THE WORK FINISHED.
The days went by,--busy enough for Noll with lessons and the afternoon
lesson at Culm,--and John Sampson's labors began to draw to a close.
The carpenter had worked steadily and faithfully, and the result was a
gratifying one to more than one person. True, the houses were not
models of elegance; that was not needed; and they _did_ look somewhat
patchy, with here and there a fresh new board over the old
weather-beaten gray of the dwelling, and new doors staring blank and
yellow out of the dinginess of their surroundings; but, if they were
not handsome, they were thoroughly repaired and now stood warmer and
more comfortable than any of the present generation of Culm people had
ever known them.
If they could only have a coat of paint or whitewash to make them look
fresh and cheerful, what an improvement it would be! Noll thought. How
the sun would gleam upon them with his last ruddy rays as he sank into
the sea! How fair and pleasant they would look from the sea, when the
coast first came upon the mariner's vision! It would be one bright
spot against the black background of the Rock,--those twelve
houses,--if only they might have a coat of fresh white paint. But
after counting his stock of money, this desire was obliged to remain
ungratified; for there was the carpenter's bill, which would shortly
be due, and must be paid upon the completion of the work.
"The houses must wait till--till another year," Noll thought, with
something like a sigh; "they can wait, after all, for the painting
isn't really necessary, though it would improve them wonderfully! And
I'm thankful enough that I can pay the carpenter. Oh, but I wonder if
Ned ever regrets his denial, and longs for the pony?"
Letters came down from Ned Thorn with almost every trip of the "Gull,"
but not a word about the pony did they contain, nor the least sentence
which Noll could interpret to mean a sigh or regret for the pet which
he had given up. If Ned felt any regret, it was all carefully hidden
from his friend's observation, and the missives, which Noll received
through the skipper's kindness, were fairly bubbling over with the
briskness and bright spirits of Ned's light heart.
"If they should stop coming, I don't know how I _could_ manage,"
thought Noll; "I'm afraid Culm Rock would grow dreadfully lonesome and
dreary." It was always, "And how do you get on with your plan?--and
are the houses 'most finished?" or, "Have you got those Culm savages
almost civilized, you dear old Noll?--and does Uncle Richard know
anything about it yet? Won't he stare! and what do you suppose he'll
say?" or, "Oh, now I think of it, how many scholars in Latin have you
got down there? and how do they manage with their Greek? And are you
putting on airs because you've got to be a pedagogue? And how much is
the tuition a term?--because, you see, I've some idea of going away to
boarding-school, and yours might suit me, if the charges aren't too
high." And the whole generally concluded with, "P. S.--I don't mean a
word of all that last I've written, my dear Noll, and you're not to
think so. How does the money hold out? Don't fail to let me know if
you're in a tight place, and I'll try to get a few dollars somehow.
And hurry up and answer this letter by return steamer (what should we
do if the old 'Gull' went to the bottom?), and so good-night," etc.,
etc.
Perhaps Noll expected a great deal too much of the Culm people when he
looked to see them give up their filthy and slovenly habits at once,
after getting fairly settled again in their whole and comfortable
abodes. If he really expected to see this, he was disappointed. People
do not follow a habit for the best part of a lifetime, to give it up
suddenly and at once, even when gratitude and a sense of their
short-coming are both urging them to do so. So he was obliged to
content himself with some few faint evidences of thrift, and a desire
to do better, on the part of those whom he had befriended, and wait
patiently for the rest.
Dirk's household improved somewhat. Dirk was the most intelligent of
the fishermen, and began to dimly perceive that it was much better and
pleasanter to live cleanly and neatly than to pattern his household
arrangements after the beasts of the field. He was, moreover, strongly
actuated to reform his way of living by his deep, strong sense of
gratitude to Noll, which led him to endeavor to accomplish whatever
the boy suggested. It gave the stalwart fisherman something like a
feeling of shame to see the lad--bright, fresh, and ruddy--enter his
dirty and smoke-begrimed hovel and hardly be able to find himself a
seat among the litter of old nets, broken chairs, household utensils,
and all conceivable kinds of rubbish which strewed the floors and
filled the corners.
"It be a shame," Dirk said to his wife, after Noll had gone, one day,
"that the lad hev ter stan' up, an' ben't able ter find a seat, nohow.
I tell ye it be a shame, woman!"
"Ye might mend the chairs a bit, man!" retorted Mrs. Sharp. "I'll
warrant the lad be able ter find a seat then."
Dirk was sulky for a while after this, but saw that there could be
nothing to sit upon so long as the chairs were for the most part
legless, and at last got energy enough to mend them after a rude
fashion. Then another place was found for the old nets besides the two
corners by the fireplace, and when these had been removed, Mrs. Sharp
took her broom and--well, it was not exactly sweeping, for the woman
had not much idea of what a good housekeeper would call sweeping, but
it was a feeble attempt at cleanliness, and she really thought she had
made a great exertion, and was certainly proud of the achievement.
Dirk chanced to be at home when Noll came again, and the flash of
surprise and pleasure which swept over the boy's face as he entered
and noted the change which had taken place since his last call pleased
Dirk amazingly.
"Here be a seat fur ye, lad," he said, not without some pride in his
tone, as he brought forward a rough three-legged block and placed it
for his visitor. A faint stir of worthy ambition having slightly
roused Dirk and his wife, they were hardly contented to allow matters
to remain as they were. Mrs. Sharp once more took her broom, and used
it with rather better effect. Dirk made an onslaught upon the rubbish
which had been collecting in their kitchen and about the doorsteps for
years, and which no one had had the energy to remove, and threw many a
basketful into the sea.
The neighbors, meanwhile, were not entirely insensible to the fact
that Dirk's house began to present--both within and without--a much
more cleanly and respectable appearance than their own. They stopped
at the door to look in and say, "La, ye be slickin' up finely, Dirk!"
or, "Ye be gittin' fine ways, lately, man. An' what be all this fur?"
"Why," Dirk would answer, "I be 'shamed of livin' like a beast, man.
An' the young master be wishin' us to hev cleaner housen an' slicker,
an' I be willin' to do't ef he wish, now! He be a good lad to mend our
housen so finely, and w'u'd ye think I ben't willin' to do his wish?"
Noll was greatly encouraged at these signs of improvement, and
mentally rejoiced, hoping to see this new ambition spread till the
whole twelve houses were reclaimed from their present filth and
wretchedness.
The carpenter's work came to an end at last,--his labor all plain and
visible to every eye in patched walls, roofs, mended doors and
windows, and the general look of repair about the whole line of what
were once but the poorest of shelters. Sampson's task had been a hard
and bothersome one,--"Couldn't ha' got another man to teched it," the
skipper said,--and Noll expected, as he walked around to Culm one
afternoon with his roll of bills to pay the carpenter, that the bill
would be a large one,--perhaps even more than Ned's generous bounty
and his own amount of spending-money, saved since the lumber was
purchased, could meet. He found Sampson packing up his tools,--he was
to leave on the "Gull" the next morning,--with the bill all ready,
added up and written out on a bit of smooth shingle. It proved to be
five dollars less than the sum which Noll held in his hand.
"I swun!" said Sampson, roughly, as he counted over the bills which
the boy placed in his hands, "I told the skipper, comin' down, that
you was a born fool to be layin' out your money in this style. Now,
I've been thinkin' on't over all the while I've been hammerin' and
sawin', and I can't make out, to save my neck, how you're goin' to get
any return from this 'ere investment. 'Tain't payin' property, I
should judge," said the carpenter, looking up and down the beach.
"Of course I don't expect to get any money back from it," said Noll,
laughing a little at the idea. "It was to help these fish-folk and to
try and make them more comfortable that I did it."
Sampson put the roll of bills away in his capacious purse, remarking,
"Well, you're a queer un. I did the job right well, though, if I do
say it, and I ha'n't charged very steep for it, neither. Couldn't do
it, somehow!--went too much against the grain. And--well, can't you
shake hands over it? You're a tip-top paymaster, and if you want
anything done, I'll come and do it, if I'm in China--there! Don't you
lay out another cent on this settlement, though,--'tain't worth it."
Noll did not promise to take this advice, and started homeward,
Sampson calling after him, "Good-by, good-by, lad! Hope you'll get
some return from this 'ere investment!"
So the work was done, and a glad and happy letter went over the sea to
Hastings, telling Ned Thorn that the labor was accomplished, and the
houses all as whole and comfortable as when new, and that the people
were actually beginning to show a little thrift and ambition; and
saying, among other things, "I send you back five dollars that were
left,--so you can begin to save your money again for that pony. And,
oh! Ned, I don't think you can know how much good that money did!
Perhaps you never will know (it must seem to you almost like throwing
it away, because you are where you cannot see any result from it), and
I felt, at first, as if you ought not to make the denial; but,
somehow, I'm very glad, now, and I shall always feel sure that if you
_do_ make fun and pretend to laugh at a plan, you're all the time
meaning to 'give it a lift,' as you say. And, oh! Ned, I believe I'm
one of the happiest boys in the world! and I'm sure Uncle Richard has
changed a great deal since last spring, when you were here, for he's
got over being cross and gloomy, and actually asked me yesterday
where I spent so much of my time. I'm going, if I can, to persuade him
to take a walk with me, one of these afternoons, and so bring him
around to the new houses. Wouldn't you like to be here to see us then?
As for my school, it flourishes a little. There are still twelve
scholars, and all but four have got through with their sand letters,
and are at work at their 'a-b, ab,' and 'b-a, ba.' They'll get into
spelling-books, sometime. Now, I'll end this long letter with telling
you once more that you can't know how much good your money has done
and will do, and say,
Good-night, "NOLL TRAFFORD."
Noll did not lose sight for a moment of his plan to persuade Uncle
Richard to take a walk with him. It filled his thoughts all the
pleasant days that followed after Mr. Sampson's departure, and several
times he hinted very broadly to his uncle that it was "a splendid
afternoon for a walk! the beach is hard as a floor, and the tide out."
But Trafford was oblivious to all hints, and at last, on one warm,
balmy, cloudless afternoon, Noll thought, "It is now, or never! I'll
ask him at once." And straightway he started for the library, where he
knew his uncle sat reading.