ON THE SANDS.
Tiny was somewhat disappointed as the days went on to find that her
pupils, Tom and Dick, took less and less interest in learning the
letters she marked in the sand, or pointed out on the paper. They teased
her to know how to put the letters together and make them into words
which they could understand. But, alas! labour as she would, Tiny could
not get over this difficulty even for herself. She had a dim idea that
G O D spelt God, but she could not be quite sure--not sure enough to tell
Dick that it was so. It was enough, however, to quicken her own interest
in what the lines of letters might be able to tell her if only she could
solve the mystery of putting them into words, for doubtless they would
clear up her anxiety as to whether God loved boys as well as girls.
She did not spend her whole time poring over her picture. She gathered
samphire, helped to sort the fish when it was brought in, or mend the
much-despised net; but every day she spent some time diligently tracing
out the letters she knew and spelling over G O D.
She might have mastered the difficulty with very little trouble if the
fisherman had been less obstinate in his quarrel with the farm people,
for Harry Hayes and his sisters were often down on the sands, sometimes
bringing their books with them, and Dick, who longed to join them in
their play, tried to persuade Tiny to go and ask them to help her with
the reading difficulty.
"Dad won't say anything to you, even if he should see you talking; but
he won't see, and I won't tell," urged Dick, one day, when the children
from the farm were at play among the sandhills, and occasionally casting
sidelong glances towards Dick and Tiny.
But the little girl only shook her head. "I can't, Dick," she said; "God
wouldn't like it; mother told me that long ago."
"But how is He to know if you don't tell Him?" said the boy, in an
impatient tone.
"Don't you know that God can see us all the time; that He's taking care
of us always?" said Tiny, slowly.
"Oh, come! what'll you tell us next?" said Dick, looking over his
shoulder with a gesture of fear. "He ain't here now, you know," he
added.
"Yes he is," said the little girl, confidently; "mother said God was a
Spirit. I dunno what that is, but it's just as real as the wind. We
can't see that you know, but it's real; and we can't see God, but He's
close to us all the time."
The boy crept closer to her while she was speaking. "What makes you talk
like that?" he said, in a half-frightened tone.
"What's a matter, Dick?" she asked, not understanding his fear. "Don't
you like to think God is close to you, and all round you," she suddenly
added, in surprise.
Dick shook his head. "Nobody never thinks about God at Bermuda Point, so
p'r'aps He don't come here," he said, at last, in a tone of relief. "Oh,
I say, Tiny, look! Harry Hayes has got a book! Let's go and see what
it's about!"
"Well, we'll ask dad when he come home to-night, and p'r'aps he'll let
us," said the little girl, turning resolutely to her own paper again.
"Oh, then, it's dad you're afraid of, and not God?" said Dick.
"Afraid! What do you mean?" asked Tiny. "God loves me, and takes care of
me, and so does daddy; and if I was to talk to Harry Hayes, it would
make him cross, and God doesn't like us to make people cross; and little
gals has to do as they are told, you know."
"Oh yes; I know all about that," said Dick; "but what do you suppose God
thinks of dad when he makes himself cross with the whisky?"
"Oh! He's dreadfully sorry, Dick, I know He is, for He makes me afraid
of him sometimes, when he's had a big lot; and he's just the dearest
daddy when he forgets to bring the bottle home from Fellness."
"Ah, but that ain't often," grunted Dick; "and if God wouldn't like you
to talk to Harry Hayes, 'cos dad says you musn't, I'd like to know what
He thinks of dad sometimes, that's all." And then Dick ran away, for if
he could not speak to the farm children, he liked to be near them when
they came to play on the sands.
A minute or two after Dick had left her, Tiny was startled by a sound
close at hand, and, looking round, she saw Coomber coming from the other
side of the sandhill.
"Oh, dad, I thought you was out in the boat," she said.
[Illustration: "'I WANT YOU TO SING A BIT, WHILE I RUB AWAY AT THIS OLD
GUN.'" (_See page 81._)]
"Bob and Tom have gone by themselves to-day, for I wanted to clean the
gun ready for winter," said the fisherman, still rubbing at the lock
with a piece of oiled rag.
Tiny looked up at him half shyly, half curiously, for if he had only
been on the other side of the sand-ridge, he must have heard all she and
Dick had been talking about.
But if he had heard the fisherman took no notice of what had passed.
"Come, I want you to sing a bit, while I rub away at this old gun," he
said. "Sing 'Star of Peace'; it'll sound first-rate out here;" as though
he had never heard it out there before, when, as a matter of fact,
scarcely a day passed but she sang it to please him.
When she had finished, he said, quickly: "What do you think about that
'Star of Peace' deary? It's the sailor's star, you know, so I've got a
sort of share in it like."
"I think it means God. I'm a'most sure mother said it meant God," added
the little girl.
"Ah, then, I don't think there's much share of it for me," said Coomber,
somewhat sadly; and he turned to rubbing his gun again, and began
talking about it--how rusty he had found it, and how he would have to
use it more than ever when winter came, for the boat was growing old,
and would not stand much more knocking about by the rough wintry sea; so
he and Bob must shoot more wild birds, and only go out in calm weather
when winter came. Then half shyly, and with apparent effort, he brought
the conversation round so as to include Farmer Hayes.
"He ain't a bad sort, you know, Tiny, if he could just remember that a
fisherman is a bit proud and independent, though he may be poor; and if
you could do one of them young 'uns a good turn any time, why, you're a
sailor's lass, yer know, and a sailor is always ready to do a good turn
to anybody."
"Yes, daddy," said Tiny, slowly and thoughtfully; and then, after a
minute's pause, she said: "Daddy, I think Harry or Polly would just like
to help me a bit with this reading."
For answer the fisherman burst into a loud laugh. "That's what you'd
like, I s'pose?" he said, as he looked at her.
"Yes; I want to find out about this picture, and these letters tell all
about it, I know--if I only could find out what they mean," said Tiny,
eagerly.
"Oh, well, when I'm gone indoors you can go and ask 'em if they'd like
to help you," he said, with another short laugh. "Maybe you'll be able
to tell us all about it when winter comes, and it'll soon be here now,"
added the fisherman, with a sigh.
Never before had Coomber looked forward with such dread to the winter.
Until lately he had always thought the fishing-boat would "last his
time," as he used to say; but he had patched and repaired it so often
lately, until at last the conviction had been forced upon him that it
was worn out; and to be caught in a sudden squall on the open sea, would
inevitably break her up, and all who were in her would meet with a
watery grave. He was as brave as a lion; but to know that his boat was
gradually going to pieces, and that its timbers might part company at
almost any moment, made even his courage quail; especially when he
thought of his wife, and the boys, and this little helpless girl. Some
hard things had been said at Fellness about his folly in taking her upon
his hands when she could without difficulty have been sent to the
poorhouse. A girl was such a useless burden, never likely to be helpful
in managing a boat, as a boy might be; and it was clear that no reward
would ever be obtained from her friends, even if they were found, for
her clothing made it evident that she was only the child of poor
parents.
This had been the reasoning among the Fellness busybodies ever since
Coomber had announced his intention of taking the little girl home; but
he was as obstinate in this as in most other things. He had followed his
own will, or rather the God-like compassion of his own heart, in spite
of the poverty that surrounded him, and the hard struggle he often had
to get bread enough for his own children.
"I'll just have to stay out a bit longer, or go out in the boat a bit
oftener," he said, with a light laugh, when they attempted to reason him
out of his project. He did not know then that the days of his boat were
numbered; but he knew it now--knew that starvation stared them in the
face, and at no distant date either. He could never hope to buy a new
boat. It would cost over twenty pounds, and he seldom owned twenty pence
over the day's stock of bread and other household necessaries. Among
these he counted his whisky; for that a fisherman could do his work
without a daily supply of ardent spirits never entered his head. Blue
ribbon armies and temperance crusades had never been heard of, and it
was a fixed belief among the fisher folk that a man could not work
without drinking as well as eating, and drinking deeply, too.
So Coomber never thought of curtailing his daily allowance of grog to
meet the additional expense of his household: he rather increased the
allowance, that he might be able to work the boat better, as he fancied,
and so catch more fish. When he forgot his bottle and left it at
Fellness, it struck him as something all but marvellous that he should
be able to work the next day without his usual drams, but it had not
convinced him that he could do without it all together. Of its effect
upon himself, in making him sullen, morose, and disagreeable, he was in
absolute ignorance, and so the children's talk about it came upon him as
a revelation. He knew that Tiny sometimes shrank from and avoided him;
but he had considered it a mere childish whim, not to be accounted for
by anything in himself; and so to hear that she was absolutely afraid of
him sometimes was something to make him think more deeply than he had
ever done in his life before.
But he did not say a word to Tiny about this. When he had done rubbing
his gun he carried it home, and Tiny was left free to make acquaintance
with the farm children.
She walked shyly up to where they were sitting--Polly reading, and Harry
throwing sand at Dick, who had seated himself at a short distance, and
was returning the salute.
"Would--wouldn't you like to tell me about these letters, please?" said
Tiny, holding out her paper to Polly.
"Well, that's a rum way of asking," said Harry, with a laugh. "Suppose
she wouldn't now, little 'un," he added.
"Then she mustn't," said Tiny, stoutly; though the tears welled up to
her eyes at the thought of all her hopes being overthrown just when they
seemed about to be realised.
"Don't, Harry; what a tease you are!" said his sister. "I should like to
tell you, dear," she added, in a patronising tone. "Come and sit down
here, and tell me what you want."
"It's what you want; don't forget that, Polly, else she'll get her back
up, and go off again," laughed her brother; but he was not sorry the
embargo had been taken off their intercourse with the fisherman's
family; for although he had had surreptitious dealings with boys
sometimes, they had to be so watchful lest they should be discovered
that the play was considerably hindered. Now he understood that this
advance on Tiny's part was a direct concession from Coomber himself, for
he and the boys had long ago agreed to try and draw the little girl into
some intimacy as the only way of breaking down the restrictions laid
upon them. But Tiny had proved obstinate. She had been asked again and
again, but she had always returned the same answer: "Daddy would let her
some day, and then she would play with them." So Harry Hayes was
perfectly aware that she had won the fisherman's consent at last,
although no word had been said about it.
When the girls were left to themselves, Polly took up the picture and
looked at it, then turned it over and read, "God is good to all: He
loves both boys and girls." At this point Tiny interrupted her by laying
her hand on her arm, and saying eagerly: "Are you quite sure that is
what it says?"
"Why, don't you think I can read?" said Polly, in a half-offended tone.
But the subject was new to her, and so she was anxious to read further,
and turned to the page again and read on. At the bottom was a line or
two in smaller print, and Polly read these longer words with a touch of
pride: "Jesus said, Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and
forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God."
"Then this must be Jesus, and these are the little children," concluded
Polly, as she turned over the paper to look at the picture again.
The two girls sat and looked at it and talked about it for a few
minutes, and then Tiny said wistfully: "Will you show me now how you
make up them nice words?"
"Oh, it's easy enough if you know the letters; but you must learn the
letters first," said Polly; and she proceeded to tell Tiny the name of
each; and the little girl had the satisfaction of knowing now that she
had remembered them quite correctly, and that G O D did spell God, as
she had surmised.
She was not long now in putting other words together; and before she
went home she was able to spell out the first two lines of the printed
page, for they were all easy words, and intended for beginners.
What a triumph it was to Tiny to be able to read out to the fisherman's
family what she had learned on the sands that day. She was allowed to
have the candle all to herself after supper, and they sat round the
table looking at each other in wondering amazement as her little finger
travelled along the page, and she spelt out the wonderful news, "'God is
good to all: He loves both boys and girls.' It's true, Dick, what I told
you, ain't it?" she said, in a tone of delighted satisfaction.
Dick scratched his head, and looked round at his father, wondering what
he would think or say. For a minute or two the fisherman smoked his pipe
in silence. At length, taking it from his mouth, he said, in a slow,
meditative fashion: "Well, little 'un, I s'pose if it's printed that way
it's true; and if it is, why I s'pose we've all got a share in that
'Star of Peace' we was talking about to-day."
Tiny did not quite follow his train of thought; but she nodded her head,
and then proceeded to tell them what she had heard about the picture,
and the conclusion she and Polly had arrived at upon the subject--that
Jesus, the kind, loving man of the picture, had come to show them how
kind God was to them.
[Illustration]