"'A wet sheet and a flowing sea
And a wind that follows fast
And fills the white and rustling sail
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While like the eagle free
Away the good ship flies and leaves
Old England on the lee.'"
So sang Feargus as he paced the deck one blustery, brilliant morning,
two days before the ship reached port. Every little wave wore a whitecap
on that beautiful day, and the sky only was bluer than the candid eyes
of the young Irishman pacing the deck. Billie walked, or rather ran,
beside him, her cheeks glowing with exercise, her fine brown hair tossed
about by the breezes.
"Oh, it's a glorious life, Miss Billie," cried the young man. "The sea,
the wonderful, splendid sea! I sometimes wish I were a deep-sea
fisherman and could spend six weeks at a time out of sight of land in a
smelly little sailing vessel."
"Why were you not a sailor, then?" demanded Billie, who clung to her
father's theory that people should follow their own bent.
"I had always expected to go into the Navy," replied Feargus, "but it
was impossible when the time came."
"Why impossible?"
"Well, you see, we lost our home. Irish people are awfully poor. What
few chances we had were snatched away from us. We have been crushed! Oh,
you can never know what bitterness I feel----" he clenched his fist and
raised it to heaven. "The home my people have been living in for
hundreds of years,--the land we owned--or thought we owned----"
He broke off, unable to speak for the choking rage that clutched his
throat. "When I am rich," he cried at last, "I shall get even. There
will come a time when I shall be the man on top. It may take fifty
years, but it will come."
Billie felt awed and silenced by this revengeful prophesy. The changes
from fair to stormy weather which appeared with such suddenness in the
young man's disposition almost frightened her.
"Do you think it will help any by filling your mind with hatred like
that, Feargus?" she asked presently. "I should think it would only
weaken your case and poison your whole nature."
"Weaken?" he cried. "It makes it stronger and me, too. I'm a perfect
giant when I think of it. I shall bring down the skies on that man's
head some day."
"What man?"
"The man that did it. The man that stole our home from us. He is a
nobleman and I'm just a poor boy, but the time is coming when he'll beg
to me for mercy."
Feargus' round, good-natured face had turned white. His dark hair was
ruffled all over his head in wild confusion. His eyes had a bloodshot
look and he waved his clinched fists dramatically above his head.
Billie was frightened. She felt as if she were speaking to an insane
person; but then she had really never met any one with a grievance
before, and Feargus O'Connor had a serious and deep grievance against
some one.
"Come on," she said kindly. "Don't spoil your appetite for breakfast.
You were singing when I came out. Start up again and maybe it will help
you forget your troubles. How did it go?
"'A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
And a wind that follows fast--"
"You're awfully kind, Miss Billie," said the boy, waking into
consciousness again, and feeling that he had been very rude to air his
troubles to a comparative stranger. "Let's sing 'Come back to Erin,
Mavourneen, Mavourneen.' That's my sister's favorite song. She sings it
with the harp. You should hear her. It's beautiful."
They had just started on their promenade again, when they heard
scampering footsteps behind them and a childish voice called:
"Please wait. I want to walk with you."
It was the pale little boy, Arthur, whose last name they had never
learned, racing down the deck after them.
"Why, Arthur, where are the people who look after you?" demanded Billie.
"I thought you were not allowed on deck alone."
"The doctor is having his bath and the others are still asleep. I
dressed alone and came up. Isn't it fun? You'll look after me, won't
you?"
"Of course," said Billie, "but aren't you disobeying orders? Won't the
doctor be angry with you, and perhaps with us, too, for letting you stay
on deck?"
"But I have on my reefer and cap," objected the boy in the tone of one
who gives orders and expects them to be obeyed. "I shall not go down."
"Very well," said Billie, "if that is your decision, we are delighted to
have your company, and I hope the walk will do you good. You look as if
you needed fresh air and exercise more than anything else."
"The doctor says that draughts are bad for me and I am not strong enough
to take exercise."
"What are you doing now but exercising in one of the finest draughts
that ever blew over the sea, and it only brings the color to your
cheeks," exclaimed Feargus impatiently. "Where are your parents, boy,
that you are left to the care of old fogy doctors and careless tutors?"
"Papa is always very busy," answered the child. "Mamma died ever so many
years ago."
"You blessed child," cried Billie, pressing little Arthur to her side,
"you dear little boy. I'll be a big sister to you, if that will help
any."
"I like you," said Arthur ingenuously, "and I like you, too," he added
to Feargus. "You are the nicest one on the ship and they won't let me
speak to you. They never will let me speak to the nicest ones."
"Not speak to me? And why not, pray?"
"Oh, they know about you," said Arthur, shaking his head mysteriously.
"There's nothing to know," exclaimed Feargus exasperated. "What do they
know?"
"They know that your name is 'O'Connor."
"Well, what of that? It's a good name."
"I don't know," answered the boy, "but I like you and I wish you were my
tutor,--just you and no one else. You would tell me stories, wouldn't
you, Feargus?" he continued, pressing against the young man's side
affectionately. "They will never tell me anything except about Latin and
Greek. I want to hear about fairies and giants and elves. There's a
fairy in our forest. I saw her once. She was only this big----" he held
up his forefinger. "Just a tiny bit of a fairy, you know. She wore white
and she had a silver star in her hair, and she had wings,"--his voice
dropped mysteriously,--"butterfly wings."
"And did you really see her?" asked Billie gently.
"Oh, yes. Nurse saw her, too. I was quite small then and had a nurse.
The fairy's name was 'Lilli-Bullero.'"
"'Lilli-Bullero--bullen a la--
Lero-lero, Lilli-Bullero,
Lero-lero--bullen a la."
sang Feargus, with a gay laugh. "That's a song, Arthur, my boy. I'll
teach it to you some day."
"But it's the name of my fairy, too," persisted Arthur. "She lives in
Ireland and she chooses flowers for her homes. She came into the garden
looking for a new house when we saw her. She flew from one flower to
another, but she didn't stay."
The child was so inspired by his recollections of Lilli-Bullero, that he
did not notice the wrathful figure of Dr. Benton hurrying down the deck.
The old man had slipped on his overcoat over his dressing gown, and the
skirts of these two voluminous garments, blown about by the scurrying
wind, impeded his walk so that he hardly made any progress.
"Arthur, boy," he thundered, half-way down the deck.
Arthur looked up quickly, gave a wild elfin laugh at the spectacle of
the old man trying to keep his bare legs covered from the cold, then
broke away and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
The doctor shook his fist at him.
"You young scamp! I shall report the matter to your father at once," he
cried. "How dare you disobey me when you have strict orders to obey?"
Billie and Feargus leaned on the ship's rail and watched the scene. It
was none of their affair and they had no intention of interfering.
"Horrid old man!" cried Arthur. "I hate you and I shall tell my father
so. I will not obey you, so there!"
He darted down the deck, the old man after him, his coat tails flapping
ludicrously, and they disappeared around the end of the ship.
The young people laughed gayly.
"What an old nuisance he is!" exclaimed Feargus.
"What a strange father Arthur must have!" said Billie at the same
moment.
"Don't you think we'd better follow to see that no harm is done?"
suggested Feargus, after a moment. "Old Crusty might take advantage of
no one's being on deck to strike the little fellow, and, by Jove, I'd
like to see him try it when I am there!"
They hurried down toward the stern, and turned the corner just in time
to see something which made their blood turn cold.
Little Arthur, frightened, evidently, by the rage of his guardian, had
climbed over the rail and was standing on the outer edge of the deck
holding to the balustrade with one hand and shaking his other fist
angrily at the doctor, who was yelling hoarsely:
"Come back, you silly little fool! Idiot that you are, come back!"
Feargus ran swiftly up the deck followed by Billie.
"Don't speak to the boy like that or you'll have him overboard!" he
exclaimed.
"Mind your own business! Get out of my way!" cried the excited man,
wringing his hands frantically as he hurried along battling with the
wind and his waving skirts.
Feargus, instead of following, turned and ran as fast as he could around
the side of the ship and disappeared, leaving Billy in a state of
anxious perplexity.
"Don't come near me," Arthur was calling. "If you come a step nearer, I
shall jump."
This piece of paralyzing information made the doctor pause and consider.
"Do you want to kill yourself?" he yelled.
Arthur looked at him with a strange unchildlike expression.
"Father O'Toole told me that when I died I should see my mother," he
said, "and I would rather be with her than with you. I often think of
dying. I shall be able to do as I like then."
"But your father, your poor father, think how he would miss you,
Arthur," put in Billie.
"I think papa would be glad. He doesn't love me. Nurse told me he
didn't. He loves Max because he is the biggest and strongest and can
ride horseback and shoot a rifle. He doesn't love me,--nobody loves
me----"
The boy began to cry bitterly.
The doctor moved a step nearer.
"Don't come near me," shrieked the child. "I shall throw myself in the
water if you move again."
"You had better leave him to us," said Billie in a low voice. "Don't
call his attention to Feargus and I will try to keep him interested."
The doctor retreated. It was evident that he could do nothing and that
the life of his charge lay in the hands of those two despised young
people. In the meantime, Feargus had run swiftly all the way around the
deck and was now creeping along outside the railing, hoping to reach the
child without being noticed.
"Arthur, I love you, dear," called Billie, coming a step nearer, "and I
shall be a big sister to you always. I know lots of fairy stories, too.
Wouldn't you like to have me tell you about Queen Mab and all the
fairies, how they danced every night in the moonlight in a circle on the
lawn, and one night a big rabbit came along and scared them away----"
Arthur laughed joyfully and almost lost his balance. Billie's heart
stood still. Feargus had nearly reached him now, but what if the child
should turn his head and see him creeping up behind! Such a strange
passionate little fellow he was, filled with wild impulses and with
bitterness, too. Might he not give the leap, as he threatened, just as
Feargus stretched out his hand to grasp him?
"Arthur, if you keep perfectly still while I count ten," called Billie,
"I will do anything in the world you ask. We will have a game of
catcher, or hide and seek; or I'll tell you a beautiful story, or
Feargus will sing you an Irish song----"
"Oh," interrupted the child in an ecstasy of pleasure which made
Billie's heart fairly ache, "oh, will he? Goody, goody----" and with
that he let go of the rail to clap his hands, and toppled over the side
of the ship.
But Arthur was not destined to die that morning. Feargus, who reached
him just as he fell, caught one of his small feet in a firm grasp and
drew him back to the ledge. Then he lifted the unconscious child gently
in his arms and gave him to Billie, who laid him on the deck.
Telemac Kalisch appeared just then, looking for his young Irish friend.
He hurried up to the group, followed by the doctor, who was speechless
with fright and mortification.
"He's all right," said Telemac, feeling Arthur's heart and wetting the
child's lips from one of the small phials in the medicine case. "There,
he's coming to already. You came near having a fine ducking, my boy,
didn't you?" he exclaimed, smiling gravely into the little fellow's
bewildered eyes.
"Then I'm not dead, after all?" asked Arthur.
"Dead, indeed! I should say not. You're as right as a trivet. Close your
eyes now for a minute until you get more used to things."
Telemac stood up and looked the doctor squarely in the eye.
"Who is this poor, unhappy, neglected little soul?" he asked in a low
voice.
"He is the second son of the Duke of Kilkenty," answered the doctor in a
half-frightened voice.
"The Duke of Kilkenty?" gasped Feargus.
He exchanged a long glance with Telemac and then walked swiftly away,
but Billie felt sure that it had been the Duke of Kilkenty who had
driven the O'Connor family out of their ancestral holdings.