"I tell 'ee what it is, sister, I'm tired of livin' a solitary bachelor
life, all by myself, so I'm goin' to make a change, lass."
Mrs Brand was for some moments speechless, and Minnie, who was sewing
near the window, dropped her hands and work on her lap, and looked up
with inexpressible amazement in her sweet blue eyes.
"Brother," said Mrs Brand earnestly, "you don't mean to tell me that
you're going to marry at _your_ time of life?"
"Eh! what? Marry?"
The captain looked, if possible, more amazed than his sister for a
second or two, then his red face relaxed into a broad grin, and he sat
down on a chair and chuckled, wiping the perspiration (he seemed always
more or less in a state of perspiration) from his bald head the while.
"Why, no, sister, I'm not going to marry; did I speak of marryin'?"
"No; but you spoke of being tired of a bachelor life, and wishing to
change."
"Ah! you women," said the captain, shaking his head--"always suspecting
that we poor men are wantin' to marry you. Well, pr'aps you ain't far
wrong neither; but I'm not goin' to be spliced yet-a-while, lass.
Marry, indeed!
"`Shall I, wastin' in despair,
Die, 'cause why? a woman's rare?'"
"Oh! Captain Ogilvy, that's not rightly quoted," cried Minnie, with a
merry laugh.
"Ain't it?" said the captain, somewhat put out; for he did not like to
have his powers of memory doubted.
"No; surely women are not _rare_," said Minnie.
"Good ones are," said the captain stoutly.
"Well; but that's not the right word."
"What _is_ the right word, then?" asked the captain with affected
sternness, for, although by nature disinclined to admit that he could be
wrong, he had no objection to be put right by Minnie.
"Die because a woman's f---," said Minnie, prompting him.
"F---, `funny?'" guessed the captain.
"No; it's not `funny,'" cried Minnie, laughing heartily.
"Of course not," assented the captain, "it could not be `funny' nohow,
because `funny' don't rhyme with `despair;' besides, lots o' women ain't
funny a bit, an' if they was, that's no reason why a man should die for
'em; what _is_ the word, lass?"
"What am _I_?" asked Minnie, with an arch smile, as she passed her
fingers through the clustering masses of her beautiful hair.
"An angel, beyond all doubt," said the gallant captain, with a burst of
sincerity which caused Minnie to blush and then to laugh.
"You're incorrigible, captain, and you are so stupid that it's of no use
trying to teach you."
Mrs Brand--who listened to this conversation with an expression of deep
anxiety on her meek face, for she could not get rid of her first idea
that her brother was going to marry--here broke in with the question--
"When is it to be, brother?"
"When is what to be, sister?"
"The--the marriage."
"I tell you I _ain't_ a-goin' to marry," repeated the captain; "though
why a stout young feller like me, just turned sixty-four, _shouldn't_
marry, is more than I can see. You know the old proverbs, lass--`It's
never too late to marry;' `Never ventur', never give in;' `John Anderson
my jo John, when we was first--first--'"
"Married," suggested Minnie.
"Just so," responded the captain, "and everybody knows that _he_ was an
old man. But no, I'm not goin' to marry; I'm only goin' to give up my
house, sell off the furniture, and come and live with _you_."
"Live with me!" ejaculated Mrs Brand.
"Ay, an' why not? What's the use o' goin' to the expense of two houses
when one'll do, an' when we're both raither scrimp o' the ready? You'll
just let me have the parlour. It never was a comf'rable room to sit in,
so it don't matter much your givin' it up; it's a good enough sleepin'
and smokin' cabin, an' we'll all live together in the kitchen. I'll
throw the whole of my treemendous income into the general purse, always
exceptin' a few odd coppers, which I'll retain to keep me a-goin' in
baccy. We'll sail under the same flag, an' sit round the same fire, an'
sup at the same table, and sleep in the same--no, not exactly that, but
under the same roof-tree, which'll be a more hoconomical way o' doin'
business, you know; an' so, old girl, as the song says--
"`Come an' let us be happy together,
For where there's a will there's a way,
An' we won't care a rap for the weather
So long as there's nothin' to pay.'"
"Would it not be better to say, `so long as there's _something_ to
pay?'" suggested Minnie.
"No, lass, it _wouldn't_," retorted the captain. "You're too fond of
improvin' things. I'm a stanch old Tory, I am. I'll stick to the old
flag till all's blue. None o' your changes or improvements for me."
This was a rather bold statement for a man to make who improved upon
almost every line he ever quoted; but the reader is no doubt acquainted
with parallel instances of inconsistency in good men even in the present
day.
"Now, sister," continued Captain Ogilvy, "what d'ye think of my plan?"
"I like it well, brother," replied Mrs Brand with a gentle smile.
"Will you come soon?"
"To-morrow, about eight bells," answered the captain promptly.
This was all that was said on the subject. The thing was, as the
captain said, settled off-hand, and accordingly next morning he conveyed
such of his worldly goods as he meant to retain possession of to his
sister's cottage--"the new ship", as he styled it. He carried his traps
on his own broad shoulders, and the conveyance of them cost him three
distinct trips.
They consisted of a huge sea-chest, an old telescope more than a yard
long, and cased in leather; a quadrant, a hammock, with the bedding
rolled up in it, a tobacco-box, the enormous old Family Bible in which
the names of his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were recorded;
and a brown teapot with half a lid. This latter had belonged to the
captain's mother, and, being fond of it, as it reminded him of the "old
ooman", he was wont to mix his grog in it, and drink the same out of a
teacup, the handle of which was gone, and the saucer of which was among
the things of the past.
Notwithstanding his avowed adherence to Tory principles, Captain Ogilvy
proceeded to make manifold radical changes and surprising improvements
in the little parlour, insomuch that when he had completed the task, and
led his sister carefully (for she was very feeble) to look at what he
had done, she became quite incapable of expressing herself in ordinary
language; positively refused to believe her eyes, and never again
entered that room, but always spoke of what she had seen as a curious
dream!
No one was ever able to discover whether there was not a slight tinge of
underlying jocularity in this remark of Mrs Brand, for she was a
strange and incomprehensible mixture of shrewdness and innocence; but no
one took much trouble to find out, for she was so lovable that people
accepted her just as she was, contented to let any small amount of
mystery that seemed to be in her to remain unquestioned.
"The parlour" was one of those well-known rooms which are occasionally
met with in country cottages, the inmates of which are not wealthy. It
was reserved exclusively for the purpose of receiving visitors. The
furniture, though old, threadbare, and dilapidated, was kept
scrupulously clean, and arranged symmetrically. There were a few books
on the table, which were always placed with mathematical exactitude, and
a set of chairs, so placed as to give one mysteriously the impression
that they were not meant to be sat upon. There was also a grate, which
never had a fire in it, and was never without a paper ornament in it,
the pink and white aspect of which caused one involuntarily to shudder.
But the great point, which was meant to afford the highest gratification
to the beholder, was the chimney-piece. This spot was crowded to excess
in every square inch of its area with ornaments, chiefly of earthenware,
miscalled china, and shells. There were great white shells with pink
interiors, and small brown shells with spotted backs. Then there were
china cups and saucers, and china shepherds and shepherdesses,
represented in the act of contemplating the heavens serenely, with their
arms round each other's waists. There were also china dogs and cats,
and a huge china cockatoo as a centre-piece; but there was not a single
spot the size of a sixpence on which the captain could place his pipe or
his tobacco-box!
"We'll get these things cleared away," said Minnie, with a laugh, on
observing the perplexed look with which the captain surveyed the
chimney-piece, while the changes above referred to were being made in
the parlour; "we have no place ready to receive them just now, but I'll
have them all put away to-morrow."
"Thank'ee, lass," said the captain, as he set down the sea-chest and
seated himself thereon; "they're pretty enough to look at, d'ye see, but
they're raither in the way just now, as my second mate once said of the
rocks when we were cruising off the coast of Norway in search of a
pilot."
The ornaments were, however, removed sooner than anyone had anticipated.
The next trip that the captain made was for his hammock (he always
slept in one), which was a long unwieldy bundle, like a gigantic
bolster. He carried it into the parlour on his shoulder, and Minnie
followed him.
"Where shall I sling it, lass?"
"Here, perhaps," said Minnie.
The captain wheeled round as she spoke, and the end of the hammock swept
the mantelpiece of all its ornaments, as completely as if the besom of
destruction had passed over it.
"Shiver my timbers!" gasped the captain, awestruck by the hideous crash
that followed.
"You've shivered the ornaments at any rate," said Minnie, half-laughing
and half-crying.
"So I have, but no matter. Never say die so long's there a shot in the
locker. There's as good fish in the sea as ever come out of it; so bear
a hand, my girl, and help me to sling up the hammock."
The hammock was slung, the pipe of peace was smoked, and thus Captain
Ogilvy was fairly installed in his sister's cottage.
It may, perhaps, be necessary to remind the reader that all this is a
long digression; that the events just narrated occurred a few days
before the return of Ruby, and that they have been recorded here in
order to explain clearly the reason of the captain's appearance at the
supper table of his sister, and the position which he occupied in the
family.
When Ruby reached the gate of the small garden, Minnie had gone to the
captain's room to see that it was properly prepared for his reception,
and the captain himself was smoking his pipe close to the chimney, so
that the smoke should ascend it.
The first glance through the window assured the youth that his mother
was, as letters had represented her, much better in health than she used
to be. She looked so quiet and peaceful, and so fragile withal, that
Ruby did not dare to "surprise her" by a sudden entrance, as he had
originally intended, so he tapped gently at the window, and drew back.
The captain laid down his pipe and went to the door.
"What, Ruby!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper.
"Hush, uncle! How is Minnie; where is she?"
"I think, lad," replied the captain in a tone of reproof, "that you
might have enquired for your mother first."
"No need," said Ruby, pointing to the window; "I _see_ that she is there
and well, thanks be to God for that:--but Minnie?"
"She's well, too, boy, and in the house. But come, get inside. I'll
explain, after."
This promise to "explain" was given in consequence of the great anxiety
he, the captain, displayed to drag Ruby into the cottage.
The youth did not require much pressing, however. He no sooner heard
that Minnie was well, than he sprang in, and was quickly at his mother's
feet. Almost as quickly a fair vision appeared in the doorway of the
inner room, and was clasped in the young sailor's arms with the most
thorough disregard of appearances, not to mention propriety.
While this scene was enacting, the worthy captain was engaged in active
proceedings, which at once amused and astonished his nephew, and the
nature and cause of which shall be revealed in the next chapter.