Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 (21 page)

 
          
           
The young people scattered over the rocks, and hastened to visit the points of
interest before dark. They climbed the lighthouse tower, and paid Aunt Nabby
and Grandpa a call at the weather-beaten little house, where the old woman lent
them a mammoth coffee-pot, and promised that Ruth would "dish up them fish
in good shape at eight punctooal." Then they strolled away to see the
fresh-water pond where the lilies grew.

 
          
           
"How curious that such a thing should be here right in the middle of the
salt sea!" said one of the girls, as they stood looking at the quiet pool while
the tide dashed high upon the rocks all about
them.

 
          
           
"Not more curious than how it is possible for anything
so
beautiful and pure as one of those lilies to grow from the mud at the bottom of
the pond. The ugly yellow ones are not so out of place; but no one cares for
them, and they smell horridly," added another girl in a reflective tone.

 
          
           
"Instinct sends the white lily straight up to the sun and air, and the
strong slender stem anchors it to the rich earth below, out of which it has
power to draw the nourishment that makes it so lovely and keeps it spotless—unless
slugs and flies and boys spoil it," added Miss Scott as she watched Mr.
Fred poke and splash with his cane after a half-closed flower.

 
          
           
"The naughty things have all shut up and spoilt the pretty sight; I'm so
disappointed," sighed Miss Ellery, surveying the green buds with great
disfavor as she had planned to wear some in her hair and act Undine.

 
          
           
"You must come early in the morning if you want to see them at their best.
I've read somewhere that when the sun first strikes them they open rapidly, and
it is a lovely sight. I shall try to see it some day if I can get here in
time," said Miss Scott.

 
          
           
"How romantic old maids are!" whispered one girl to
another.

 
          
           
"So are young ones; hear what Floss Ellery is saying," answered the
other; and both giggled under their big hats as they caught these words
followed by the rippling laugh,—

 
          
           
"All flowers open and show their hearts when the sun shines on them at the
right moment."

 
          
           
"I wish human flowers would," murmured Mr. Fred; and then, as if
rather alarmed at his own remark, he added hastily, "I'll get that big
lily out there and MAKE it bloom for you."

 
          
           
Trusting to an old log that lay in the pond, he went to the end and bent to
pull in the half-shut flower; but this too ardent sun was not to make it
blossom, for his foot slipped and down he went up to his knees in mud and
water.

 
          
           
"Save him! oh, save him!" shrieked Miss Ellery, clutching Captain
John, who was laughing like a boy, while the other lads shouted and the girls
added their shrill merriment as poor Fred scrambled to the shore a wreck of the
gallant craft that had set sail in spotless white.

 
          
           
"What the deuce shall I do?" he asked in a tone of despair as they
flocked about him to condole even while they laughed.

 
          
           
"Roll up your trousers and borrow Sam's boots. The old lady will dry your
shoes and socks while you are at supper, and have them ready to wear
home," suggested Captain John, who was used to duckings and made light of
them.

 
          
           
The word "supper" made one carnal-minded youth sniff the air and
announce that he smelt "something good;" and at once every one turned
toward the picnic ground, like chickens hurrying to the barn at feeding-time.
Fred vanished into the cottage, and the rest gathered about the great fire of
driftwood fast turning to clear coals, over which Ruth was beginning her long
hot task. She wore a big apron, a red handkerchief over her head, had her
sleeves rolled up, and was so intent on her work that she merely nodded and
smiled as the new-comers greeted her with varying degrees of courtesy.

 
          
           
"She looks like a handsome gypsy, with her dark face and that red thing in
the firelight. I wish I could paint her," said Miss Scott, who was very
young at heart in spite of her fifty years and gray head.

 
          
           
"So do I, but we can remember it. I do like to see a girl work with a
will, even at frying fish. Most of 'em dawdle so at the few things they try to
do. There's a piece of energy for you!" and Captain John leaned forward
from his rocky seat to watch Ruth, who just then caught up the coffee-pot about
to boil over, and with the other hand saved her frying-pan from capsizing on
its unsteady bed of coals.

 
          
           
"She is a nice girl, and I'm much interested in her. Mr. Wallace says he
will tell us her story by-and-by if we care to hear it. He has known the old
man a long time."

 
          
           
"Don't forget to remind him, Aunty. I like a yarn after mess;" and
Captain John went off to bring the first plate of fish to the dear old lady who
had been a mother to him for many years.

 
          
           
It was a merry supper, and the moon was up before it ended; for everything
"tasted so good" the hearty young appetites sharpened by sea air were
hard to satisfy. When the last cunner had vanished and nothing but olives and
oyster crackers remained, the party settled on a sloping rock out of range of
the fire, and reposed for a brief period to recover from the exertions of the
feast, having, like the heroes in the old story, "eaten mightily for the
space of an hour."

 
          
           
Mr. Fred in the capacious boots was a never-failing source of amusement, and
consequently somewhat subdued. But Miss Ellery consoled him, and much food
sustained him till his shoes were dry. Ruth remained to clear up, and Sammy to
gorge himself on the remnants of "sweet cake" which he could not bear
to see wasted. So, when some one proposed telling stories till they were ready
to sing, Mr. Wallace was begged to begin.

 
          
           
"It is only something about this island, but you may like to hear it just
now," said the genial old gentleman, settling his handkerchief over his
bald head for fear of cold, and glancing at the attentive young faces grouped
about him in the moonlight.

 
          
           
"Some twenty years ago there was a wreck over there on those great rocks;
you fellows have heard about it, so I'll only say that a very brave sailor, a
native of the Port here, swam out with a rope and saved a dozen men and women.
I'll call him Sam. Well, one of the women was an English governess, and when
the lady she was with went on her way after the wreck, this pretty girl (who by
the way was a good deal hurt trying to save the child she had in charge) was
left behind to recover, and—"

 
          
           
"Marry the brave sailor of course," cried one of the girls.

 
          
           
"Exactly!
and
a very
happy pair they were. She had no family who wanted her at home; her father had
been a clergyman, I believe, and she was well born, but Sam was a fine fellow
and earned his living honestly, fishing off the Banks, as half the men do here.
Well, they were very happy, had two children, and were saving up a bit, when
poor Sam and two brothers were lost in one of the great storms which now and
then make widows and orphans by the dozen. It killed the wife; but Sam's
father, who kept the lighthouse here then, took the poor children and supported
them for ten years. The boy was a mere baby; the girl a fine creature, brave
like her father, handsome like her mother, and with a good deal of the lady about
her, though every one didn't find it out."

 
          
           
"Ahem!" cried the sharp girl, who began to understand the point of
the story now, but would not spoil it, as the others seemed still in the dark,
though Miss Scott was smiling, and Captain John staring hard at the old
gentleman in the blue silk nightcap.

 
          
           
"Got a fly in your throat?" asked a neighbor; but Kate only laughed
and begged pardon for interrupting.

 
          
           
"There's not much more; only that affair was rather romantic, and one
can't help wondering how the children turned out. Storms seem to have been
their doom, for in the terrible one we had two winters ago, the old lighthouse
keeper had a bad fall on the icy rocks, and if it had not been for the girl,
the light would have gone out and more ships been lost on this dangerous point.
The keeper's mate had gone ashore and couldn't get back for two days, the gale
raged so fiercely; but he knew Ben could get on without him, as he had the girl
and boy over for a visit. In winter they lived with a friend and went to school
at the Port. It would have been all right if Ben hadn't broken his ribs. But he
was a stout old salt; so he told the girl what to do, and she did it, while the
boy waited on the sick man. For two days and nights that brave creature lived
in the tower, that often rocked as if it would come down, while the sleet and
snow dimmed the lantern, and sea-birds were beaten to death against the glass.
But the light burned steadily, and people said, 'All is well,' as ships steered
away in time, when the clear light warned them of danger, and grateful sailors
blessed the hands that kept it burning faithfully."

 
          
           
"I hope she got rewarded," cried an eager voice, as the story-teller
paused for breath.

 
          
           
"'I only did my duty; that is reward enough,' she said, when some of the
rich men at the Port heard of it and sent her money and thanks. She took the
money, however, for Ben had to give up the place, being too lame to do the
work. He earns his living by fishing now, and puts away most of his pension for
the children. He won't last long, and then they must take care of themselves;
for the old woman is no relation, and the girl is too proud to hunt up the
forgetful English friends, if they have any. But I don't fear for her;
a brave lass
like that will make her own way anywhere."

 
          
           
"Is that all?" asked several voices, as Mr. Wallace leaned back and
fanned himself with his hat.

 
          
           
"That's all of the first and second parts; the third is yet to come. When
I know it, I'll tell you; perhaps next summer, if we meet here again."

 
          
           
"Then you know the girl? What is she doing now?" asked Miss Ellery,
who had lost a part of the story as she sat in a shadowy nook with the pensive
Fred.

 
          
           
"We all know her. She is washing a coffee-pot at this moment, I
believe;" and Mr. Wallace pointed to a figure on the beach, energetically
shaking a large tin article that shone in the moonlight.

 
          
           
"Ruth?
Really?
How romantic and
interesting!" exclaimed Miss Ellery, who was just of the age, as were most
of the other girls, to enjoy tales of this sort and imagine sensational
denouements.

 
          
           
"There is a great deal of untold romance in the lives of these toilers of
the sea, and I am sure this good girl will find her reward for the care she
takes of the old man and the boy. It costs her something, I've discovered, for
she wants an education, and could get it if she left this poor place and lived for
herself; but she won't go, and works hard to get money for Grandpa's comfort,
instead of buying the books she longs for. I think, young ladies, that there is
real heroism in cheerfully selling lilies and frying fish for duty's sake when
one longs to be studying, and enjoying a little of the youth that comes but
once," said Mr. Wallace.

 
          
           
"Oh dear, yes, so nice of her!
We might take up a
contribution for her when we get home. I'll head the paper with pleasure and
give all I can afford, for it must be so horrid to be ignorant at her age. I
dare say the poor thing can't even read; just fancy!" and Miss Ellery
clasped her hands with a sigh of pity.

 
          
           
"Very few girls can read fit to be heard now-a-days," murmured Miss
 
 Scott.
 
 

 
          
           
"Don't let them affront her with their money; she will fling it in their
faces as she did that donkey's dollar. You see to her in your nice, delicate
way, Aunty, and give her a lift if she will let you," whispered Captain
John in the old lady's ear.