CULM SIGHTS.
When Noll awoke the next morning, the sun was shining brightly in. It
was not until after some long minutes of yawning and rubbing his eyes,
that he comprehended where he was; then, with some chills of
disappointment, he remembered, and bounded up to look out the window.
The sea lay rippling, cool and fresh below. Here and there faint
trails of mist floated and hovered over the waves, but the breeze was
fast tearing and blowing them away. With a feeling of delight, he saw
on the far horizon-line the white film of shadowy sails. It showed
that there was life and stir somewhere, he thought, and it was
pleasant to think of them as bound for far-off Hastings. Then he
remembered Skipper Ben and the "White Gull," and wondered when he
would return; and then Mr. Gray's note had not been written, he
recollected.
"Well," thought Noll, "I'll find time for it to-day, I guess. I wonder
if my trunks will come this morning? and--When am I to begin my
studies, and who am I to recite to?" This last thought had not entered
his head before. There was evidently not a school of any kind upon
Culm Rock, and of course Uncle Richard was the only person capable of
teaching him anything. "I wonder if he will offer to teach me?" Noll
thought in perplexity, "or shall I have to ask him? I can't do that!
he's so cold and stern; and besides, I don't believe he would like the
trouble. I wonder if I am to grow up like those dull Culm people?" He
dressed himself, thinking busily enough of a dozen troublesome matters
which had already sprung up to puzzle him, and with these in his head,
went down-stairs. He found the dining-room at last, after getting into
three or four empty, unoccupied rooms, and there found Hagar putting
the last dishes upon the breakfast-table.
"You's lookin' brighter, honey," said she, gleefully. "Didn't dis yer
ole woman tell ye so? Ki! I knowed how 'tw'u'd be las' night."
"It _does_ seem pleasanter," Noll admitted; "and where's Uncle
Richard?"
"Mas'r Dick? He's in de libr'y; goin' to call him dis minnit.
Breakfas' dun waitin' for ye both, honey; an', bress de Lord! how much
ye looks like yer father dis mornin'!" and Hagar caressed the boy's
hair with her skinny old hands, muttering, as she gazed affectionately
in his face, "You's de bery picter ob him,--de bery picter!"
So Richard Trafford thought as he answered the old housekeeper's call
and entered the dining-room where his nephew was waiting with a cheery
"Good-morning, Uncle Richard." The boy's sunshiny face, somehow, made
the great room brighter, Trafford thought, and Hagar bustled about and
poured the coffee with a lighter heart than she had had since leaving
her people at Hastings.
[Illustration: "Good morning, Uncle Richard," Page 92.]
"Jes' what's been lackin' de whole time!" she thought to herself;
"Mas'r Dick wants somethin' he ken love and talk to. 'Pears like
dar'll be a change in dis yer ole house afore long, de Lord willin'."
It was such a long time since the old negress had seen a young face,
or heard the pleasant accents of a young voice, that she made various
pretexts for lingering in the room while the two sat at the table, and
though it was for the most part a silent meal, yet it was a wonderful
pleasure to see Noll eat, Hagar thought. And when the two had left the
table and gone to the library, she soliloquized, "Nebber thought I'd
see a day like dis yer, agen! Wonder what Mas'r Dick t'inks o' de boy?
Bress de chile! if mas'r don't take to him, 'pears like he'll nebber
take to nuffin. Be like habbin' poor Mas'r Noll's face afore him de
whole time, an' ef he ken stan' _dat_, athought lubbin' him, I's
'feard he's dun got colder'n a stone, de whole ob him. You jes' wait
an' see, Hagar!"
Noll followed his uncle from the breakfast-table into the library,
hoping that he would at once say something about his books or studies,
or at least hint what plans he had made concerning himself. It would
be a great deal pleasanter, Noll thought, to have Uncle Richard
dispose of him, even in a stern, cold way, than to do nothing at all
with him and remain indifferent as to whether he studied or grew up in
ignorance.
But Trafford had relapsed into one of his gloomy, absent moods, and
took up a book as soon as he reached the library, without a look or
word for Noll. The boy stood by one of the great windows and looked
out on the sea, striving to drown his disappointment by thinking of
other matters. When he had tired of this, and found that
disappointment was long-lived, and would not be drowned, he loitered
by the bookcases, reading the titles, now and then peering into a
volume and looking over its top at his uncle, and thinking him a very
cold or else a very forgetful man. When he had made the tour of the
room several times, and was about to go out in despair, Trafford
looked up.
"Noll, did you wish to speak to me?" he asked, abruptly.
The question came upon Noll unawares.
"Yes, if--if you were not too--too busy," he stammered. "I thought--I
hoped you would say something about my books--my studies, I mean,
Uncle Richard."
"What about them?"
"Why, whether I were to study with you, or by myself, or how; and
whether I am to begin now, or wait a while," said Noll, wishing that
his uncle would look less keenly at him.
Trafford leaned his head upon his hand and reflected a little. At last
he said,--
"You will wait, Noll, till your month is up. There would be no use in
beginning studies which, perchance, may end in so short a time. If, at
the end of four weeks, you conclude to stay, then we will talk about
study. Till then, you will wait."
Noll's blue eyes said, as plainly as eyes could, "Don't mention that
month again, Uncle Richard!" but his tongue was silent, and he
acquiesced in this decision by a nod of his head.
"You can fill up the time," continued his uncle, "as you like. You had
best make yourself acquainted with the Rock before you decide to stay
here. You will hardly explore it all in one day, I think;" and with
this Trafford turned again to his book.
Noll found his hat and went out, determined to keep a brave heart if
Uncle Richard _was_ cold and gloomy. If there was no other way, he
would _make_ him love him, he thought, though how that was to be done
he had, as yet, but a very slight idea. He went through the
dining-room, and from thence found his way to the broad front piazza
which faced the sea, and where, the previous evening, he had stood so
lonely and homesick. Everything looked much cheerier to him now, and
he ran down the sand, in front of the house, to the water's edge,
resolved to see the bright side of everything which pertained to gray,
barren Culm. There were stranded shells and bright-hued weeds on the
wet, glittering sand, which made Noll's eyes sparkle with delight.
"Wouldn't Ned's eyes open to see these!" he thought, "and wouldn't the
dear old fellow like some for his museum! I'll gather a whole box full
and send them up by the skipper some day."
Thinking of the skipper made Noll remember his trunks, and he wondered
if the "White Gull" had continued her voyage farther down the shore.
"There's a whole month to explore and pick up shells in," he said to
himself, "and I'll take this forenoon to go around to the landing and
see the skipper, if he's there."
With this thought, he started off, hoping to find the "Gull" still
lying off the little wharf. The skipper seemed almost like an old
friend, already; and, however rough he might be, he came from
Hastings, and this fact alone made the boy long for a sight of his
face. So he hastened along the sand, toward Culm, with an eye and ear
for everything which he passed. Great boulders, all green and fringed
with sea-weed, were strewn everywhere,--in the yellow sand of the
beach, in the line of the tide and waves which whitened themselves to
foam, and murmured hoarsely against them. In some places the great
mass of the rock came down so near the water's edge that only a
slender path of pebbles was left between it and the waves. In high
tide, Noll thought, this narrow way must be quite covered, and he
wondered why the sea did not carry it quite away. But in other places
the beach was broad and smooth, quite wide enough for many horsemen to
ride abreast. This morning the sea was peaceful and calm. Neither did
it look so vast and illimitable as on the previous night. The tide was
going out, stranding great quantities of glittering weeds and all
sorts of curious objects, the sight of which made Noll's heart glad;
but, without stopping to examine or preserve them, he hastened on,
hoping to soon catch sight of the "Gull." But in this he was
disappointed. No sooner had he passed the curve of the shore than he
saw that the skipper and his craft were gone. There were his trunks to
see to, however; so he kept on, though at a slower pace, wondering if
those dull-looking fishermen could tell him when the "Gull" would
return.
Not half so fair or comely did the dozen houses look as in the gold of
sunset. Such racked, weather-beaten dwellings Noll had never seen
before. It was a mystery how they could ever stand in a high gale. Not
a solitary vestige of anything green was there to enliven the
barrenness. Long lines of seine were stretched upon stakes, and
dangled from the sides of boulders upon the shore. In the sand some
dirty-faced children were playing, who got up and ran away at his
approach. A little farther on he came upon two fishermen dividing a
basket of fish. They looked up, stared, and nodded respectfully.
"When did the skipper go?" Noll asked, pausing.
"Ben, ye mean?" asked one of the men, suspending his labor to take a
more leisurely survey of the questioner.
"Yes, Ben Tate," said Noll.
"Afore sunrise," said the other. "Did ye want the skipper, lad?"
"No, not particularly. When is he going to stop here again?"
"Ben? Why, he comes Mondays and Thursdays, he does," said the
fisherman; "ye'll find him here day after to-morrow, lad,--early, too,
mos' like."
"Can you tell me where he left my trunks?" queried Noll.
At this question, the men looked perplexed. "Do ye mean boxes like?"
they asked, after a time.
Noll was astonished at this lack of knowledge, but managed to explain
to the two what he meant.
"Ye'd best go up to Dirk Sharp's," said one; "the skipper leaves much
with Dirk, he does, an' ye'll be like to find 'em there."
"Back o' the wharf, lad,--back o' the wharf Dirk lives," the other
called to Noll, as he walked away.
Dirk Sharp's house was rather smarter than the others,--at least, it
was in better repair; but the look which Noll caught of its interior,
as he stood rapping by the open door, sufficed to destroy any
anticipations of industry or thriftiness which he might have formed
from the dwelling's exterior. Dirk was a great broad-shouldered,
slouching fellow, with a general air of shiftlessness about him. At
Noll's summons, he came lounging out of an inner room, and, catching
sight of the boy, said,--
"Lookin' for yer trunks, lad? The skipper said ye was to hev 'em las'
night, shore; but ye see," pulling up his sleeve, "as how I got a cut
what's hindered," displaying a long, bloody wound upon his arm. "Ye
sh'u'd ha' had 'em, lad, but for that, as the skipper said. But ef ye
ken wait till the men get back from their seinin'--Ho! there be Bob
an' Darby now," he exclaimed, as he spied the two whom Noll had just
passed.
"Ahoy there, lads! here be a job fur ye!" he cried to the fishermen.
The two left their work and came up to Dirk.
"Here be two trunks to go 'roun' to the stone house fur this lad,"
said he. "Ef ye'll shoulder 'em roun' the shore, yer welcome to what
the skipper left fur't. What ye say, lads?"
"We'll do't fur ye, Dirk, seein' yer cut," said the one who was called
Darby. "Where be the boxes, man?"
Dirk led them into the inner room, from whence they presently
emerged, each with a trunk on his shoulder, and, bending with their
burdens, started up the shore.
Noll followed slowly after, wondering why they did not use their boat,
instead of enduring such back-breaking toil. It struck him that he had
never seen such dull, apathetic faces as these Culm people had. Such
utter shiftlessness as everything about the cluster of tumble-downs
betokened he had never imagined. Perhaps all this dreariness and
desolation made itself more keenly felt because the boy was just from
the city, which teemed with life and bustle and energy. In its poorest
quarter he had never seen such a lack of tidiness as the interior of
Dirk Sharp's house presented. He followed the slowly-plodding
trunk-bearers up the yellow sand, wondering if there was such another
wretched, desolate, and forlorn place as Culm Rock in the whole wide
earth.