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SARA, A PRINCESS
THE STORY OF A NOBLE GIRL
BY FANNIE E. NEWBERRY
A Princess she, though not by birth:
Her title's from above,
Her heritage the right of worth,
Her empire that of love.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. OMENS, GOOD AND ILL
II. STORM AND TROUBLE
III. A SEARCH AND ITS ENDING
IV. UNCLE ADAM AND MORTON
V. MADAME AND "THE PRINCESS"
VI. HAPPY DAYS
VII. A TEA-PARTY
VIII. NEWS FROM THE NAUTILUS
IX. REBELLION
X. ROBERT GLENDENNING
XI. BETTY'S QUILTING-BEE
XII. NEW FORTUNES
XIII. FROM KILLAMET TO DARTMOOR
XIV. NEW FRIENDS, NEW DUTIES, AND A NEW LOSS
XV. MORTON HAS A PICNIC
XVI. THE PRINCESS HOLDS A "DRAWING-ROOM"
XVII. MOLLY GIVES A PARTY
XVIII. A VISIT FROM MISS PRUE
XIX. BERTHA GILLETTE
XX. WEAKNESS
XXI. THE PRINCE COMETH
XXII. GOOD-BY TO KILLAMET
[Illustration: 'You must have had a big haul father, to make such a
rent!' said Sara as she drew the fish net toward her.]
SARA, A PRINCESS
CHAPTER I.
OMENS, GOOD AND ILL.
"Sairay! Sairay!"
The high, petulant voice rose shrilly through the steep, narrow
stairway, and seemed to pierce the ears of the young girl who sat under
the low, sloping roof, nearly bent double over the book in her lap.
She involuntarily raised both hands to her ears, as if the noise
distressed her, then dropped them, straightened herself resolutely, and
answered in a pleasant contralto, whose rich notes betokened power and
repression,--
"Well, mother?"
"Your fayther's got to hev them nets mended right away, he says, an' my
han's is in the dough. Be you at them books agin?"
"Yes," said Sara; "but I'll come," rising with a sigh, and carefully
slipping a bit of paper between the leaves of her book, before she laid
it on the rough board shelf at one side of the little garret room.
As she passed directly from the stairway into the kitchen, or living-
room, her father turned from the hopeless-seeming tangle of soiled and
torn netting on the floor before him, and looked at her half wistfully
from under the glazed brim of his wide hat.
"Was you studyin', Sairay? Ye see, I've got into a bad sort o' mess
here, an' we may git our orders fur the long fish any day."
"That's all right, father! No, baby, sister can't take you now," as the
little fellow on the floor crept to her feet and set up a wail; but her
smile, and a replaced toy, silenced the cry, and brought back comfort
and complaisance to the puckered little face.
Sara then stepped to her father's side, and drew the large soiled fish-
net towards her, looking with dismay on the broken meshes; but her voice
was still bright, as she said,--
"You must have had a big haul, father, to make such a rent!"
"Waal, 'twas partly thet, but more the ice. Ye see, it's jest breakin'
up now, and it's monstrous jagged-like; 'twas thet did it, I reckon. Kin
ye fix it, Sairay?"
"Yes, father."
She was soon seated, the dirty mass across her knee, and the large bone
shuttle in her hand flying rapidly in and out. But while her young
stepmother went and came, talking a good deal, and the baby pulled and
scrambled about her knees, her thoughts were far away, in the large
schoolroom at Weskisset.
For one short, happy year she had been an inmate of the seminary there,
and in her thoughts this year was the Round Top of her life! All events
dated from before or since her "school-time." All paths with her led to
Weskisset, as with the ancients all roads led to Rome: it was her
Athens, her Mecca, almost her Jerusalem.
Sara's own mother, though born inland, had come as schoolmistress, some
twenty years since, to the little fishing-village of Killamet (now
Sara's home), where she was wooed and won by the handsome, honest,
daring young fisherman, Reuben Olmstead.
Sara was their first child, and upon her the young mother lavished
untold tenderness. When, at the birth of the twins, nearly seven years
later,--two infants having died between,--she yielded up her own gentle
life, her last words had been,--
"Don't forget, Reuben, that Sara is to have an education. I can see
already that she is going to care for books, and she'll need it more
than ever, now--promise me, husband!" and the good man would sooner have
cut off his weather-beaten spear-hand than break his promise to that
dying wife.
In fulfilment of it he had struggled with what, to his fellow-villagers,
seemed most foolish persistence, in order to give his oldest child
immense and needless advantages, though it had been difficult enough to
find the ways and means for these. Even after the usual annual three
months of the "deestric" for several years, he had felt that his solemn
promise still bound him to allow her at least one year at the seminary.
Nor did the loss of his aged mother, who had been housekeeper since his
wife's death, weaken this resolution; and it was, perhaps, partly to
make it possible for Sara to leave home, that he had married the young
woman of the shrill voice, two years ago. She could look after the house
and children while "Sairay got her finishin' off," as he expressed it.
But Sara, like many another scholar, found that her one poor little year
was but a taste of wisdom, but one sip from the inexhaustible stream of
learning, and, back once more in her childhood's home, was constantly
returning to those living waters, with an unquenchable thirst.
It was her stepmother's pet grievance that "Sairay was allers at them
books," which was hardly true; for the girl took all the care of her
younger brother and sister, and much of the baby, while not a few of the
household duties devolved upon her. But she undoubtedly was apt to hurry
through her tasks, and disappear within the little attic room above the
kitchen in cold weather, or under a certain shady cove down by the sea
in summer, as soon as these were finished.
She had been netting but a short time when Morton and Mary came tumbling
in, two lively youngsters nearing eleven years, whose bronzed and rosy
cheeks betokened plenty of sunshine and fresh air.
"Say, pa!" they cried in a breath, almost stumbling over the baby in
their excitement, Mary, as usual, in advance, "is it true you're going
out for the long fish to-morrow? Jap Norris told us so on our way home
from school."
The father's kindly eyes rested upon them with an indulgent twinkle in
their depths.
"Waal, naow, if there's a bit o' news in this hull taown thet you
younkers don't pick up, I'd like to find it! Yes, ef Jap Norris said so,
I s'pose it's true; he oughter know, bein' as his fayther's the cap'n.
How long'll it take to finish up thet air net, darter?"
"Not much longer; but isn't it early to start, father? The ice is hardly
broken up, is it?"
"Waal, it's breakin' fast, Sairay; another day or two like this'll fetch
it, an' it's 'first come best haul,' ye know, nowadays, sence all
creation's got to runnin' to the Banks. Seems like it ain't skurcely
fair for them sportin' men to go out jest for fun; they might leave cod
an' herrin' to them what makes a business o' catchin' 'em, seems to me;
but there, 'tain't so easy to keep a mortgage on the sea!" and he
laughed good-humoredly. Meanwhile Molly, as they called the little
Mary, had flung off her hood, and now was down on the floor playing with
baby Ned, who welcomed her with crows of delight, for when she felt
good-natured she was his favorite playmate.
The room would have seemed overflowing to a stranger, with its curtained
bed in the alcove--or rather square projection--at one side, its
fireplace at the end, and cradle, table, spinning-wheel, reels, and
nets, to fill every available space left over.
Even the ceiling was made useful; for along the rafters were hooks which
supported spears, oars, and paddles, while one wall was prettily
tapestried with a great brown net, its sinkers hanging like ornamental
balls along one edge.
The windows were small and the ceiling low, but the fire shone merrily,
and gave light, warmth, and cosiness to the crowded apartment.
It was Sara who had pleaded for the restoration of the open fireplace,
and the removal of the cook-stove to a bit of shed just back; and though
at first the young mother had fretted at the innovation, she found it so
much more cheerful, and such a saving of candles in the long evenings,
that she had ceased to grumble.
As the night closed in, after their quickly disposed of supper, they all
drew closer about the drift-wood fire, and no one, not even Mrs.
Olmstead, seemed inclined to talk.
Sara's eyes wandered often from her book to the rugged face of her
father, and each time she saw his eyes gazing thoughtfully into the
flames.
In fact, the only sound in the room was the sleepy simmer of the water-
soaked logs, and an occasional giggle from the twins, who were absorbed
in some game which they played with horn buttons on a bit of board,
marked off with chalk into the necessary squares. Once the baby gave a
sweet, low laugh in the midst of his dreams in the cradle, and then
honest Reuben Olmstead turned and smiled towards the little one in a sad
fashion, which made Sara feel the tears near.
"Poor little goslin'!" he said tenderly. "Daddy hopes there'll be
suthin' for him to do not quite so tough as facin' March sou'-westers;
but then, who kin tell? He's a likely little chap, eh, Sairay?"
"Yes, father; he's a dear baby!"
He turned a little, and glanced back at his wife, who stood across the
room reeling off twine, and, hitching his chair a trifle nearer the
girl, said in a lower voice,--
"Sairay, ef 't should ever happen 't they was left to you to look arter,
all three on 'em, would ye be good to the little fellar too, eh?"
"You know I would, father!"
"Waal, waal, yes, I s'posed ye would, Sairay. I really did, naow; only
he ain't jest the same to ye as the twins, to be shore, so I jest thort
I'd ask, thet's all, Sairay." He nodded at her once or twice in a
conciliatory way, then turned back to his fire-gazing for a long moment,
after which he rose stiffly, with a half moan of reluctance.
"Waal, s'pose I must go daown to the boats, an' help 'em a while. Guess
likely Nick Hornblower ain't good fer much to-night; too much grog
aboard, I'm feared. Hand me them boots, sonny."
Morton, having just risen from his game badly worsted by Molly, who
could never refrain from taunting her conquered foe, was glad to make a
digression by bringing both the hip-boots and a long worsted scarf, as
well, and after the father had passed out came to his older sister's
side.
He gave the outer log one or two gentle kicks, which sent the sparks
flying upwards like a covey of fire-flies, and finally said in a voice
too low for Mrs. Olmstead to hear,--
"Sara, I got a licking to-day!"
"Morton! What for?"
"'Cause I sassed the teacher. He don't know beans, Sara, he don't; and I
can't help grinning in his face when he tells us things just the
opposite of what you do."
"But I may be wrong, Morton. What was it?"
"It's lots of things, all the time. Guess when you tell me a river runs
west I ain't a-going to say it runs east, am I? No, sir; not for
anybody!"
Sara smiled.
"Well, Morton, we'll have to be pretty sure about things then, won't we?
Where's your geography? Let's go over the lesson together. Oh! you're on
Russia, aren't you? I was just reading something about that country
myself. Think of its being so cold they chop up the frozen milk and sell
it in chunks; and they go to bed in a sheepskin bag, which they draw up
all about them, and fasten around the neck."
"I'd like that!" laughed the boy. "Tell me some more;" and he dropped
upon a low seat, which was simply a square block of wood in the chimney-
corner, while Molly, her face all alight with eagerness, joined the
group.
These true stories of Sara's were the children's delight; for she had
the faculty of making them more interesting than fiction, as she told
them in simple, vivid language, with her sweet, full voice, pointed by
her intelligent face.
But after a time they were sent off to bed, and Sara was left alone with
her mother, who now sat knitting before the fire. The wind had risen
outside, and was wailing mournfully around the cottage. The young girl
shivered to hear it.
"Sounds like a death-wail, don't it?" said Mrs. Olmstead, noticing the
movement. "When the wind hes thet sorter long scream in it, it allers
means trouble, and your pa off for the long fish to-morrow!"
She shook her head dismally, and went on in a lugubrious tone, "Besides,
didn't ye notice the windin' sheet in the candle las' night, an' didn't
ye hear the howl o' thet dog along towards mornin'?"
Sara's eyes were fixed upon her with an interested, yet half-doubtful
look. She had heard these superstitions from babyhood, till they had
become almost a part of her religion. Yet she sometimes questioned, as
now.
"But, mother, mightn't these things happen, don't they happen often, and
nothing come of it? I'm sure there are winding-sheets always if the
tallow is poor, and that dog of John Updyke's howls every time they go
away and leave him alone. It seems to me, if God is so great that even
the winds and the sea obey him, he might warn us in other finer, higher
ways if he wished to; besides, why should he warn us when he knows he is
doing everything for our best good? You don't warn the baby when you
give him medicine, even though you know he won't like taking it."
"Sairay! Sairay!" her mother lifted an admonishing finger, "be careful
how you talk about the A'mighty! Babies is different from growed-up
folks, and, besides, I guess ef the Lord ain't too good to count the
hairs of our heads, he can even take notice of a dog's howl!" and Sara,
who had the reverent soul of a little child, was once again silenced, if
not convinced. Just then, too, her father entered, bringing a great gust
of cold air with him as he opened the door.
"Up yet?" he asked in his big, cheery voice, as he unwound the gorgeous
worsted comforter from about his throat, and shook off the sleety rain
from his tarpaulin. "Waal, this fire's a purty sight, I vum, for it's a
dirty night out, an' no mistake. But we'd better all turn in naow, for
we must be stirrin' early to-morrer; we've got our orders, an' I'm
second mate o' the Nautilus."
"O father, the Nautilus? That old tub? I thought you said she wasn't
sea-worthy."
"Oh, waal, not so bad as thet, quite. To be shore she's old, an' she's
clumsy, but I guess she's got a good many knots o' sailin' in her yet,
Sairay. I guess so. Leastwise thet's whar I'm to go, so it can't be
helped, thet's sartin. Now, wife, ef you'll git out my kit," and he
turned with some directions concerning his departure, while Sara,
feeling she was not needed, crept silently up to bed, her soul
distracted between gloomy forebodings, and the effort to trust in God
and hope for the best.
The next morning, however, broke clear and fine, which was a great
comfort; for whatever storms and dangers her father and friends must and
would, doubtless, meet on the great ocean, it was something to have them
start with fair winds and sunny skies.
All were up before dawn, except the baby, who slept on in blissful
unconsciousness of any impending change; and soon the women stood, with
their shawls over their heads, down on the sandy, crescent-shaped beach,
watching the last preparations.
It was an impressive scene, and never lost that quality to Sara's eyes,
though she had been used to it since infancy. As she stood now, near but
hardly a part of the noisy throng, she was about midway in the crescent,
at either end of which there gleamed whitely through the morning mist
the round tower of a lighthouse.
These were only nine miles apart as the bird flies, but over thirty when
one followed the concave shore; and the eastern light warned of
treacherous rocks jutting out in bold headlands and rugged cliffs, while
the western served to guide the mariner past quite as treacherous
shallows, and a sandy bar which showed like the shining back of some
sea-monster at low-tide.
Within this natural harbor was the little fleet of sloops, smacks, and
schooners, getting up sail, and shipping some last half-forgotten
supplies, while numerous smaller craft were paddled or rowed about,
closer in shore.
The wide white beach, unbroken for a considerable sweep by even a
headland, was now alive with an excited crowd--talking, laughing,
weeping, and gesticulating, while back on the higher ground could be
seen the small, straggling village, of but little more than one street,
where nearly all the houses turned a gabled end to the highway, while a
well-trodden path led through a drooping gateway to a door somewhere at
the side or rear.
There were few trees to hide their unpainted homeliness; but some
windows showed house-plants and muslin curtains within, while the most
noticeable architectural features were the long, open sheds, used for
cleaning and packing fish, and a bald, bare meeting-house, set like
conscious virtue on a hill,--the only one to be seen, just back of the
village, and only worthy the name because there was nothing whatever to
dispute its claims in the way of highlands in that region.
As Sara stood half dreamily taking it all in, more by imagination than
eyesight, for it was still mistily gray, except off to the east beyond
the Cliff light, where the sky was brilliant with the first crimson
blush of the morning, a man approached her, a young fellow, still tall,
trig, and ship-shape in figure, as few seamen are apt to be after
thirty.
"Good-morning, Sairay," he said respectfully; "we've got a fine day for
the start, a'ter all." "Yes, Jasper, very fine, and I'm glad enough.
The last start was dreadful! I cried all the next night, for, don't you
remember? the wind kept rising till it was a perfect gale, and I
couldn't help thinking of that dreadful Mare's Head Point. Mother was
sure you'd get there about midnight, and saw signs and warnings in
everything."
He laughed cheerily.
"Oh, she enjoys it, Sairay; don't 'grudge her that comfort, for a'ter
all we mostly gets home safe, barrin' a broken rib perhaps, or a finger.
I've had three falls from the rigging, and one wreck, and I'm pretty
lively yet!" A general movement seawards interrupted them. This was the
final scene, the actual start. He held out his hand quickly.
"Well, good-by, Sairay."
"Good-by, Jasper. You'll look after father? That is, he's getting old,
you know, and if anything should happen"--
"I won't forgit, Sairay. I'm on the Sea Gull, but I'll see him now and
then. Good-by."
His voice was wistful, but his eyes even more so, as he clasped her hand
in a quick, strong pressure which almost hurt her, then turned, and went
with great strides towards his father's long-boat just about pushing
off; for this was Jaspar Norris whose father was captain of the fleet,
and by far the richest and most consequential man in Killamet.
Sara turned from the young man's hand-clasp to her father's embrace.
"Waal, Sairay, we're off, an' good luck goes with us, ef a man kin jedge
by the weather. Good-by. God bless you, darter!"
Sara could not speak, but she held him close a minute, then stood with
tearful eyes and watched him embark, telling herself he had always
returned safe and sound, and surely he would again. Even her heartache
could not dull the beauty of the scene, as, with all sails set, the
white-winged vessels glided smoothly out toward the open sea, and
suddenly her face grew bright, and she caught her breath in excitement,
for just as the leader rounded the lighthouse, the tips of the masts
caught the first rays of the rising sun, and gleamed almost like spear-
points in the strong light, which soon inwrapped the whole fleet in a
beautiful glow. Others saw it as well as herself, and some one shouted,
"A good sign! A good sign!" while a hearty cheer rose from the little
group of women, children, and old men upon the beach.
Sara joined in it, and felt glad as well as they; for while she might
have doubts of howling dogs and dripping candles, this seemed an omen
that heaven itself might deign to send as a comfort to their anxious
hearts.