."
"Thankee, ma'am," said the small boy.
After he had said this, he stood silently watching the retiring figure
of his benefactress, until she was out of sight, and then dashing round
the corner of a bye-street which was somewhat retired, he there went off
into uncontrollable fits of laughter--slapped his small thighs, held his
lean little sides with both hands, threw his ragged cap into the air,
and in various other ways gave evidence of ecstatic delight. He was
still engaged in these violent demonstrations of feeling when Morley
Jones--having just landed at Yarmouth, and left the sloop _Nora_ in
charge of young Welton--came smartly round the corner, and, applying his
heavy boot to the small boy's person, kicked him into the middle of the
road.