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 Frontispiece. Page 161. 
 
We AND [THE WORLD. 
 
 A Hook for Boys, 
 
 ‘BY 
 
 JULIANA HORATIA EWING, 
 
 e 77 66 yy 66 
 
 AUTHOR OF JAN OF THE WINDMILL, SIX TO SIXTEEN, A GREATS © 
 
 _ EMERGENCY,”’ ‘‘ MRS, OVERTHEWAY’S REMEMBRANCES,”’ 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W, L. JONES. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY, 
 142 AND 144 WORTH STREET. 
 

 
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 TO MY ELEVEN NEPHEWS, 
 
 WILLIAM, FRANCIS, STEPHEN, PHILIP, LEONARD, 
 
 GODFREY, AND DAVID SMITH; 
 
 REGINALD, NICHOLAS, AND IVOR GATTY; 
 
 AND ALEXANDER SCOTT GATTY. 
 

 
WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 Chay it Ral. 
 
 ** All these common features of English landscape evince a calm 
 and settled security, and hereditary transmission of homebred virtues 
 and local attachments, that speak deeply and touchingly for the 
 moral character of the nation.” 
 
 Washington Irving’s Sketch Book. 
 
 IT was a great saying of my poor mother’s, especially if 
 my father had been out of spirits about the crops, er the 
 rise in wages, or our prospects, and had thought better of 
 it again, and showed her the bright side of things, “Well, 
 my dear, I’m sure we’ve much to be thankful for!” 
 
 Which they had, and especially, I often think, for the 
 fact that I was not the eldest son. I gave them more 
 trouble than I can think of with a comfortable conscience 
 as it was; but they had Jem to tread in my father’s shoes, 
 and he was a good son to them—Gop bless him for it. 
 
 I can remember hearing my father say—‘‘It’s bad 
 enough to have Jack with his nose in a book, and his 
 head in the clouds, on a fine June day, with the hay all 
 out, and the glass falling: but if Jem had been a lad of 
 whims and fancies, I think it would have broken my poor 
 old heart.” ' 
 
 I often wonder what made me bother my head with 
 books, and where the perverse spirit came from that 
 possessed me, and tore me, and drove me forth into the 
 world. It did not come from my parents. My mother’s 
 family were far from being literary or even enterprising, 
 and my father’s people were a race of small yeoman 
 squires, whose talk was of dogs and horses and cattle and 
 
 if . 
 
2 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 the price of hay. We were north-of-England people, but 
 not of acommercial or adventurous class, though we were 
 within easy reach of some of the great manufacturing cen- 
 tres. Quiet country folk we were; old fashioned, and 
 bgastful of our old-fashionedness, albeit it meant little 
 more than that our manners and customs were a genera- 
 tion behindhand of the more cultivated folk, who live 
 nearer to London. We were proud of our name too, 
 which is written in the earliest registers and records of 
 the parish, honourably connected with the land we lived 
 on; but which may be searched for in vain in the lists of 
 great or even learned Englishmen. 
 
 It never troubled dear old Jem that there had not been 
 a man of mark among all the men who had handed on our 
 name from generation to generation. He had no feverish 
 ambitions, and as to books, I doubt if he ever opened a 
 volume, if he could avoid it, after he wore out three horn- 
 books and our mother’s patience in learning his letters— 
 not even the mottle-backed prayer-books which were 
 handed round for family prayers, and out of which we 
 said the psalms for the day, verse about with my father. 
 I generally found the place, and Jem put his arm over 
 my shoulder and read with me. 
 
 He was a yeoman born. I can just remember—when 
 I was not three years old and he was barely four—the 
 fright our mother got from his fearless familiarity with 
 the beasts about the homestead. He and I were playing 
 on the grass plot before the house when Dolly, an ill- 
 tempered dun cow we knew well by sight and name, got 
 into the garden and drew near us. As I sat on the grass 
 —my head at no higher level than the buttercups in the 
 field beyond—Dolly loomed so large above me that I felt 
 frightened and began to cry. But Jem, only conscious 
 that she had no business there, picked up a stick nearly 
 as big as himself, and trotted indignantly to drive her out. 
 Our mother caught sight of him from an upper window, 
 and knowing that the temper of the cow was not to be 
 trusted, she called wildly to Jem, ‘‘Come in, dear, quick! 
 Come in! Dolly’s loose!” 
 
 “‘T drive her out !”? was Master Jem’s reply; and with 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. es 
 
 his little straw hat well on the back of his head, he wad- 
 dled bravely up to the cow, flourishing his stick. The 
 process interested me, and I dried my tears and encour- 
 aged my brother; but Dolly looked sourly at him, and 
 began to lower her horns. 
 
 ‘*¢ Shoo! shoo!” shouted Jem, waving his arms in farm- 
 ing-man fashion, and belabouring Dolly’s neck with the 
 stick. ‘Shoo! shoo!” . 
 
 Dolly planted her forefeet, and dipped her head for a 
 push, but catching another small whack on her face, and 
 more authoritative ‘ Shoos!” she changed her mind, and 
 swinging heavily round, trotted off towards the field, 
 followed by Jem, waving, shouting, and victorious. My 
 mother got out in time to help him to fasten the gate, 
 which he was much too small to do by himself, though, 
 with true squirely instincts, he was trying to secure it. 
 
 But from our earliest days we both lived on intimate 
 terms with all the live stock. ‘Laddie,” an old black 
 cart-horse, was one of our chief friends. Jem and I used 
 to sit, one behind the other, on his broad back, when our 
 little legs could barely straddle across, and to “ grip” with 
 our knees in orthodox fashion was a matter of principle, 
 but impossible in practice. Laddie’s pace was always 
 discreet, however, and I do not think we should have 
 found a saddle any improvement, even as to safety, upon 
 his warm, satin-smooth back. We steered him more by 
 shouts and smacks than by the one short end of a dirty 
 rope which was our apology for reins; that is, if we had 
 any hand in guiding his course. I am now disposed to 
 think that Laddie guided himself. ° 
 
 But our best friends were many. The yellow yard-dog 
 always slobbered joyfully at our approach; partly moved, 
 I fancy, by love for us, and partly by the exciting hope of 
 being let off his chain. When we went into the farmyard 
 the fowls came running to our feet for corn, the pigeons 
 fluttered down over our heads for peas, and the pigs 
 humped themselves against the wall of the sty as tightly 
 as they could lean, in hopes of having their backs 
 scratched. The long sweet faces of the plough horses, as 
 they turned in the furrows, were as familiar to us as the 
 
4 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 faces of any other labourers in our father’s fields, and we 
 got fond of the lambs and ducks and chickens; and got 
 used to their being killed and eaten when our acquaint- 
 ance reached a certain date, like other farm-bred folk, 
 which is one amongst the many proofs of the adaptability 
 of human nature. ° 
 
 So far so good, on my part as well as Jem’s, That I 
 should like the animals “on the place’”—the domesticated 
 animals, the workable animals, the eatable animals—this 
 was right and natural, and befitting my father’s son. But 
 my far greater fancy for wild, queer, useless, mischievous, 
 and even disgusting creatures often got me into trouble, 
 Want of sympathy became absolute annoyance as 1 grew 
 older, and wandered farther, and adopted a perfect 
 menagerie of odd beasts in whom my friends could see 
 no good qualities : such as the snake I kept warm in my 
 trousers-pocket; the stickleback that I am convinced I 
 tamed in his own waters: the toad for whom I built a red 
 house of broken drainpipes at the back of the strawberry 
 bed, where I used to go and tickle his head on the sly: 
 and the long-whiskered rat in the barn, who knew me 
 well, and whose death nearly broke my heart, though I 
 had seen generations of unoffending ducklings pass to the 
 _ kitchen without a tear. 
 
 I think it must have been the beasts that made me take 
 to reading: I was so fond of Buffon’s ‘ Natural History,’ 
 of which there was an English abridgment 1 in the dining- 
 room bookshelves. 
 
 But my happiest reading days began after the book- 
 seller’s agent came round, and teased my father into tak- 
 ing in the ‘Penny Cyclopedia’; and those numbers in 
 which there was a beast, bird, fish, or reptile were the 
 numbers for me! 
 
 I must, however, confess that if a love for reading had 
 been the only way in which I had gone astray from the 
 _ family habits and traditions, I don’t think I should have 
 had much to complain of in the way of blame. 
 
 My father “pish ” ed and “ pshaw ” ed when he caught 
 me ‘poking over” books, but my dear mother was in- 
 clined to regard me as a genius, whose learning might 
 
v 
 . 
 
 WE AND THE WORLD. 5 
 
 bring renown of a new kind into the family. In a quiet 
 way of her own, as she went gently about household mat- 
 ters, or knitted my father’s stockings, she was a great day- 
 dreamer—one of the most unselfish kind, however; a 
 builder of air-castles, for those she loved to dwell in; 
 planned, fitted, and furnished according to the measure of 
 her affections. 
 
 It was perhaps because my father always began by dis- 
 paraging her suggestions that (by the balancing action of 
 some instinctive sense of justice) he almost always ended 
 by adopting them, whether they were wise or foolish. He 
 came at last to listen very tolerantly when she dilated on 
 my future greatness. . 
 
 “And if he isn’t quite so good a farmer as Jem, it’s not 
 as if he were the eldest, you know, my dear. I’m sure 
 we’ve much to be thankful for that dear Jem takes after 
 you as he does. But if Jack turns out a genius, which 
 please God we may live to see and be proud of, he’ll 
 make plenty of money, and he must live with Jem when 
 we’re gone, and let Jem manage it for him, for clever 
 people are never any good at taking care of what they 
 get. And when their families get too big for the old 
 house, love, Jack must build, as he’ll be well able to 
 afford to do, and Jem must let him have the land. The 
 Ladycroft would be as good as anywhere, and a pretty 
 name for the house. It would be a good thing to have 
 some one at that end of the property too, and then the 
 boys would always be together.” 
 
 Poor dear mother! ‘The kernel of her speech lay in 
 the end of it—‘‘ The boys would always be together.” I 
 am sure in her tender heart she blessed my bookish 
 genius, which was to make wealth as well as fame, and so 
 keep me “about the place,” and the home birds for ever 
 in the nest. 
 
 I knew nothing of it then, of course; but at this time 
 she used to turn my father’s footsteps towards the Lady- 
 croft every Sunday, between the services, and never 
 wearied of planning my house. 
 
 She was standing one day, her smooth brow knitted in 
 perplexity, before the big pink thorn, and had stood so 
 
6 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 long absorbed in this brown study, thdt my father said, 
 with a sly smile— 
 
 ‘“¢ Well, love, and where are you now ?”’ 
 
 “In the dairy, my dear,” she answered quite gravely. 
 “The window is to the north of course, and I’m afraid 
 the thorn must come down.” 
 
 My father laughed heartily. He had some sense of 
 humour, but my mother had none. She was one of the 
 sweetest-tempered women that ever lived, and never 
 dreamed that any one was laughing at her. I have heard 
 my father say she lay awake that night, and when he 
 asked her why she could not sleep he found she was fret- 
 ting about the pink thorn. 
 
 “It looked so pretty to-day, my dear; and thorns are 
 so bad to move!” 
 
 My father knew her too well to hope to console her by 
 joking about it. He said gravely: “‘ There’s plenty of 
 time yet, love. The boys are only just in trousers; and 
 we may think of some way to spare it before we come to 
 bricks and mortar.” 
 
 “T’ve thought of it every way, my dear, I’m afraid,” said 
 my mother witha sigh. But she had full confidence in 
 my father—a trouble-shared with him was half-cured, and 
 she soon fell asleep. 
 
 She certainly had a vivid imagination, though it never 
 was cultivated to literary ends. Perhaps, after all, I in- 
 herited that idle fancy, those unsatisfied yearnings of my 
 restless heart, from her! Mental peculiarities are said to 
 come from one’s mother. 
 
 It was Jem who inherited her sweet temper. 
 
 Dear old Jem! He and I were the best of good 
 friends always, and that sweet temper of his had no doubt 
 much to do with it. He was very much led by me, though 
 I was the younger, and whatever mischief we got into it 
 was always my fault. 
 
 It was I who persuaded him to run away from school, 
 under the, as it pscio a insufficient disguise of walnut- 
 juice on our faces and hands. It was I who began to digt | 
 the hole which was to take us through from the kitchen. %: 
 garden to the other side of the world. (Jem helped me *. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. yi 
 
 to fill it up again, when the gardener made a fuss about 
 our having chosen the asparagus-bed as the point of de- 
 parture, which we did because the earth was soft there.) 
 In desert islands or castles, balloons or boats, my hand 
 was first and foremost, and mischief or amusement of 
 every kind, by earth, air, or water, was planned for us by 
 me. 
 
 Now and then, however, Jem could crow over me. 
 How he did deride me when I asked our mother the fool- 
 ish question—‘* Have bees whiskers?” 
 
 The bee who betrayed me into this folly was a bumble 
 of the utmost beauty. The bars of his coat ‘ burned ” 
 
 s “ brightly”’ as those of the tiger in Wombwell’s menag- 
 erie, and his fur was softer than my mother’s black-velvet 
 mantle. I knew, for I had kissed him hghtly as he sat on 
 the window-frame. I had seen him brushing first one 
 side and then the other side of his head, with an action so 
 exactly lke that of my father brushing his whiskers on 
 Sunday morning, that I thought the bee might be trim- 
 ming his; not knowing that he was sweeping the flower- 
 dust off his antennae-with his legs, and putting it into his 
 waistcoat-pocket to make bee bread of. 
 
 It was the liberty I took in kissing him that made him 
 not sit still any more, and hindered me from examining 
 his cheeks for myself. He began to dance all over the 
 window, humming his own tune, and before he got tired of 
 dancing he found a chink open at the top sash, and sailed 
 away like a spot of plush upon the air. 
 
 I had thus no opportunity of becoming intimate with 
 him, but he was the cause of a more lasting friendship— 
 my friendship with Isaac Irvine, the beekeeper. For 
 when I asked that silly question, my mother said, “ Not 
 that I ever saw, love;” and my father said, “Tf he 
 wants to know about bees, he should go to old Isaac. 
 . He’ll tell him plenty of queer stories about them.” 
 
 The first time I saw the beekeeper was in church, on 
 Catechism Sunday, in circumstances which led to my dis- 
 gracing myself in a manner that must have been very 
 annoying to my mother, who had taken infinite pains in 
 teaching us. 
 
8 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 The provoking part of it was that I had not had a fear 
 of breaking down. With poor Jem it was very different. 
 He took twice as much pains as I did, but he could not 
 get things into his head, and even if they did stick there 
 he found it almost harder to say them properly. We 
 began to learn the Catechism when we were three years 
 old, and we went on till long after we were in trousers ; 
 and I am sure Jem never got the three words “and an 
 inheritor,” tidily off the tip of his tongue within my 
 remembrance. And I have seen both him and my 
 mother crying over them on a hot Sunday afternoon. He 
 was always in a fright when we had to say the Catechism 
 in church, and that day, I remember, he shook so that I 
 could hardly stand straight myself, and Bob Furniss, the 
 blacksmith’s son, who stood on the other side of him, 
 whispered quite loud, “ Eh! see thee, how Master Jem 
 dodders /” for.which Jem gave him an eye as black as his 
 father’s shop afterwards, for Jem could use his fists if he 
 could not learn by heart. 
 
 But at the time he could not even compose himself 
 enough to count down the line of boys and calculate what 
 question would come to him. I did, and when he found 
 he had only got the First Commandment, he was more at 
 ease, and though the second, which fell to me, is much 
 longer, I was not in the least afraid of forgetting it, for I 
 could have done the whole of my duty to my neighbour if 
 it had been necessary. 
 
 Jem got through very well, and I could hear my mother 
 blessing him over the top of the pew behind our backs ; 
 but just as he finished, no less than three bees, who had 
 been hovering over the heads of the workhouse boys 
 opposite, all settled down together on Isaac Irvine’s bare 
 hand. 
 
 At the public catechising, which came once a year, and 
 
 after the second lesson at evening prayer, the grown-up. 
 
 members of the congregation used to draw near to the end 
 of their pews to see and hear how we acquitted ourselves, 
 and, as it happened on this particular occasion, Master 
 Isaac was standing exactly opposite to me. As he leaned 
 forward, his hands crossed on the pew-top before him, I 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 9 
 
 had been a good deal fascinated by his face, which was a 
 very noble one in its rugged way, with snow-white hair 
 and intense, keenly observing eyes, and when I saw the 
 three bees settle on him without his seeming to notice it, 
 I cried, “‘They’ll sting you!” before I thought of what I 
 was doing; for I- had been severely stung that week my- 
 self, and knew what it felt like, and how little good powder- 
 blue does. 
 
 With attending to the bees I had not heard the parson 
 say, ‘““Second Commandment?” and as he was rather 
 deaf he did not hear what I said. But of course he knew 
 it was not long enough for the right answer, and he said, 
 ‘Speak up, my boy,” and Jem tried to start me by whis- 
 pering, ‘Thou shalt not make to thyself ”—but the three 
 bees went on sitting on Master Isaac’s hand, and though I | 
 began the Second Commandment, I could not take my eyes 
 off them, and when Master Isaac saw this he smiled and 
 nodded his white head, and said, “Never you mind me, 
 sir. They won’t sting the old beekeeper.” This assertion 
 so completely turned my head that every other idea went 
 out of it, and after saying “ or in the earth beneath ” three 
 times, and getting no further, the parson called out, ‘‘ Third 
 Commandment?” and I was passed over—“ out of respect 
 to the family,” as I was reminded for a twelvemonth 
 afterwards—and Jem pinched my leg to comfort me, and 
 my mother sank down on the seat, and did not take her 
 face out of her pocket-handkerchief till the workhouse 
 boys were saying “ the sacraments.” 
 
 My mother was our only teacher till Jem was nine and 
 I was eight years old. We had a thin, soft-backed reading 
 book, bound in black cloth, on the cover of which in gold 
 letters was its name, ‘ Chick-seed without Chick-weed ;’ 
 and in this book she wrote our names, and the date at the 
 end of each lesson we conned fairly through.. I had got 
 into Part II., which was “in words of four letters,” and 
 had the chapter about the Ship in it, before Jem’s name 
 figured at the end of the chapter about the Dog in Part I. 
 
 My mother was very glad that this chapter seemed to 
 please Jem, and that he learned to read it quickly, for, 
 good-natured as he was, Jem was too fond of fighting and 
 
tO WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 laying about him; and though it was only “in words of 
 three letters,” this brief chapter contained a terrible story 
 and an excellent moral, which I remember well even now. 
 
 It was called ‘The Dog.” 
 
 ‘*Why do you cry? The Dog has bit my leg. Why 
 did he do so? [had my bat and I hit him as he lay on 
 the mat, so he ran at me and bit my leg. Ah, you may 
 not use the bat if you hit the Dog. It is a hot day, and 
 the dog may go mad. One day a Dog bit a boy in the 
 arm, and the boy had his arm cut off, for the dog was 
 mad. And did the boy die? Yes, he did die in a day or 
 two. It is not fit to hit a Dog if he lie on the mat and 
 is not a bad Dog. Do not hit a Dog, or a cat, or a boy.” 
 
 Jem not only got through this lesson much better than 
 usual, but he lingered at my mother’s knees, to point with 
 his own little stumpy forefinger to each recurrence of the 
 words “ hit a Dog,” and read them all by himself. 
 
 ““ Very good boy,” said Mother, who was much pleased. 
 “And now read this last sentence once more, and very 
 nicely.” 
 
 “‘ Do—not—hit—a — dog— or — a—cat—or—a—boy,”’ 
 read Jem in a high sing-song, and with a face of blank in- 
 difference, and then with a hasty dog’s-ear he turned back 
 to the previous page, and spelled out, “I had my bat and 
 I hit him as he lay on the mat” so well, that my mother 
 caught him to her bosom and covered him with kisses. 
 
 “He'll be as good a scholar as Jack yet!” she ex- 
 claimed. “But don’t forget, my darling, that my Jem 
 must never ‘hit a dog, or a cat, or a boy.’ Now, love, 
 you may put the book away.” 
 
 Jem stuck out his lips and looked down, and hesitated. 
 He seemed almost disposed to go on with his lessons. 
 But he changed his mind, and shutting his book with a 
 bang, he scampered off. As he passed the ottoman near 
 the door, he saw Kitty, our old tortoise-shell puss, lying on 
 it, and (moved perhaps by the occurrence of the word cat 
 in the last sentence of the lesson) he gave her such a 
 ~ whack with the flat side of ‘ Chick-seed’ that she bounced 
 up into the air like a sky-rocket, Jem crying out as he did 
 so, “ I had my bat, and I hit him as he lay on the mat.” 
 
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WE AND THE WORLD. I] 
 
 It was seldom enough that Jem got anything by heart, 
 but he had certainly learned this; for when an hour later 
 I went to look for him in the garden, I found him panting 
 with the exertion of having laid my nice, thick, fresh green 
 crop of mustard and cress flat with the back of the coal- 
 shovel, which he could barely lift, but with which he was 
 still battering my salad-bed, chanting triumphantly at 
 every stroke, ‘‘I had my bat, and I hit him as he lay on 
 the mat.” He was quite out of breath, and I had not 
 much difficulty in pummelling him as he deserved. 
 
 Which shows how true it is, as my dear mother said, 
 that “ you never know what to do for the best in bringing 
 up boys.” 
 
 _ Just about the time that we outgrew ‘ Chick-seed’ and 
 
 that it was allowed on all hands that even for quiet 
 country-folk with no learned notions it was high time we 
 were sent to school, our parents were spared the trouble 
 of looking out for a school for us by the fact that a school 
 came to us instead, and nothing less than an “‘ Academy” 
 was opened within of a mile of my father’s 
 gate. 
 
 Walnut-tree Farm was an old house that stood some 
 little way from the road in our favourite lane—a lane full 
 of wild roses and speedwell, with a tiny footpath of dis- 
 jointed flags like an old pack-horse track. Grass and 
 milfoil grew thickly between the stones, and the turf 
 stretched halfway over the road from each side, for there 
 was little traffic in the lane, beyond the yearly rumble of 
 the harvesting waggons; and few foot-passengers, except 
 a labourer now and then, a pair or two of rustic lovers at 
 sundown, a few knots of children in the blackberry sea- 
 son and the cows coming home to milking. 
 
 _ Jem and I played there a good deal, but then we lived 
 close by. 
 
 We were very fond of the old place and there were two 
 good reasons for the charm it had in our eyes. In the 
 first place the old man who lived alone in it (for it had 
 ceased to be the dwelling-house of a real farm) was an 
 eccentric old miser, the chief object of whose existence 
 seemed to be to thwart any attempt to pry into the daily 
 
{2 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 details of it. What manner of stimulus this was to boyish 
 curiosity needs no explanation, much as it needs excuse. 
 
 In the second place, Walnut-tree Farm was so utterly 
 different from the house which was our home, that every- 
 thing about it was attractive from mere unaccustomed- 
 ness. 
 
 Our house had been rebuilt from the foundations by 
 my father. It was square-built and very ugly, but it was 
 in such excellent repair that one could never indulge a 
 more lawless fancy towards any chink or cranny about it 
 than a desire to “ point”’ the same with a bit of mortar. 
 
 Why it was that my ancestor, who built the old house, 
 and who was not a bit better educated or farther-travelled 
 than my father, had built a pretty one, whilst my father 
 built an ugly one, is one of the many things I do not 
 know, and wish I did. : 
 
 From the old sketches of it which my grandmother 
 painted on the parlour handscreens, I think it must have 
 been like a larger edition of the farm; that is, with long 
 mullioned windows, a broad and gracefully proportioned 
 doorway with several shallow steps and quaintly-orna- 
 mented lintel; bits of fine work and ornamentation about 
 the woodwork here and there, put in as if they had been 
 done, not for the look of the thing, but for the love of it, 
 and whitewash over the house-front, and over the apple- 
 trees in the orchard. 
 
 That was what our ancestors’ home was like; and it 
 was the sort of house that became Walnut-tree Academy, 
 where Jem and I went to school. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 13 
 
 ‘ 
 
 CHAPTER: IT; 
 
 Sable :—“ Ha, you! A little more upon the dismal (forming their 
 countenances) ; this fellow has a good mortal look, place him near the 
 corpse ; that wainscot face must be o’ top of the stairs ; that fellow’s 
 almost in a fright (that looks as if he were full of some strange mis- 
 ery) at the end of the hall. So—but I’ll fix you all myself. Let’s 
 have no laughing now on any provocation. 
 
 The Funeral.—STEELE. 
 
 AT one time I really hoped to make the acquaintance of 
 the old miser of Walnut-tree Farm. It was when we 
 saved the life of his cat. 
 
 He was very fond of that cat, I think, and it was, to 
 say the least of it, as eccentric-looking as its master. 
 One eye was yellow and the other was blue, which gave it 
 a strange, uncanny expression, and its rust-coloured fur 
 was not common either as to tint or markings. 
 
 How dear old Jem did belabour the boy we found tor- 
 turing it! He was much older and bigger than we were, 
 but we were two to one, which we reckoned fair enough, 
 considering his size, and that the cat had to be saved 
 somehow. ‘The poor thing’s fore-paws were so much hurt 
 that it could not walk, so we carried it to the farm, and I 
 stood on the shallow doorsteps, and under the dial, on 
 which was written— 
 
 “'Tempora mutantur ! ”— 
 
 and the old miser came out, and we told him about the 
 cat, and he took it and said we were good boys, and I 
 hoped he would have asked us to go in, but he did not, 
 though we lingered a little; he only put his hand into his 
 pocket, and very slowly brought out sixpence. 
 
 “No, thank you,” said I rather indignantly. “We 
 don’t want anything for saving the poor cat.” 
 
 “‘T am very fond of it,” he said apologetically, and put- 
 ting the sixpence carefully back; but I believe he alluded 
 to the cat. 
 
14 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 I felt more and more strongly that he ought to invite 
 us into the parlour—if there was a parlour—and I took 
 advantage of a backward movement on his part to move 
 one shallow step nearer, and said, in an easy conversa- 
 tional tone, “ Your cat has very curious eyes.” 
 
 He came out again, and his own eyes glared in the 
 evening light as he touched me with one of his fingers in 
 a way that made me shiver, and said, “ If I had been an 
 old woman, and that cat had lived with me in the days 
 when this house was built, I should have been hanged, 
 or burned as a witch. ‘Twelve men would have done 
 it—twelve reasonable and respectable men?” He 
 paused, looking over my head at the sky, and then 
 added, “‘ But in all good conscience, mind, in all good con- 
 science!” 
 
 And after another pause he touched me again (this 
 time my teeth chattered), and whispered loudly in my 
 ear, ‘‘ Never serve ona jury!’ After which he banged 
 the door in our faces, and Jem caught hold of my jacket 
 and cried, “ Oh! he’s quite mad, he’ll murder us!” and 
 we took each other by the hand and ran home as fast as 
 our feet would carry us. 
 
 We never saw the old miser again, for he died some 
 months afterwards, and, strange to relate, Jem and I were 
 invited to the funeral. 
 
 It was a funeral not to be forgotten. The old man had 
 left the money for it, and a memorandum, with the mi- 
 nutest directions, in the hands of his lawyer. If he had 
 wished to be more popular after his death than he had 
 been in his lifetime, he could not have hit upon any bet- 
 ter plan to conciliate in a lump the approbation of his 
 neighbours than that of providing for what undertakers 
 call “a first-class funeral.” ‘The good custom of honour- 
 ing the departed, and committing their bodies to the 
 earth with care and respect, was carried, in our old- 
 fashioned neighbourhood, to a point at which what began 
 Jn reverence ended in what was barely decent, and what 
 was meant to be most melancholy became absolutely 
 comical. But a sense of the congruous and the incon- 
 gruous was not cultivated amongst us, whereas solid-value 
 
: 
 
 WE AND THE WORLD. 15 
 
 (in size, quantity and expense) was perhaps overesti- 
 mated. So our furniture, our festivities, and our funerals 
 bore witnéss. 
 
 No one had ever seen the old miser’s furniture, and he 
 gave no festivities ; but he made up for it in his funeral. 
 
 Children, like other uneducated classes, enjoy domestic 
 details, and going over the ins and outs of other people’s 
 affairs behind their backs; especially when the interest 
 
 . is heightened by a touch of gloom, or perfected by the 
 
 addition of some personal importance in the matter. Jem 
 and I were always fond of funerals, but this funeral, and 
 the fuss that it made in the parish, we were never likely 
 to forget. 
 
 Even our own household was so demoralised by the 
 grim gossip of the occasion that Jem and I were accused 
 of being unable to amuse ourselves, and of listening to 
 our elders. It was perhaps fortunate for us that a 
 favourite puppy died the day before the funeral, and 
 
 gave us the opportunity of burying him. 
 
 “ As if our whole vocation 
 
 Were endless imitation nd 
 
 
 
 Jem and I had already laid our gardens waste, and built 
 a rude wall of broken bricks round them to make a 
 church-yard ; and I can clearly remember that we had so 
 far profited by what we had overheard among ‘our elders, 
 that I had caught up some phrases which I was rather 
 proud of displaying, and that I quite overawed Jem by 
 the air with which I spoke of “the melancholy occasion ” 
 —the “ wishes of deceased’”’—and the “feelings of sur- 
 vivors ’’ when we buried the puppy. 
 
 It was understood that I could not attend the puppy’s 
 funeral in my proper person, because I wished to be the 
 undertaker; but the happy thought struck me of putting 
 my wheelbarrow alongside of the brick wall with a note 
 inside it to the effect that I had “sent my carriage as a 
 mark of respect.” 
 
 In one point we could not emulate the real funeral ; 
 that was carried out “regardless of expense.” The old 
 
16 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 miser had left a long list of the names of the people who 
 were to be invited to it and to its attendant feast, in which 
 was not only my father’s name, but Jem’s and mine. 
 Three yards was the correct length of the black silk 
 scarves which it was the custom in the neighbourhood to 
 send to dead people’s friends ; but the old miser’s funeral- 
 scarves were a whole yard longer, and of such stiffly ribbed 
 silk that Mr. Soot, the mourning draper, assured ‘my © 
 mother that “it would stand of itself.” The black gloves 
 cost six shillings a pair, and the sponge-cakes, which used 
 to be sent with the gloves and scarves, were on this 
 occasion ornamented with weeping willows in white 
 sugar. 
 
 Jem and I enjoyed the cake, but the pride we felt in our 
 scarves and gloves was simply boundless. What pleased 
 us particularly was that our funeral finery was not enclosed 
 with my father’s. Mr. Soot’s man delivered three separate 
 envelopes at the door, and they looked like letters from’ 
 some bereaved giant. ‘The envelopes were twenty inches 
 by fourteen, and made of cartridge-paper; the black 
 boarder was two inches deep, and the black seals must 
 have consumed a stick of sealing-wax among them. They 
 contained the gloves and the scarves, which were lightly 
 gathered together in the middle with knots of black gauze 
 ribbon. 
 
 How exquisitely absurd Jem and I must have looked 
 with four yards of stiff black silk attached to our little hats 
 I can imagine, if I cannot clearly remember. My dear 
 mother dressed us and saw us off (for, with some curious 
 relic of pre-civilised notions, women were not allowed to 
 appear at funerals), and Ido not think she perceived any- 
 thing odd in our appearance. She was very gentle, and 
 approved of everything that was considered right by the 
 people she was used to, and she had only two anxieties 
 about our scarves: first, that they should show the full 
 four yards of respect to the memory of the deceased ; and 
 secondly, that we should keep them out of the dust, so 
 that they might “ come in useful afterwards.” 
 
 She fretted a little because she had not thought of 
 changing our gloves for smaller sizes (they were eight and 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 17 
 
 a quarter); but my father “ pish”ed and “ pshaw’ed, and 
 said it was better than if they had been too small, and 
 that we should be sure to be late if my mother went on 
 fidgeting. So we pulled them on—with ease—and picked 
 up the tails of our hatbands—with difficulty—and followed 
 my father, our hearts beating with pride, and my mother 
 and the maids watching us from the door. We arrived 
 quite half an hour earlier than we need have done, but the 
 Lane was already crowded with complimentary carriages, 
 and curious bystanders, before whom we held our heads 
 and hatbands up; and the scent of the wild roses was lost 
 for that day in an all-pervading atmosphere of black dye. 
 We were very tired, I remember, by the time that our turn 
 came to be put into a carriage by Mr. Soot, who mur- 
 mured—“ Pocket handkerchiefs, gentlemen ’’—and, fol- 
 lowing the example of a very pale-faced stranger who was 
 with us, we drew out the clean handkerchiefs with which 
 -our mother had supplied us, and covered our faces with 
 them. 
 
 At least Jem says he shut Zzs eyes tight, and kept his 
 face covered the whole way, but he always was.so 
 conscientious! I held my handkerchief as well as I 
 -could with my gloves; but I contrived to peep from 
 behind it, and to see the crowd that lined the road to 
 watch us as we wound slowly on. 
 
 If these outsiders, who only saw the procession and the 
 funeral, were moved almost to enthusiasm by the miser’s 
 post-mortem liberality, it may be believed that the guests 
 who were bidden to the feast did not fail to obey the 
 ancient precept, and speak well of the dead. ‘The tables 
 (they were rickety) literally groaned under the weight of 
 eatables and drinkables, and the dinner was so prolonged 
 that Jem and I got terribly tired, in spite of the fun of 
 watching the faces of the men we did not know, to see 
 which got the reddest. 
 
 My father wanted us to go home before the reading of 
 the will, which took place in the front parlour; but the 
 lawyer said, ‘‘ I think the young gentlemen should remain,” 
 for which we were very much obliged to him; though the 
 
 pale-faced man said quite crossly—‘ Is there any special 
 2 
 
18 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 reason for crowding the room with children, who are not 
 even relatives of the deceased?” which made us feel so 
 much ashamed that I think we should have slipped out by 
 ourselves ; but the lawyer, who made no answer, pushed 
 us gently before him to the top of the room, which was 
 soon far too full to get out of by the door. 
 
 It was very damp and musty. In several places the 
 paper hung in great strips from the walls, and the oddest 
 part of all was that every article of furniture in the room, 
 and even the hearthrug, was covered with sheets of news- 
 paper pinned over to preserve it. I satin the corner of a 
 sofa, where I could read the trial of a man who murdered 
 somebody twenty-five years before, but I never got to the 
 end of it, for it went on behind a very fat man who sat 
 next to me, and he leaned back all the time and hid it. 
 Jem sat ona little footstool, and fell asleep with his head 
 on my knee, and did not wake till I nudged him, when 
 our names were read out in the will. Even then he only 
 half awoke, and the fat man drove his elbow into me and 
 hurt me dreadfully for whispering in Jem’s ear that the 
 old miser had left us ten pounds apiece, for having saved 
 the life of his cat. 
 
 I do not think any of the strangers (they were distant 
 connections of the old man; he had no near relations) 
 had liked our being there ; and the lawyer, who was very 
 kind, had had to tell them several times over that we really 
 had been invited to the funeral. After our legacies were 
 known about they were so cross that we managed to 
 scramble through the window, and wandered round the 
 garden. As we sat under the trees we could hear high ° 
 words within, and by-and-by all the men came out and 
 talked in angry groups about the will. For when all was 
 said and done, it appeared that the old miser had not left 
 a penny to any one of the funeral party but Jem and me, 
 and that he had left Walnut-tree Farm to a certain Mrs, 
 Wood, of whom nobody knew anything. 
 
 “The wording is so peculiar,” the fat man said to the 
 pale-faced man and a third who had come out with them, 
 ““left to her as a sign of sympathy, if not an act of 
 reparation.’ He must have known whether he owed her 
 any reparation or not, if he were in his senses.” 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 19 
 
 “Exactly. If he were in his senses,” said the third 
 man. 
 
 ‘“Where’s the money ?—that’s what I say,” said the 
 pale-faced man. 
 
 “Exactly, sir. That’s what 7 say, too,” said the fat 
 man. 
 
 ‘““There are only two fields, besides the house,” said 
 the third. ‘“ He must have had money, and the lawyer 
 knows of no investments of any kind, he says.” 
 
 “Perhaps he has left it te his cat,” he added, looking 
 very nastily at Jem and me. 
 
 “Tt’s oddly put, too,’’ murmured the pale-faced relation. 
 “The two fields, the house and furniture, and everything 
 of every sort therein contained.” And the lawyer coming 
 up at that moment, he went slowly back into the house, 
 looking about him as he went, as if he had lost some- 
 thing. 
 
 As the lawyer approached, the fat man got very red in 
 the face. 
 
 Siie wasias mad as a? hatter, sir,” he. said, “and we 
 shall dispute the will.” 
 
 ‘“‘T think you will be wrong,” said the lawyer blandly. 
 ‘“‘ He was eccentric, my dear sir, very eccentric ; but eccen- 
 tricity is not insanity, and you will find that the will will 
 stand.” 
 
 Jem and I were sitting on an old garden-seat, but the 
 men had talked without.paying any attention to us. At 
 this moment Jem, who had left me a minute or two before, 
 came running back and said: “Jack! Do come and 
 look in at the parlour-window. That man with the white 
 face is peeping everywhere, and under all the newspapers, 
 and he’s made himself so dusty! It’s such fun!” 
 
 Too happy at the prospect of anything in the shape of 
 fun, I followed Jem on tiptoe, and when we stood by the 
 open window with our hands over our mouths to keep 
 us from laughing, the pale-faced man was just struggling 
 with the inside lids of an old japanned tea-caddy. 
 
 He did not see us, he was too busy, and he did not 
 hear us, for he was talking to himself, and we heard him 
 say, ‘“ Everything of every sort therein contained.” 
 
20 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 I suppose the lawyer was right, and that the fat man 
 was convinced of it, for neither he nor any one else 
 disputed the old miser’s will. Jem and I each opened an 
 account in the Savings Bank, and Mrs. Wood came into 
 possession of the place. 
 
 Public opinion went up and down a good deal about 
 the old miser still. When it leaked out that he had 
 worded the invitation to his funeral to the effect that 
 being quite unable to tolerate the follies of his fellow- 
 creatures, and the antics and absurdities which were 
 necessary to entertain them, he had much pleasure in 
 welcoming his neighbours to a feast, at which he could 
 not reasonably be expected to preside—everybody who 
 heard it agreed that he must have been mad. 
 
 But it was a long sentence to remember, and not a very 
 easy one to understand, and those who saw the plumes 
 and the procession, and those who had a talk with the 
 undertaker, and those who got a yard more than usual 
 of such very good black silk, and those who were able to 
 remember what they had had for dinner, were all charita- 
 bly inclined to believe that the old man’s heart had not 
 been far from being in the right place, at whatever angle 
 his head had been set on. 
 
 And then by degrees curiosity moved to Mrs. Wood. 
 Who was she? What was she like? What was she to 
 the miser? Would she live at the farm? 
 
 To some of these questions the carrier, who was the 
 first to see her, replied. She was “a quiet, genteel-look- 
 ing sort of a grey-haired widow lady, who looked as if 
 she’d seen a deal of trouble, and was badly off.” 
 
 The neighbourhood was not unkindly, and many folk 
 were ready to be civil to the widow if she came to live 
 there. 
 
 “But she never will,” everybody said. ‘She must let 
 it. Perhaps the new doctor might think of it at a low 
 rent, he’d be glad of the field for his horse. What could 
 she do with an old place like that, and not a penny to 
 keep it up with?” 
 
 What she did do was to have a school there, and that 
 was how Walnut-tree Farm became Walnut-tree Academy. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. ZI 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 “What are little boys made of, made of ? 
 What are little boys made of?” 
 Nursery Rhyme. 
 
 WHEN the school was opened, Jem and I were sent 
 there at once. Everybody said it was “time we were 
 sent somewhere,” and that “we were getting too wild 
 for home.” 
 
 I got so tired of hearing this at last, that one day I was 
 goaded to reply that “home was getting too tame for 
 me.” And Jem, who always backed me up, said, “ And 
 me too.” For which piece of swagger we forfeited our 
 suppers ; but when we went to bed we found pieces of 
 cake under our pillows, for my mother could not bear us 
 to be short of food, however badly we behaved. 
 
 I do not know whether the trousers had anything to do 
 with it, but about the time that Jem and I were put into 
 trousers we lived in a chronic state of behaving badly. 
 What makes me feel particularly ashamed in thinking of 
 it is, that I know it was not that we came under the 
 pressure of any overwhelming temptations to misbehave 
 and yielded through weakness, but that, according to 
 an expressive nursery formula, we were ‘‘ seeing how 
 naughty we could be.” I think we were genuinely anx- 
 ious to see this undesirable climax ; in some measure as 
 a matter of experiment, to which all boys are prone, and 
 in which dangerous experiments, and experiments likely 
 to be followed by explosion, are naturally preferred. 
 Partly too from an irresistible impulse to “raise a row,” 
 and: take one’s luck of the results. This craving to 
 disturb the calm current of events, and the good conduct 
 and composure of one’s neighbours as a matter of diver- 
 sion, must be incomprehensible by phlegmatic people, 
 who never feel it, whilst some Irishmen, I fancy, never 
 quite conquer it, perhaps because they never quite 
 cease to be boys. In any degree I do not for an 
 
22 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 instant excuse it, and in excess it must be simply intoler- 
 able by better-regulated minds. 
 
 But really boys who are pickles should be put into jars 
 with sound stoppers, like other pickles, and I wonder 
 that mothers and cooks do not get pots like those that 
 held the forty thieves, and do it. 
 
 I fancy it was because we happened to be in this 
 rough, defiant, mischievous mood, just about the time 
 that Mrs. Wood opened her school, that we did not partic- 
 ularly like our schoolmistress. If I had been fifteen 
 years older, I should soon have got beyond the first im- 
 pression created by her severe dress, close widow’s cap 
 and straight grey hair, and have discovered that the out- 
 line of her face was absolutely beautiful, and I might 
 possibly have detected, what most people failed to detect, 
 that an odd unpleasing effect, caused by the contrast be- 
 tween her general style, and an occasional lightness and 
 rapidity and grace of movement in her slender figure, 
 came from the fact that she was much younger than she 
 looked and affected to be. The impression I did receive 
 of her appearance I communicated to my mother in far 
 from respectful pantomime. 
 
 ‘Well, love, and what do you think of Mrs. Wood?” 
 said she. 
 
 “‘T think,” chanted I, in that high brassy pitch of voice 
 which Jem and I had adopted for this bravado period of 
 our existence—‘“ I think she’s like-our old white hen that 
 turned up its eyes and died of the pip. Lack-a-daisy-dee ! 
 Lack-a-daisy-dee !”’ 
 
 And I twisted my body about, and strolled up and 
 down the room with a supposed travestie of Mrs. Wood’s 
 movements, 
 
 “So she is,” said faithful Jem. ‘ Lack-a-daisy-dee ! 
 Lack-a-daisy-dee !” and he wriggled about after me, and 
 knocked over the Berlin wool-basket. 
 
 “Oh dear, oh dear!” said our poor mother. 
 
 Jem righted the basket, and I took a run and a flying leap 
 over it, and having cleared it successfully, took another, 
 and yet another, each one soothing my feelings to the 
 extent by which it shocked my mother’s, At the third 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 23 
 
 bound, Jem, not to be behindhand, uttered a piercing yell 
 from behind the sofa. 
 
 “Good gracious, what’s the matter?” cried my 
 mother. 
 
 “It’s the war-whoop of the Objibway Indians,” I 
 
 promptly explained, and having emitted another, to which 
 I flattered myself Jem’s had been as nothing for hideous- 
 ness, we departed in file to raise a row in the kitchen. 
 - Summer passed into autumn. Jem and I really liked 
 going to school, but it was against our principles at 
 that time to allow that we liked anything that we ought to 
 like. 
 
 Some sincere but mistaken efforts to improve our prin- 
 ciples were made, I remember, by a middle-aged single 
 lady, who had known my mother in her girlhood, and who 
 was visiting her at this unlucky stage of our career. 
 Having failed to cope with us directly, she adopted the 
 plan of talking improvingly to our mother and at us, and 
 very severe some of her remarks were, and I don’t believe 
 that Mother liked them any better than we did. 
 
 The severest she ever made were I think heightened in 
 their severity by the idea that we were paying unusual 
 attention, as we sat on the floor a little behind her one 
 day. We were paying a great deal of attention, but it 
 was not so much to Miss Martin as toa stock of woodlice 
 which I had collected, and which I was arranging on the 
 carpet that Jem might see how they roll themselves into 
 smooth tight balls when you tease them. But at last she 
 talked so that we could not help attending. I dared not 
 say anything to her, but her own tactics were available. 
 I put the woodlice back in my pocket, and stretching my 
 arms yawningly above my head, I said to Jem, “‘ How dull 
 itis! I wish I were a bandit.” 
 
 Jem generally outdid me if possible, from sheer willing- 
 ness and loyalty of spirit. 
 
 “‘ 7 should like to be a burglar,” said he. 
 
 And than we both left the room very quietly and 
 politely. But when we got outside I said, “I hate that 
 woman.” 
 
 “So do I,” said Jem; “she regularly hectors over 
 mother—I hate her worst for that.” 
 
24 : WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “So doI. Jem, doesn’t she take pills?” 
 
 “T don’t know—why ?” 
 
 “T believe she does; I’m certain I saw a box on her 
 dressing-table. Jem, run like a good chap and see, 
 and if there is one, empty out the pills and bring me the 
 pill-box.” 
 
 Jem obeyed, and I sat down on the stairs and began to 
 get the woodlice out again. ‘There were twelve nice little 
 black balls in my hand when: Jem came back with the pill- 
 box. 
 
 “Hooray!” I cried; “ but knock out all the powder, 
 it might smother them. Now give it to me.” 
 
 Jem danced with delight when I put the woodlice in 
 and put on the lid. 
 
 “1 hope she’ll shake the box before she opens it,” I 
 said as we replaced it on the dressing-table. 
 
 “T hope she will, or they won’t be tight. Oh, Jack! 
 Jack! How many do you suppose she takes at a 
 time 2?” 
 
 We never knew, and what is more, we never knew what 
 became of the woodlice, for, for some reason, she kept 
 our counsel as well as her own about the pill-box. 
 
 One thing that helped to reconcile us to spending a 
 good share of our summer days in Walnut-tree Academy 
 was that the schoolmistress made us very comfortable. 
 Boys at our age are not very sensitive about matters of 
 taste and colour and so forth, but even we discovered that 
 Mrs. Wood had that knack of adapting réoms to their 
 inhabitants, and making them pleasant to the eye, which 
 seems to be a trick at the end of some people’s fingers, 
 and quite unlearnable by others. When she had made the 
 old miser’s rooms to her mind, we might have understood, 
 if we had speculated about it, how it was that she had not 
 profited by my mother’s sound advice to send all his 
 “‘rubbishy odds and ends” (the irregularity and ricketi- 
 ness and dustiness of which made my mother shudder) to 
 be “sold at the nearest auction-rooms, and buy some 
 good solid furniture of the cabinet-maker who furnished 
 for everybody in the neighbourhood, which would be the 
 cheapest in the long-run, besides making the rooms look 
 
G 
 gen 
 
 (HAL 
 
 ity 
 
 
 
 ‘CTHERE WERE TWELVE NICE LITTLE BLACK BALLS IN 
 MY HAND WHEN JEM CAME BACK WITH THE PILL BOX.” 
 
 Page 24. 
 
 D 
 
LIBRARY 
 “OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 26 
 
 like other people’s at last.” That she evaded similar rec- 
 ommendations of paperhangers and upholsterers, and of 
 wall-papers and carpets, and curtains with patterns that 
 would “stand,” and wear best, and show dirt least, was a 
 trifle in the eyes of all good housekeepers, when our farm- 
 ing-man’s daughter brought the amazing news with her to 
 Sunday tea, that “the missus ” had had in old Sally, and 
 had torn the paper off the parlour, and had made Sally 
 ‘“‘limewash the walls, for all the world as if it was a 
 cellar.” Moreover, she had ‘‘ gone over” the lower part 
 herself, and was now painting on the top of that. There 
 was nothing for it, after this news, but to sigh and con- 
 clude that there was something about the old place which 
 made everybody a little queer who came to live in it. 
 
 But when Jem and I saw the parlour (which was now 
 the school-room), we decided that it ‘looked very nice,” 
 and was “uncommonly comfortable.” The change was 
 certainly amazing, and made the funeral day seem longer 
 ago than it really was. The walls were not literally lime- 
 washed ; but (which is the same thing, except for a little 
 glue!) they were distempered, a soft pale pea-green. 
 About a yard deep above the wainscot this was covered 
 with a dark sombre green tint, and along the upper edge 
 of this, asa border all around the room, the schoolmistress 
 had painted a trailing wreath of ‘white periwinkle. The 
 border was painted with the same materials as the walls, 
 and with very rapid touches. The white flowers were 
 skilfully relieved by the dark ground, and the varied tints 
 of the leaves, from the deep evergreen of the old ones to 
 the pale yellow of the young shoots, had demanded no new 
 colours, and were wonderfully life- like and pretty. There 
 was another border, right round the top of the room ; but 
 that was painted on paper and fastened on. It was a 
 Bible text—‘‘ Keep Innocency, and take heed to the thing 
 that is right, for that shall bring aman Peace at the last.” 
 And Mrs. Wood had done the text also. 
 
 There were no curtains to the broad, mullioned window, 
 which was kept wide open at every lattice; and one long 
 shoot of ivy that had pushed in farther than the rest had 
 been seized, and pinned to the wall inside, where its 
 
 ee 
 
26 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 growth was a subject of study and calculation, during the 
 many moments when we were “trying to see ” how little 
 we could learn of our lessons. ‘The black board stood on 
 a polished easel; but the low seats and desks were of 
 plain pine like the flaor, and they were scrupulously 
 scrubbed. The cool tint of the walls was somewhat 
 cheered by coloured maps and prints, and the schoolmis- 
 tress’s chair (an old carved oak one that had been much 
 revived by beeswax and turpentine since the miser’s days) 
 stood on the left-hand side of the window—under “ Keep 
 Innocency,” and looking towards “ Peace at the last.” I 
 know, for when we were all writing or something of that 
 sort, sq that she could sit still, she used to sit with her 
 hands folded and look up at it, which was what made Jem 
 and me think of the old white hen that turned up its eyes; 
 and made Horace Simpson say that he believed she had 
 done one of the letters wrong, and could not help looking 
 at it, to see if it showed. And by the schoolmistress’s 
 chair was the lame boy’s sofa. It was the very old sofa 
 covered with newspapers on which I had read about the 
 murder, when the lawyer was reading the will. But she 
 had taken off the paper, and covered it with turkey red, 
 and red cushions, and a quilt of brown holland and red 
 bordering, to hide his crumpled legs, so that he looked 
 quite comfortable. | 
 
 I remember so well the first day that he came. His 
 father was a parson on the moors, and this boy had always 
 wanted to go to school in spite of his infirmity, and at 
 last his father brought him in a light cart down from the 
 moors, to look at it; and when he got him out of the 
 cart, he carried him in. He was a big man, I remember, 
 with grey hair and bent shoulders, and a very old coat, 
 for it split a little at one of the seams as he was carrying 
 him in, and we laughed. 
 
 When they got into the room, he put the boy down, 
 keeping his arm round him, and wiped his face and said— 
 ** How deliciously cool !”—and the boy stared all round 
 with his great eyes, and then he lifted them to his father’s 
 
 face and said—* I’ll come here. I do like it. But not.- 
 
 to-day, my back is so bad.” 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. Qe 
 
 And what makes me know that Horace was wrong, 
 and that Mrs. Wood had made no mistake about the 
 letters of the text, is that “ Cripple Charlie ””—as we 
 called him—could see it so well with lying down. And 
 he told me one day that when his back was very bad, and 
 he got the fidgets and could not keep still, he used to fix 
 his eyes on “ Peace,” which had gold round the letters, 
 and shone, and that if he could keep steadily to it, for a 
 good bit, he always fell asleep at the last. But he was 
 very fanciful, poor chap! 
 
 I donot think it was because Jem and I had any real 
 wish to become burglars that we made a raid on the 
 walnuts that autumn. I do not even think that we, cared 
 very much about the walnuts themselves. ~ 
 
 But when it is understood that the raid was to be a raid 
 by night, or rather in those very early hours of the morn- 
 ing which real burglars are said almost to prefer; that it 
 was necessary to provide ourselves with thick sticks; 
 _ that we should have to force the hedge and climb the 
 trees; that the said trees grew directly under the owner’s 
 bedroom window, which made the chances of detection 
 hazardously great; and that walnut juice (as I have men- 
 tioned before) is of a peculiarly unaccommodating nature, 
 since it will neither disguise you at the time nor wash 
 off afterwards—it will be obvious that the dangers and 
 delights of the adventure were sufficient to blunt, for the 
 moment, our sense of the.fact that we were deliberately 
 going a-thieving. 
 
 “ Shall we wear black masks ?” said Jem. 
 
 On the whole I said “‘No,’’ for I did not know where 
 we should get them, nor, if we did, how we should keep 
 them on. 
 
 “If she has a blunderbuss, and fires,” said I, “‘ you must 
 duck your head, remember; but if she springs the rattle 
 we must cut and run.” 
 
 “Will her blunderbuss be loaded, do you think?” asked 
 Jem. ‘ Mother says the one in ¢ezr room isn’t ; she told 
 meso on Saturday. But she says we’re never to touch 
 it, all the same, for you never can be sure about things of 
 that sort going off. Do you think Mrs, Wood’s will be 
 loaded?” | : 
 
28 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “Tt may be,” said I, “and of course she might load it 
 if she thought,she heard robbers.” 
 
 ‘““T heard father say that if you shoot a burglar outside 
 it’s murder,” said Jem, who seemed rather troubled by the 
 thought of the blunderbuss ; “ but if you shoot him inside 
 it’s self-defence.” 
 
 ‘Well, you may spring a rattle outside, anyway,” said 
 I, “ and if hersmakes as much noise as ours, it’ll be heard 
 all the way here. So mind, if she begins, you must jump 
 down and cut home like mad.” 
 
 Armed with these instructions and our thick sticks, 
 Jem and I crept out of the house before the sun was up 
 or a bird awake. ‘The air seemed cold after our warm 
 beds, and the dew was so drenching in the hedge bottoms, 
 and on the wayside weeds of our favourite lane, that we 
 were soaked to the knees before we began to force the 
 hedge. I did not think that grass and wild flowers could 
 have held so much wet. By the time that we had crossed 
 the orchard, and I was preparing to grip the grandly 
 scored trunk of the nearest walnut-tree with my chilly legs, 
 the heavy peeling, the hard cracking, and the tedious pick- 
 ing of a green walnut was as little pleasurable a notion 
 as I had in my brain. 
 
 All the same, I said (as firmly as my chattering teeth 
 would allow) that I was very glad we had come when we 
 did, for that there certainly were fewer walnuts on the 
 tree than there had been the day before. 
 
 ‘“‘ She’s been at them, ” said I, almost indignantly. 
 
 “Pickling,” responded Jem with gloomy conciseness ; 
 and spurred by this discovery to fresh enthusiasm for our 
 exploit, we promptly planned operations. 
 
 “T’ll goup the tree,’ said I, ‘‘and beat, and you can 
 pick them as they fall.” 
 
 Jem was, I fear, only too well accustomed to my arro- 
 gating the first place in our joint undertakings, and after 
 giving me ‘“‘a leg up” to an available bit of foothold, and 
 handing up my stick, he waited patiently below to gather 
 what I beat down. 
 
 The walnuts were few and far between, to say nothing 
 of leaves between, which in walnut-trees are large. The 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 29 
 
 morning twilight was dim, my hands were cold and feebler 
 than my resolution. I had battered down a lot of leaves 
 and twigs, and two or three walnuts; the sun had got up 
 at last, but rather slowly, as if he found the morning 
 chillier than he expected, and a few rays were darting 
 here and there across the lane, when Jem gave a warning 
 “Hush!” and I left off rustling in time to hear Mrs. 
 Wood’s bedroom lattice opened, and to catch sight of 
 something pushed out into the morning mists. 
 
 ““Who’s there?” said the schoolmistress. 7 
 
 Neither Jem nor I took upon us to inform her, and we 
 were both seized with anxiety to know what was atthe 
 window. He was too low down and I too much buried in 
 foliage to see clearly. Was it the rattle? I took a hasty 
 step downwards at the thought. Or was it the blunder- 
 buss? In my sudden move I slipped on the dew-damped 
 branch, and cracked a rotten one with my elbow, which 
 made an appalling crash in the early stillness, and sent a 
 walnut—pop! on to Jem’s hat, who had already ducked 
 to avoid the fire of the blunderbuss, and now fell on his 
 face under the fullest conviction that he had been shot. 
 
 “Who’s there?” said the schoolmistress, and (my 
 tumble having brought me into a more exposed position) 
 she added, ‘‘Is that you, Jack and Jem ?” 
 
 “Tt’s me,’ said I ungrammatically but stoutly, hoping 
 that Jem at any rate would slip off. 
 
 But he had recovered himself and his loyalty, and 
 unhesitatingly announced, ‘‘ No, it’s me,” and was picking 
 the bits of grass off his cheeks and knees when I got down 
 beside him. 
 
 “T’m sorry you came to take my walnuts like this,” 
 said the voice from above. She had a particularly clear 
 one, and we could hear it quite well. ‘I got a basketful 
 on purpose for you yesterday afternoon. If I let it down 
 by a string, do you think you can take it?” 
 
 Happily she did not wait for a reply, as we could not 
 have got a word out between us; but by-and-by the 
 basketful of walnuts was pushed through the lattice and 
 began to descend. It came slowly and unsteadily, and we 
 had abundant leisure to watch it, and also, as we looked 
 up, to discover what it was that had so puzzled me in 
 
30 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 Mrs. Wood’s appearance—that when I first discovered 
 that it was a head and not a blunderbuss at the window 
 I had not recognised it for hers. 
 
 She was without her widow’s cap, which revealed the 
 fact that her hair, though the two narrow, smooth bands 
 of it which appeared every day beyond her cap were 
 unmistakably grey, was different in some essential re- 
 spects from (say) Mrs. Jones’s, our grey-haired washer- 
 woman. The more you saw of Mrs. Jones’s head, the 
 less hair you perceived her to have, and the whiter that 
 little appeared. Indeed, the knob into which it was 
 twisted at the back was much of the colour as well as of 
 the size of a tangled reel of dirty white cotton. But Mrs. 
 Wood’s hair was far more abundant than our mother’s, 
 and it-was darker underneath than on the top—a fact 
 which was more obvious when the knot into which it was 
 gathered in her neck was no longer hidden. Deep 
 brown streaks were mingled with the grey in the twists 
 of this, and I could see them quite well, for the outline of 
 her head was dark against the whitewashed mullion of 
 the window, and framed by ivy-leaves. As she leaned 
 out to lower the basket we could see her better and 
 better, and, as it touched the ground, the jerk pulled her 
 forward, and the knot of her hair uncoiled and rolled 
 heavily over the window-sill. 
 
 By this time the rays of the sun were level with the 
 windows, and shone full upon Mrs. Wood’s face. I was 
 very much absorbed in looking at her, but I could not 
 forget our peculiar position, and I had an important 
 question to put, which I did without more ado. 
 
 “Please, madam, shall you tell Father?” 
 
 “We only want to know,” added Jem. » 
 
 She hesitated. a minute, and then smiled. “No; I 
 don’t think you'll do it again;” after which she disap- 
 peared. 
 
 ““ She’s certainly no sneak,” said I, with an effort to be 
 magnanimous, for I would much rather she had sprung 
 the rattle or fired the blunderbuss. 
 
 “And I say,” said Jem, “isn’t she pretty without her 
 cap?” ; 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 31 
 
 We looked ruefully at the walnuts. We had lost all 
 appetite for them, and they seemed disgustingly damp, 
 with their green coats reeking with black bruises. But 
 we could not have left the basket behind, so we put our 
 sticks through the handles, and carried it like the Sunday 
 picture of the spies carrying the grapes of Eshcol. 
 
 And Jem and I have often since agreed that we never 
 in all our lives felt somean as on that occasion, and we 
 sincerely hope that we never may. 
 
 Indeed it is only in some books and some sermons 
 that people are divided into “the wicked” and “the 
 good, ” and that “the wicked” have no consciences at all. 
 Jem and I had wilfully gone thieving, but. we were far 
 from being utterly hardened, and the schoolmistress’s 
 generosity weighed heavily upon ours. Repentance and 
 the desire to make atonement seem to go pretty naturally 
 together, and in my case they led to the following 
 dialogue with Jem, on the subject of two exquisite little 
 bantam hens anda cock, which were our joint property, 
 and which were known in the farmyard as “the Major 
 and his wives. ” 
 
 These titles (which vexed my dear mother from the 
 first) had suggested themselves to us on this wise. There 
 was a certain little gentleman who came to our church, a 
 brewer by profession, and a major in the militia by choice, 
 who was so small and strutted so much that to the inso- 
 lent observation of boyhood he was “exactly like ” our 
 new bantam cock. Young people are very apt to over- 
 hear what is not intended for their knowledge, and some- 
 how or other we heard that he was “ courting” (as his 
 third wite) a lady of our parish. His former wives were 
 buried in our churchyard. Over the first he had raised 
 an obelisk of marble, so costly and affectionate, that it 
 had won the hearts of his neighbours in general, and of his 
 second wife in particular. When she died the gossips 
 wondered whether the Major would add her name to that 
 of her predecessor, or “go to the expense” of a new 
 monument. He erected a second obelisk, and it was 
 taller than the first (height had a curious fascination for 
 him), and the inscription was more touching than the 
 
32 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 other. This time the material was Aberdeen granite, and 
 as that is most difficult to cut, hard to polish, and heavy 
 to transport, the expense was enormous. These two 
 monstrosities of mortuary pomp were the pride of the 
 parish, and they were familiarly known to us children (and 
 to many other people) as “ the Major’s wives.” 
 
 When we called the cock “the Major,” we naturally 
 called the hens ‘“ the Major’s wives.” 
 
 ‘““My dears, I don’t like that name at all,” said my 
 mother. “I never like jokes about people who are 
 dead. And for that matter, it really sounds as if they 
 were both alive, which js worse. ” 
 
 It was during our naughty.period, and I strutted on 
 my heels till 1 must have looked very like the little 
 brewer himself, and said, “And why shouldn’t they both 
 be alive? Fancy the Major with two wives, one on each 
 arm, and both as tallas the monuments! What fun!” 
 
 As I said the words “one on each arm,” I put up first 
 one and then the other of my own, and having got a satis- 
 factory impetus during the rest of my sentence, I crossed » 
 the parlour as a catherine-wheel under my mother’s nose. 
 It was a new accomplishment, of which I was very proud, 
 and poor Jem somewhat envious. He was clumsy and 
 could not manage it. 
 
 “Oh!” ejaculated my mother, “ Jack, I must speak to 
 your father about those dangerous tricks of yours. And it 
 quite shocks me to hear you talk in that light way about 
 wicked things.” 
 
 Jem was to my rescue in a moment, driving his hands 
 into the pockets of his blouse, and turning them up to see 
 how soon he might hope that his fingers would burst 
 through the lining, 
 
 *‘ Jacob had two wives,” he said; and he chanted on, 
 quoting imperfectly from Dr. Watts’s ‘Scripture Cate- 
 chism.’ And Jacob was a good man, therefore his brother 
 hated him.” , 
 
 ‘“No, no, Jem,” said I, “that was Abel. Jacob was 
 Isaac’s younger son, and——” 
 
 “Hush! Hush! Hush!” said my mother. ‘ You're 
 not to do Sunday lessons on weekdays. What terrible 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 33 
 
 _ boysyouare!” And, avoiding to fight about Jacob’s wives 
 with Jem, who was pertinacious and said very odd things, 
 my mother did what women often do and are often wise 
 in doing—she laid down her weapons and began to 
 beseech. 
 
 “My darlings, call your nice little hens some other 
 names. Poor old mother doesn’t like those.” 
 
 I was melted in an instant, and began to cast about in 
 my head for new titles. But Jem was softly obstinate, 
 and lhe had inherited some of my mother’s wheedling 
 ways. He took his hands from his pockets, flung his 
 arms recklessly round her clean collar, and began strok- 
 ing (or pooring, as we called it) her head with his grubby 
 paws. And as he poored he coaxed—‘“ Dear nice old 
 mammy! It’s only us. What can it matter? Do let us 
 call our bantams what we like.” 
 
 And my mother gave in before I had time to. 
 
 The dialogue I held with Jem about the bantams after 
 the walnut raid was as follows:— 
 
 “Jem, you’re awfully fond of the ‘ Major and his wives,’ 
 I suppose ?” 
 
 ‘“Ye-es,” said Jem, “fam. But 1 don’t.mind, Jack, if 
 you want them for your very own. J’ll give up my share,” 
 —and he sighed. 
 
 ‘““T never saw such a good chap as you are, Jem. But 
 it’s not that, I thought we might give them to Mrs. 
 Wood. It was so beastly about those disgusting wal- 
 nuts.” 
 
 “TI can’t touch walnut pickle now,” said Jem feelingly. 
 
 “It'd be a very handsome present,” said I. 
 
 “They took a prize at the Agricultural,” said Jem. 
 
 “*T know she likes eggs. She beats ’em into a froth 
 and feeds Charlie with ’em,” said I. 
 
 ‘“‘T think I could eat walnut pickle again if I knew she 
 had the bantams,” sighed Jem, who was really devoted to 
 the little cock-major and the auburn-feathered hens. 
 
 “We'll take ’em this afternoon,” I said. 
 
 We did so—in a basket, Eshcol-grape-wise, like the 
 walnuts. When we told Mother, she made no objection. 
 She would have given her own head off her shoulders if, 
 
 3 
 
34. WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 by ill-luck, any passer-by had thought of asking for it. 
 Besides, it solved the difficulty of the objectionable names. 
 
 Mrs. Wood was very loth to take our bantams, but of 
 course Jem and I were not going to recall a gift, so she 
 took them at last, and I think she was very much pleased 
 with them. 
 
 She had got her cap on again, tied under her chin, and 
 nothing to be seen of her hair but the very grey piece in 
 front. It made her look so different that I could not 
 keep my eyes off her whilst she was talking, though I 
 knew quite well how rude it is to stare. And my head 
 got so full of it that I said at last, in spite of myself, 
 “Please, madam, why is it that part of your hair is grey 
 and part of it dark?” 
 
 Her face got rather red, she did not answer for a 
 minute, and Jem, to my great relief, changed the subject, 
 by saying, ‘“‘ We'were very much obliged to you for not 
 telling Father about the walnuts.” 
 
 Mrs. Wood leaned back against the high carving of 
 her old chair and smiled, and said very slowly, ‘‘ Would 
 he have been very angry ?” 
 
 ‘“‘ He’d have flogged us, I expect,” said I. 
 
 “And I expect,” continued Jem, “that he’d have said 
 to us what he said to Bob Furniss when he took the 
 filberts: ‘If you begin by stealing nuts, you'll end by 
 being transported.’ Do you think Jack and I shall end 
 by being transported ?’ added Jem, who had a merciless 
 talent for applying general principles to individual cases. 
 
 Mrs. Wood made no reply, neither did she move, but 
 her eyelids fell, and then her eyes looked far worse than 
 if they had been shut, for there was a little bit open, with 
 nothing but white to be seen. She was still rather red, 
 and she did not visibly breathe. I have no idea for how 
 many seconds I had gazed stupidly at her, when Jem 
 gasped, ‘Is she dead?” 
 
 Then I became terror-struck, and crying, ‘‘ Let’s find 
 Mary Ann!” fled into the kitchen, closely followed by 
 Jem, 
 ““She’s took with them fits occasional,” said Mary 
 Ann, and depositing a dripping tin she ran to the parlour. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 35 
 
 We followed in time to see her stooping over the chair 
 and speaking very loudly i in the schoolmistress’s ear— 
 
 “Tl lay ye down, ma’am, shall 1?” 
 
 But still the widow was silent, on which Mary Ann 
 took her up in her brawny arms, and laid her on “ Cripple 
 Charlie’s ” sofa, and covered her with the quilt. 
 
 We settled the Major and his wives in their new abode, 
 and then hurried home to my mother, who put on her 
 bonnet, and took a bottle of something, and went off to 
 the farm. 
 
 She did not come back till tea-time, and then she was 
 full of poor Mrs. Wood. ‘‘ Most curious attacks,” she 
 explained to my father; “she can neither move nor speak, 
 and yet she hears everything, though she doesn’t always 
 remember afterwards. She said she thought it was 
 ‘trouble,’ poor sou] !” 
 
 ‘What brought this one on?” said my father. 
 
 ““T can’t make out,” said my mother. “I hope you 
 boys did nothing to frighten her, eh? Are you sure you 
 didn’t do one of those dreadful wheels, Jack ?”’ 
 
 This I indignantly denied, and Jem supported me. 
 
 My mother’s sympathy had been so deeply enlisted, 
 and her report was so detailed, that Jem and I became 
 bored at last, besides resenting the notion that we had 
 been to blame. I gave one look into the strawberry jam 
 pot, and finding it empty, said my grace and added, 
 “Women are a poor lot, always turning up their eyes and 
 having fits about nothing. I know one thing, nobody’ll 
 ever catch me-being bothered with a wife.” 
 
 “ Nor me neither,” said Jem. 
 
30 WHE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. . 
 
 “The bee, a more adventurous colonist than man.” 
 W.C. Bryant. 
 
 “ Some silent laws our hearts will make, 
 Which they shall long obey ; 
 We for the year to come may take 
 Our temper from to-day.” 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 “You know what an Apiary is, Isaac, of course?” 
 
 I was sitting in the bee-master’s cottage, opposite to 
 him, in an arm-chair, which was the counterpart of his 
 own, both of them having circular backs, diamond-shaped 
 seats, and chintz cushions with frills. It was the summer 
 following that in which Jem and I had tried to see how 
 badly we could behave ; this uncivilised phase had abated ; 
 Jem used to ride about a great deal with my father, and I 
 had become intimate with Isaac Irvine. 
 
 “You know what an Apiary is, Isaac?” said I. 
 
 ‘SAowhat sire”’ 
 
 “An A-P-I-A-R-Y.” 
 
 ‘““'To be sure, sir, to be sure,” said Isaac. “An apfy- 
 ary” (so he was pleased to pronounce it), “I should be 
 familiar with the name, sir, from my bee-book, but I 
 never calls my own stock anything but the beehives. 
 Bechives is a good straightforward sort of a name, sir, 
 and it serves my turn.” 
 
 “Ah, but you see we haven’t come to the B’s yet,” said 
 I, alluding to what I was thinking of. 
 
 “Does your father think of keeping ’em, sir?” said 
 Isaac, alluding to what he was thinking of. 
 
 ‘“‘Oh, he means to have them bound, I believe,” was 
 my reply. 
 
 The bee-master now betrayed his bewilderment, and we 
 had a hearty laugh when we discovered that he had been 
 talking about bees whilst I had been talking about the 
 weekly numbers of the ‘ Penny Cyclopedia,’ which had 
 not as yet reached the letter B, but in which I had found 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. a7 
 
 an article on Master Isaac’s craft, under the word Apiary, 
 which had greatly interested me, and ought, I thought, to 
 be interesting to the bee-keeper. Still thinking of this I 
 said— 
 
 “Do you ever take your bees away from home, Isaac?” 
 
 ‘“They’re on the moors now, sir,” said Isaac. 
 
 ceive. they *ilesexClalmeds = sihene you re: Jikewthe 
 Egyptians, and like the French, and the Piedmontese ; 
 only you didn’t take them in a barge.” 
 
 “Why, no, sir. The canal don’t go nigh-hand of the 
 moors at all.” 
 
 “The Egyptians,” said I, leaning back into the capa- 
 cious arms of my chair, and epitomising what I had read, 
 “who live in Lower Egypt put all their beehives into 
 boats and take them on the river to Upper Egypt. Right 
 up at that end of the Nile the flowers come out earliest, 
 and the bees get all the good out of them there, and then 
 the boats are moved lower down to where the same kind 
 of flowers are only just beginning to blossom, and the 
 bees get all the good out of them there, and so on, and 
 on, and on, till they’ve travelled right through Egypt, 
 with all the hives piled up, and come back in the boats to 
 where they started from.” 
 
 “And every hive a mighty different weight to what it 
 was when they did start, I'll warrant,’ said Master Isaac 
 enthusiastically. ‘‘ Did you find all that in those penny 
 numbers, Master Jack ? ” 
 
 “Yes, and oh, lots more, Isaac! About lots of things 
 and lots of countries.” . 
 
 “ Scholarship’s a fine thing,” said the bee-master, “‘ and 
 seeing foreign parts is a fine thing, and many’s the time 
 I’ve wished for both. I suppose that’s the same Egypt 
 that’s in the Bible, sir.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Yes,” said I, “and the same river Nile that Moses 
 was put on in the ark of bulrushes.” 
 
 “There’s no countries I’d like to see better than them 
 Bible countries,” said Master Isaac, “‘ and I’ve wished it 
 more ever since that gentleman -was here that gave that 
 lecture in the school, with the Holy Land magic-lantern. 
 He'd been there himself, and he explained all the slides. 
 
 ) 
 
38 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 They were grand, some of ’em, when you got ’em straight 
 and steady for a bit. They’re an awkward thing to 
 manage, is slides, sir, and the schoolmaster he wasn’t 
 much good at ’em, he said, and that young scoundrel Bob 
 iurniss and another lad got in a hole below the platform 
 and pulled the sheet. But when you did get ’em, right 
 side up, and the light as it should be, they were grand! 
 There was one they called the Wailing Place of the Jews, 
 with every stone standing out as fair as the flags on this 
 floor. John Binder, the mason, was at my elbow when 
 that came on, and he clapped his hands, and says he, 
 ‘Well, yon beats all!’ But the one for my choice, sir, 
 was the Garden of Gethsemane by moonlight. I’d only 
 gone to the penny places, for I’m a good size and can 
 look over most folks’ heads, but I thought I must see that 
 a bit nearer, cost what it might. So I found a shilling, 
 and I says to the young fellow at the door (it was the 
 pupil-teacher), ‘I must go a bit nearer to yon.’ And he 
 says, ‘ You’re not going into the reserved seats, Isaac?’ 
 So I says, ‘Don’t put yourself about, my lad, I shan’t 
 interfere with the quality; but if half a day’s wage’ll 
 bring me nearer tothe Garden of Gethsemane, I’m bound 
 to go.’ And I went. I didn’t intrude myself on nobody, 
 though one gentleman was for making room for me at 
 once, and twice over he offered me a seat beside him. 
 But I knew my manners, and I said, ‘ Thank you, sir, I can 
 see as I stand.’ And I did see right well; and kicked 
 Bob Furniss too, which was good for all parties. But I’d 
 like to see the very places themselves, Master Jack.” 
 ‘So. should 1,” said’ 1; “but I Should™aike ta: go 
 farther, all round the world, I think. Do you know, 
 Isaac, you wouldn’t believe what curious beasts there are 
 in other countries, and what wonderful people and places! 
 Why, we’ve only got to ATH—No. 135—now; it leaves 
 ‘off at Athanagilde, a captain of the Spanish Goths—he’s 
 nobody, but there are swch apes in that number! The 
 Mono—there’s a picture of him, just like a man with a 
 tail and horrid feet, who used to sit with the negro 
 women when they were at work, and play with bits of 
 paper; and a Quata, who used to be sent to the tavern 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. . 30 
 
 for wine, and.when the children pelted him he put down 
 the wine and threw stones at them. And there are 
 pictures iti all the numbers, of birds and ant-eaters and 
 antelopes, and I don’t know what. The Mono and the 
 Quata live in the West Indies, I think. You see, I 
 think the A’s are rather good numbers; very likely, for 
 there’s America, and Asia, and Africa, and Arabia, and 
 Abyssinia, and there’ll be Australia before we come to the 
 B’s. Oh, Isaac! I do wish I could go round the 
 world!” 
 
 I sighed, and the bee-master sighed also, with a pro- 
 fundity that made his chair creak, well- seasoned as it 
 was. ‘Then he said, “ But I’ll say this, Master Jack, next 
 to going to such places the reading about ’em must come. 
 A penny a week’s a penny a week to a poor man, but I 
 reckon I shall have to make shift to take in those num- 
 bers myself.” 
 
 Isaac did not take them in, however, for I used to take 
 ours down to his cottage, and read them aloud to him 
 instead. He liked this much better than if he had had to 
 read to himself—he said he could understand reading 
 better when he heard it than when he saw it. For my 
 own part I enjoyed it very much, and I fancy I read 
 rather well, it being a point on which Mrs. Wood ex- 
 pended much trouble with us. 
 
 “‘ Listen, Isaac,” said I on my next visit; ‘‘ this is what 
 I meant about the barge””—and resting the Penny Num- 
 ber on the arm of my chair, I read aloud to the attentive 
 bee-master—‘‘ ‘ Goldsmith describes from his own obser- 
 vation a kind of floating apiary in some parts of France 
 and Piedmont. They have on board of one barge, he 
 says, threescore or a hundred beehives oe 
 
 “That’s an appy-ary if ye like, sir!” ejaculated Master 
 Isaac, interrupting his pipe and me to make way for Be 
 observation. ‘ae 
 
 “: Somebody saw ‘a convoy of four thousand hives- 
 on the Nile,” said I. 
 
 The bee-master gave a resigned sigh. ‘Go on, Master 
 Jack,” said he. 
 
 “¢ well defended from the inclemency of an acci- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
40 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 dental storm,’” I proceeded ; “‘ and with these the own- 
 ers float quietly down the stream ; one beehive yields the 
 proprietor a considerable income. Why, he adds, a 
 method similar to this has never been adopted in Eng- 
 land, where we have more gentle rivers and more flowery 
 banks than in any other part of the world, I know not; 
 certainly it might be turned to advantage, and yield the 
 possessor a secure, though perhaps a moderate, in- 
 COMels:4 
 
 I-was very fond of the canal which ran near us (and 
 was, for that matter, a parish boundary): and the barges, 
 with their cargoes, were always interesting to me; but a 
 bargeful of bees seemed something quite out of the 
 common. I thought I should rather like to float down a 
 gentle river between flowery banks, surrounded by bee- 
 hives on which I could rely to furnish me with a secure 
 though moderate income ; and I said so. 
 
 “So. should“, sir;”- said’ the -beeé-master. 7“ And I 
 should uncommon like to ha’ seen the one beehive that 
 brought in a considerable income. Honey must have 
 been very dear in those parts, Master Jack. However, 
 it’s in the book, so I suppose it’s right enough.” 
 
 I made no defence of the veracity of the ‘ Cyclopedia,’ 
 for I was thinking of something else, of which, after a few 
 moments, I spoke. 
 
 “Isaac, you don’t stay with your bees on the moors. 
 Do you ever go to see them? ”’ 
 
 “To be sure I do, Master Jack, nigh every Sunday 
 through the season. I start after I get back from morn- 
 ing church, and I come home in the dark, or by moon- 
 light. My missus goes to church in the afternoons, and 
 for that bit she locks up the house.” 
 
 “Oh, I wish you’d take me next time !” said I; 
 
 i To be sure I will, and too glad sir, if you’re allowed 
 to go.” 
 
 That was the difficulty, and I knew it. No one who 
 has not lived in a household of old-fashioned middle-class 
 country folk of our type has any notion how difficult it is 
 for anybody to do anything unusual therein. In such a 
 well-fitted ‘but unelastic establishment the dinner-hour, 
 
 6 . 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. AI 
 
 the carriage horses, hot water, bedtime, candles,’ the post, 
 the wash-day, and an extra blanket, from being the 
 ministers ‘of one’s comfort, become the stern arbiters of 
 one’s fate. Spring cleaning—which is something like 
 what it would be to build, paint, and furnish a house, 
 and to “do it at home ”—takes place as naturally as the 
 season it celebrates ; but if you want the front door kept 
 open after the usual hour for drawing the bolts and 
 hanging the robbers’ bell, its odds if the master of the 
 house has not an apoplectic fit, and if servants of twelve 
 and fourteen years’ standing do not give warning, 
 
 And what is difficult on weekdays is on Sundays next 
 door to impossible, for obvious reasons. 
 
 But one’s parents, though they have their little ways 
 like other people, are, as a rule—oh, my heart! made 
 sadder and wiser by the world’s rough experiences, bear 
 witness !—very indulgent; and after a good many ups 
 and downs, and some compromising and coaxing, I got 
 my way. 
 
 On one point my mother was firm, and I feared this 
 would be an insuperable difficulty. I must go twice to 
 church, as our Sunday custom was—a custom which she 
 saw no good reason for me to break. It is easy to smile 
 at her punctiliousness on this score; but after all these 
 years, and on the whole, I think she was right. An unex- 
 pected compromise came to my rescue, however : Isaac 
 Irvine’s bees were in the parish of Cripple Charlie’s 
 father, within a stone’s throw (by the bee-master’s strong 
 arm) of the church itself, which was a small minster 
 among the moors. Here I promised faithfully to attend 
 evening prayer, for which we should. be in time; and I 
 started, by Isaac Irvine’s side, on my first real “ expedi- 
 dition ” on the first Sunday in August, with my mother’s 
 blessing and a threepenny bit with a hole in it, “in case 
 of a collection.” 
 
 We dined before we started, I with the rest, and Isaac 
 in our kitchen; but I had no great appetite—I was too 
 much excited—and I willingly accepted some large sand- 
 wiches made with thick slices of home-made bread and 
 liberal layers of home-made potted meat, “in case I 
 should feel hungry ” before I a 
 
42 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 It pairis me to think how distressed my mother was 
 because I insisted on carrying the sandwiches in a red 
 and orange spotted handkerchief, which I had purchased 
 with my own pocket-money, and to which I was deeply 
 attached, partly from the bombastic nature of the pattern, 
 and partly because it was big enough for any grown-up 
 man. ‘It made me look like a tramping sailor,” she said. 
 I did not tell her that this was precisely the effect at 
 which I aimed, though it was the case; but I coaxed her 
 into permitting it, and I abstained from passing a certain 
 knowing little ash stick through the knot, and hoisting the 
 bundle over my left shoulder, till I was well out of the 
 grounds. | 
 
 My efforts to spare her feelings on this point, however, 
 proved vain. She ran to the landing-window to watch 
 me out of sight, and had a full view of my figure as I 
 swaggered with a business-like gait by Isaac’s side up the 
 first long hill, having set my hat on the back of my head 
 with an affectation of profuse heat, my right hand in the 
 bee-master’s coat-pocket for support and my left holding 
 the stick and bundle at an angle as showy and sailor-like 
 as I could assume. 
 
 “And they’ll just meet the Ebenezer folk coming out 
 of chapel, ma’am!”’ said our housemaid over my mother’s 
 shoulder, by way of consolation. 
 
 Our journey wasup hill, for which I was quite prepared. 
 The blue and purple outline of the moors formed the 
 horizon line visible from our gardens, whose mistiness or 
 - clearness was prophetic of the coming weather, and over 
 which the wind was supposed to blow with uncommon 
 ‘“‘healthfulness.”’ I had been there once to blow away 
 the whooping cough, and I could remember that the 
 sandy road wound up and up, but I did not appreciate 
 till that Sunday how tiring a steady ascent of nearly five 
 miles may be. 
 
 We were within sight of the church and within hearing 
 of the bells, when we reached a wayside trough, whose 
 brimming measure was for ever overflowed by as bright a 
 rill as ever trickled down a hill-side. 
 
 “It’s only the first peal,” said Master Isaac, seating 
 himself on the sandy bank, and wiping his brows. 
 
LIBRARY 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
Sealine eee 
 LE 
 
 TS = 
 
 = een oy 
 re 
 Sf=zs: 
 
 3 Oe EA oo 
 = oe ; 
 
 
 
 , SIR,’ SAID THE BEE-MASTER, 
 
 ‘* “WELL, I SUPPOSE I AM 
 
 AND IN HE CAME.” 
 
 D 
 
 Page 43. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 43 
 
 My well-accustomed ears confirmed his statement. 
 The bells moved too slowly for either the second or the 
 third peal» and we had twenty minutes at our disposal. 
 
 It was then that I knew (for the first but not the last 
 time) what refreshment for the weary a spotted handker- 
 chief may hold. The bee-master and I divided the sand- 
 wiches, and washed them down with handfuls of the run- 
 ning rill, so fresh, so cold, so limpid, that (like the saints 
 and martyrs of a faith) it would convert any one to 
 water-drinking who did not reflect on the commoner and 
 less shining streams which come to us through lead pipes 
 and in evil communication with sewers. 
 
 We were cool and tidy by the time that the little “Tom 
 Tinkler” bell began to “hurry up.” 
 
 “You're coming, aren’t you?” said I, checked at the 
 churchyard gate by an instinct of some hesitation on 
 Isaac's part. 
 
 ‘Well, I suppose I am, sir,” said the bee-master, and 
 in he came. | 
 
 The thick walls, the stained windows, and the stone 
 floor, which was below the level of the churchyard, made 
 the church very cool. Master Isaac and I seated our- 
 selves so that we had a good view within and could also 
 catch a péep through the open porch of the sunlit country 
 outside. Charlie’s father was in his place when we got 
 in; his threadbare coat was covered by the white linen of 
 his office, and I do not think it would have been possible 
 even to my levity to have felt anything but a respectful 
 awe of him in church. 
 
 The cares of this life are not as a rule improving to the 
 countenance. No one who watches faces can have failed 
 to observe that more beauty is marred and youth curtailed 
 by vulgar worry than by almost any other disfigurement. 
 In the less educated classes, where self-control is not very 
 habitual, and where interests beyond petty and personal 
 ones are rare, the soft brows and tender lips of girlhood 
 are too often puckered and hardened by mean anxieties, 
 even where these do not affect the girls personally, but 
 only imitatively, and as the daily interests of their station 
 in life. In such cases the discontented, careworn look is 
 
44 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 by no means a certain indication of corresponding  suffer- 
 ing, but there are too many others in which tempers that 
 should have been generous, and faces that should have 
 been noble, and aims that should have been high, are 
 blurred and blunted by the real weight of real ve ray 
 care. 
 There are yet others; in which the spirit is too/strong 
 for mortal accidents to pull it down—minds that the 
 narrowest career cannot vulgarise—faces to whi¢h care 
 but adds a look of pathos—souls which keep their aims 
 and faiths apart from the fluctuations of “the things that 
 are seen.”’ The personal influence of natures of this type 
 is generally very large, and it was very large in the case 
 of Cripple Charlie’: s father, and made ‘him a sort of 
 Prophet, Priest, and King over a rough and scattered 
 population, with whom the. shy, scholarly poor gentleman 
 had not otherwise much in common. 
 
 It was his personal influence, I am sure, which made 
 the congregation so devout! There is one rule which, | 
 believe, applies to all congregations, of every denomination, 
 and any kind of ritual, and that is, that the enthusiasm of 
 the congregation is in direct proportion to the enthusiasm 
 of the minister ; not merely to his personal worth, nor even 
 to his popularity, for people who rather dislike a clergy-— 
 man, and disapprove of his service, will say a ae Amen 
 at his giving of thanks if his own feelings have a touch of 
 fire, than they would to that of a more perfunctory parson 
 whom they liked better. Asis the heartiness ofthe priest, 
 so is the heartiness of the people—with such strictness that 
 one is disposed almost to credit some of it to actual mag- 
 netism. esfonse is no empty word in public worship. 
 
 It was no empty word on this occasion. From the 
 ancient clerk (who kept a life-interest in what were now 
 the duties of a choir) to some gaping farm-lads at my back, 
 everybody said and sang to the utmost of his ability. I 
 may add that Isaac and I involuntarily displayed a zeal 
 which was in excess of our Sunday customs; and if my 
 tongue moved glibly enough with the choir, the bee-master 
 found many an elderly parishioner besides himself and the 
 clerk who “took” both prayer and praise at such inde- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 45 
 
 pendent paces as suited their individual scholarship, 
 spectacles, and notions of reverence. | 
 
 It crowned my satisfaction when I found that there was 
 to be acollection. The hymn to which the churchwardens 
 moved about, gathering the pence, whose numbers and 
 noisiness seemed in keeping with the rest of the service, 
 was a well-known one to us all. It was the favourite 
 evening hymn of the district. I knew every syllable of it, 
 for Jem and I always sang hymns (and invariably this 
 one) with my dear mother, on Sunday evening after 
 supper. When we were good, we liked it, and, picking 
 one favourite after another, we often sang nearly through 
 the hymn-book. When we were naughty, we displayed a 
 good deal of skill in making derisive faces behind my 
 mother’s back, as she sat at the piano, without betraying 
 ourselves, and in getting our tongues out and in again 
 during the natural pauses and convolutions of the tune. 
 But these occasional fits of boyish profanity did not hinder 
 me from having an equally boyish fund of reverence and 
 enthusiasm at the bottom of my heart, and it was with 
 proud and pleasurable emotions that I heard the old clerk 
 give forth the familiar first lines-— 
 
 ‘“*Soon shall the evening star with silver ray 
 Shed its mild lustre o’er this sacred day,” 
 
 and got my threepenny-bit ready between my finger and 
 thumb. 
 
 Away went the organ, which was played by the vicar’s 
 eldest daughter—away went the vicar’s second daughter, 
 who “‘led the singing” from the vicarage pew with a voice 
 like a bird—away went the choir, which, in spite of sur- 
 plices, could not be cured of waiting half a beat for her— 
 and away went the congregation—young men and maidens, 
 old men and children—in one broad tide of somewhat 
 irregular harmony. Isaac did not know the words as well 
 as I did, so I lent him my hymn-book ; one result of which 
 wa&, that the print being small, and the sense of a hymn 
 being in his view a far more important matter than the 
 sound of it, he preached rather than sang—in an unequal 
 
46 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 cadence which was perturbing to my more musical ear— 
 the familiar lines—. 
 
 “Still let each awful truth our thoughts engage, 
 That shines revealed on inspiration’s page ; 
 Nor those blest hours in vain amusement waste 
 Which all who lavish shall lament at last.” 
 
 During the next verse my devotions were a little dis- 
 tracted by the gradual approach of a churchwarden for 
 my threepenny-bit, which was hot with three verses of 
 expectant fingering. Then, to my relief, he took it, and 
 the bee-master’s contribution, and I felt calmer, and 
 listened to the little prelude which it was always the 
 custom for the organist to play before the final verse of a 
 hymn. It was also the custom to,sing the last verse as 
 loudly as possible, though this is by no means invariably 
 appropriate. It fitted the present occasion fairly enough. 
 From where I stood I could see the bellows-blower (the 
 magnetic current of enthusiasm flowed even to the back 
 of the organ) nerve himself to prodigious pumping— 
 Charlie’s sister drew out all the stops—the vicar passed 
 from the prayer-desk to the pulpit with the rapt look of a 
 man who walks in a prophetic dream—vwe pulled ourselves 
 together, Master Isaac brought the hymn-book close to his 
 glasses, and when the tantalising prelude was past we 
 burst forth with a volume which merged all discrepancies. 
 As far as I am able to judge of my own performancé, I 
 fear I daw/ed (I’m sure the boy behind me did)— 
 
 “ Father of Heaven! in Whom our hopes confide, 
 Whose power defends us, and Whose precepts guide, 
 In life our Guardian, andti in death our Friend, 
 
 Glory supreme be Thine till time shall end!” 
 
 The sermon was short, and when the service was over 
 Master Isaac and I spent a delightful afternoon with his 
 bees among the heather. The a evening star” had come 
 out when we had some tea in the village inn, and we 
 walked home by moonlight. There was néither ‘wind nor 
 sun, but the air was almost oppressively pure. The moon- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 47 
 
 shine had taken the colour out of the sandy road and the 
 heather, and had painted black shadows by every boulder, 
 and most things looked asleep except the rill that went on 
 running. Only we and the rabbits, and the night moths 
 and the beetles, seemed to be stirring. An occasional bat 
 appeared and vanished like a spectral illusion, and I saw 
 one owl flap across the moon with level wings against the 
 moon. 
 
 “Oh, I Zave enjoyed it!” was all I could say when I 
 parted from the bee-master. 
 
 “And so have I, Master Jack,” was his reply, and he 
 hesitated as if he had something more to say, and then he 
 said it. ‘ I never enjoyed it as much, and you can thank 
 your mother, sir, with old Isaac’s duty for sending us*to 
 church. I’m sure I don’t know why d never -went before 
 when I was up yonder, for I always took notice of the 
 bells. I reckon I thought I hadn’t time, but you can say, 
 with my respects, sir, that please Gop I shan’t miss 
 again.’ 
 
 “T believe he never did; and “ Cripple Charlie’s ” father 
 came to look on him as half a parishioner. 
 
 I was glad I had not shirked Evening Prayer myself, 
 though (my sex and age considered) it was not to be ex- 
 pected that I should comfort my mother’s heart by con- 
 fessing as much. Let me confess it now, and confess 
 also that if it was the first time, it was not the last that I 
 have had cause to realise—oh women, for our sakes 
 remember it !—into what light and gentle hands Gop lays 
 the reins that guide men’s better selves. 
 
 The most remarkable event of the day happened at the 
 end of it. Whilst Isaac was feeling the weight of one of 
 his hives, and just after I lost chase of a very peculiar- 
 looking beetle, from his squeezing himself away from me 
 under a boulder, I had caught sight of a bit of white 
 heather, and then bethought me of gathering a nosegay 
 (to include this rarity) of moor flowers and grasses for 
 Mrs. Wood. So when we reached the lane on our way 
 home, I bade [saac good-night, and said I would just run 
 in by the back way into the farm (we never called it the 
 
48 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 Academy) and leave the flowers, that the schoolmistress 
 might put them in water. Mary Ann was in the kitchen. 
 
 ‘““Where’s Mrs. Wood?” said I, when she had got over 
 that silly squeak women always give when you come sud- 
 denly on them. 
 
 ‘Dear, dear, Master Jack! what a turn you did give 
 me! I thought it was the tramp.” 
 
 ‘‘ What tramp?” said I. 
 
 “Why, a great lanky man that came skulking here a 
 bit since, and asked for the missus. She was down the 
 garden, and I’ve half a notion he went after her. I wish 
 you'd go and look for her, Master Jack, and fetch her in. 
 It’s as damp as dear knows what, and she takes no more 
 care of herself than a baby. AndI’d be glad to know 
 that man was off the place. There’s wall-fruit and lots 
 of things about, a low fellow like that might pick up.” 
 
 My ears felt a little hot at this allusion to low fellows 
 and garden thieving, and I hurried off to do Mary Ann’s 
 bidding without further parley, There was a cloud over 
 the moon as I ran down the back garden, but when I was 
 nearly at the end the moon burst forth again, so that I 
 could see. And this was what I saw :— 
 
 First, a white thing lying on the ground, and it was the 
 widow’s cap, and then Mrs. Wood herself, with a gaunt 
 lanky-looking man, such as Mary Ann had described. 
 Her head came nearly to his shoulder, as I was well able 
 to judge, for he was holding it in his hands and had laid 
 his own upon it, as if it were a natural resting-place. 
 And; his hair coming against the darker part of hers, I 
 could see that his was grey all over. Up to this point I 
 had been too much stupefied to move, and I had just be- 
 come conscious that I ought to go, when the white cap 
 lying in the moonlight seemed to catch his eye as it had 
 caught mine; and he set his heel on it with a vehemence 
 that made me anxious to be off. I could not resist one 
 look back as I left the garden, if only to make sure that I 
 had not been dreaming. No, they were there still, and he 
 was lifting the coil of her hair, which I suppose had 
 come down when the cap was pulled off, and it took the 
 full stretch of his arm to do so, before it fell heavily from 
 his fingers. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 49 
 
 When I presented myself to my mother with the bunch 
 of flowers still in my hand, she said, “Did my Jack get 
 these for mother? ” | 
 
 I shook my head. ‘‘No, mother. For Mrs. Wood.” 
 
 “You might have called at the farm as you passed,” 
 said she. 
 
 ied ee said. Tl: 
 
 “Couldn’t you see Mrs. Wood, love?” 
 
 “Ves, I saw her, but she’d got the tramp with her.” 
 
 “What tramp?” asked my mother in a horror-struck 
 voice, which seemed quite natural to me, for I had been 
 brought up to rank tramps in the same “dangerous 
 class” with mad dogs, stray bulls, drunken men, and 
 other things which it is undesirable to meet. 
 
 “The great lanky one,” I explained, quoting from Mary 
 Ann. 
 
 “What was he doing with Mrs. Wood? ” asked my 
 mother anxiously. 
 
 I had not yet recovered from my own bewilderment, 
 and was reckless of the shock inflicted by my reply. 
 
 “ Pooring her head, and kissing it.” 
 
 GCIAP TERA: 
 
 “To each his sufferings; all are men 
 Condemned alike to groan. 
 The tender for another’s pain 
 
 PP 
 
 
 
 Gray. 
 
 Nor even the miser’s funeral had produced in the neigh- 
 bourhood anything like the excitement which followed 
 that Sunday evening. At first my mother—her mind 
 filled by the simplest form of the problem, namely, that 
 Mrs. Wood was in the hands of a tramp—wished my 
 father to take the blunderbuss in his hand and step down 
 to the farm. He had “pish”’ed and ‘“ psha’’ed about 
 the blunderbuss, and was beginning to say more, when I 
 was dismissed to bed, where I wandered back over the 
 moors in uneasy dreams, and woke with the horror of a 
 
 4 
 
50 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 tramp’s hand upon my shoulder. After suffering the ter- 
 rors of night for some time, and finding myself no braver 
 with my head under the bedclothes than above them, I 
 began conscientiously to try my mother’s family recipe 
 for “bad dreams and being afraid in the dark.” This 
 was to ‘“‘say over” the Benedicite correctly, which (if by 
 a rare chance one were still awake at the end) was to be 
 followed by a succession of the hymns one knew by heart. 
 It required an effort to degin, and to really try, but the 
 children of such mothers as ours are taught to make 
 efforts, and once fairly started, and holding on as a duty, 
 it certainly did tend to divert the mind from burglars and 
 ghosts, to get the beasts, creeping things, and fowls of the 
 air into their right places in the chorus of benedictions. 
 That Jem never could discriminate between the ‘‘ Dews 
 and Frosts” and ‘‘ Frost and Cold” verses needs no tell- 
 ing. I have often finished and still been frightened and 
 had to fall back upon the hymns, but this night I began 
 to dream pleasanter dreams of Charlie’s father and the 
 bee-master before I got to the holy and humble men of 
 heart. , 
 
 I slept long then, and Mother would not let me be 
 awakened. . When I did open my eyes Jem was sitting at 
 the end of my bed, dying to tell me the news. 
 
 “Jack ! you have waked, haven’t you? I see your eyes. 
 Don’t shut’em again. What do you think? Mrs. Wood's 
 husband has come home!” 
 
 I never knew the ins and outs of the story very exactly. 
 At the time that what did become generally known was 
 fresh in people’s minds Jem‘and I were not by way of be- 
 ing admitted to ‘‘grown-up”’ conversations ; and though 
 Mrs. Wood’s husband and I became intimate friends, I 
 neither wished nor dared to ask him more about his past 
 than he chose to tell, for I knew enough to know that it 
 must be almost intolerable pain to recall it. 
 
 What we had all heard of the story was this. Mr. 
 Wood had been a head clerk in a house of business. A 
 great forgery was committed against his employers, and 
 he was accused. He was tried, condemned, and sentenced 
 to fourteen years’ penal servitude, which, in those days, 
 
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 ‘¢WHEN I DID OPEN MY EYES, JEM WAS SITTING AT 
 THE END OF MY BED, DYING TO TELL ME TIIE NEWS.” D 
 
 Page 50. 
 
~~ LIBRARY 
 2 = ORTHE.*: 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. SI 
 
 meant transportation abroad. For some little time the 
 jury had not been unanimous. One man doubted the 
 prisoner’s guilt—the man we afterwards knew as the old 
 miser of Walnut-tree Farm. But he was overpersuaded 
 at last, and Mr. Wood was convicted and sentenced. He 
 had spent ten years of his penal servitude in Bermuda 
 when a man lying in Maidstone Jail under sentence of 
 death for murder, confessed (amongst other crimes of 
 which he disburdened his conscience), that it was he, 
 and not the man who had been condemned, who had 
 committed the forgery. Investigation confirmed the 
 truth of this statement, and Mr. Wood was “ pardoned ”’ 
 and brought home. 
 
 - He had just come. He was the tramp. 
 
 In this life the old miser never knew that his first 
 ‘judgment had been the just one, but the doubt which 
 seems always to have haunted him—whether he had not 
 helped to condemn the innocent—was the reason of his 
 bequest to the convict’s wife, and explained much of the 
 mysterious wording of the will. 
 
 It was a tragic tale, and gave a terrible interest to the 
 gaunt, white-haired, shattered-looking man who was the 
 hero of it. It had one point of special awe for me, and I 
 used to watch him in church and think of it, till I am 
 ashamed to say that I forgot even when to stand up and 
 sit down. He had served ten years of his sentence. Ten 
 years! Ten times three hundred and sixty-five days! 
 All the days of the years of my life. The weight of that 
 undeserved punishment had fallen on him the year that I 
 was born, and allthat long, long time of home with 
 Mother and Father and Jem—all the haymaking summers 
 and snowballing winters—whilst Jem and I had never 
 been away from home, and had had so much fun, and 
 nothing very horrid that I could call to mind except the 
 mumps—he had been an exile working in chains. I 
 remember rousing up with a start from the realisation of 
 this one Sunday to find myself still standing in the middle 
 of the Litany. My mother was behaving too well herself 
 to find me out, and though Jem was giggling he dared not 
 move, because he was kneeling next my father, whose 
 
52 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 back was turned to me. I knelt down, and started to hear 
 the parson say—“ show Thy pity upon all prisoners and 
 captives!”? And then I knew what it is to wish when it 
 is too late. For I did so wish I had really prayed for 
 prisoners and captives every Sunday, because then I 
 
 should have prayed for that poor man nearly all the long - 
 
 time he had been so miserable; for we began to go to 
 church very early, and one learns to pray easier and 
 sooner than one learns anything else. 
 
 All this had happened in the holidays, but when they 
 were over school opened as before, and with additional 
 scholars ; for sympathy was wide and warm with the 
 schoolmistress. Strangely enough, both partners in the 
 firm which had prosecuted Mr. Wood were dead. Their 
 successors offered him employment, but he could not face 
 the old associations. I believe he found it so hard to 
 face.any one that this was the reason of his staying at 
 home for a time and helping in the school. I don’t think 
 we boys made him uncomfortable as grown-up strangers 
 seemed to do, and he was particularly fond of ‘Cripple 
 Charlie.” 
 
 This brought me into contact with him, for Charlie and 
 I were great friends. He was as well pleased to be read 
 to out of the penny numbers as the bee-master, and he was 
 interested in things of which Isaac Irvine was completely 
 ignorant. 
 
 Our school was a day-school, but Charlie had been 
 received by Mrs. Wood as a boarder. His poor back 
 could not have borne to be jolted to and from the moors 
 every day. So he lived at Walnut-tree Farm, and now 
 and then his father would come down in a light. cart 
 lent by one of the parishioners, and take Charlie home 
 from Saturday to Monday, and then bring him back 
 again, 
 
 The sisters came to see him too, by turns, sometimes 
 walking and sometimes riding a rough-coated pony, who 
 was well-content to be tied to a gate, and eat some of the 
 
 grass that overgrew the lane. And often Charlie came to. 
 
 us, especially in haytime, for haycocks seem very comfort- 
 able (for people whose backs hurt) to lean against ; and we 
 
 » 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 53 
 
 could cover his legs with hay too, as he liked them to be 
 hidden. ‘There is no need to say how tender my mother 
 was to him, and my father used to look at him half puz- 
 zledly and half pitifully, and always spoke to him in quite 
 a different tone of voice to the one he used with other 
 boys. 
 
 Jem gave Charlie the best puppy out of the curly brown 
 spaniel lot; but he didn’t really like being with him, 
 though he was sorry for him, and he could not bear see- 
 ing his poor legs. 
 
 “They make me feel horrid,” Jem said. ‘‘And even 
 when they’re covered up, I know they’re there.” 
 
 “You’re a chip of the old block, Jem,” said my father. 
 “T’d give a guinea to a hospital any day sooner than see 
 a patient. I’m as sorry as can be for the poor lad, but he 
 turns me queer, though I fee! ashamed of it. I like things 
 sound. Your mother’s different; she likes ’em better for 
 being sick and sorry, and. I suppose Jack takes ‘after 
 her” 
 
 My father was wrong about me. Pity for Charlie was 
 not half of the tie between us. When he was talking, or 
 listening to the penny numbers, I never thought about his 
 legs or his back, and I don’t now understand how anybody 
 could. 
 
 He read and remembered far more than I did, and he 
 was even wilder about strange countries. He had as 
 adventurous a spirit as any lad in the school, cramped up 
 as it was in that misshapen body. I knew he’d have liked 
 to go round the world as well as I, and he often laughed 
 and said—‘* What’s more, Jack, if I’d the money I would. 
 People are very kind to poor wretches like me all over the 
 world, I should never want a helping hand, and the only 
 difference between us would be, that I should be carried 
 on board-ship by some kindhearted blue-jacket, and you’d 
 have to scramble for yourself.” 
 
 He was very anxious to know Isaac Irvine, ati when I 
 brought the bee-master to see him, they seemed to hold 
 . friendly converse with their looks even before either of 
 them spoke. It was a bad day with Charlie, but he set 
 his lips against the pain and raised himself on one arm to 
 
) / WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 stare out of his big brown eyes at the old man, who met 
 them with as steady a gaze out of his. Then Charlie 
 lowered himself again, and said in a tone of voice by 
 which I knew he was pleased, ‘“‘ I’m _ so glad you’ve come 
 to see me, old Isaac. It’s very kind of you. Jack says 
 you know a lot about live things, and that you like the. 
 numbers we like in the ‘ Penny Cyclopedia.’ J wanted to 
 see you, for I think you and I are much in the same boat ; 
 you’re old, and I’m crippled, and we’re both too poor to 
 travel. But Jack’s to go, and when he’s gone, you and 
 I’ll follow him on the map.” 
 
 “Gop willing, sir,” said the bee-master; and when he 
 said that, I knew how sorry he felt for poor Charlie, for 
 when he was moved he always said very short things, and 
 generally something religious. 
 
 And for all Charlie’s whims and fancies, and in all his 
 pain and fretfulness, and through fits of silence and sen- 
 sitiveness, he had never a better friend than Isaac Irvine. 
 Indeed the bee-master was one of those men (to be found 
 in all ranks), whose delicate tenderness might not be 
 guessed from the size and roughness of the outer man. 
 
 Our neighbours were all very kind to Mr. Wood in 
 their own way, but they were a little impatient of his 
 slowness to be sociable, and had, I think, a sort of feel- 
 ing that the ex-convict ought not only to enjoy evening 
 parties more than other people, but to be just a little 
 more grateful for being invited. . 
 
 However, one must have a strong and sensitive imag- 
 ination to cultivate wide sympathies when one lives a 
 quiet, methodical life in the place where one’s father and 
 grandfather lived out quiet methodical lives before one ; 
 and I do not think we were an imaginative race.’ 
 
 The schoolmaster (as we used to call him) had seen and 
 suffered so much more of: life than we, that I do not 
 think he resented the clumsiness of our sympathy; but 
 now I look back I fancy that he must have felt as if he 
 wanted years of peace and quiet in which to try and for- 
 get the years of suffering. Old Isaac said one day, “I 
 reckon the master feels as if he wanted to sit down and 
 say to hisself over and over again, ‘I’m a free man, I’m a 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 55 
 
 free man, I’m a free man,’ till he can fair trust himself to 
 believe it.” | 
 
 Isaac was probably right, and perhaps evening parties, 
 though they are meant for treats, are not the best places 
 to sit down and feel free in, particularly when there are a 
 lot of strange people who have heard a dreadful story 
 about you, and want to see what you look like after it. 
 
 During the summer holidays Jem and I were out the 
 whole day long. When we came in I was ready for the 
 Penny Numbers, but Jem always fell asleep, even if he 
 did not go to bed at once. My father did just the same. 
 I think their feeling about houses was of a perfectly prim- 
 itive kind. They looked upon them as comfortable 
 shelter for sleeping and eating, but not at all as places 
 in which to pursue any occupation. Life, for them, was 
 lived out-of-doors. 
 
 I know now, how dull this must have made the even- 
 ings for my mother, and that it was very selfish of me to 
 wait till my father was asleep (for fear he should say 
 “no”), and then to ask her leave to take the Penny 
 Numbers down to the farm and sit with Cripple 
 Charlie. 
 
 Now and then she would go too, and chat with Mrs. 
 Wood, whilst the schoolmaster and I were turning the 
 terrestrial globe by Charlie’s sofa; but as a rule Charlie 
 and I were alone, and the Woods went round the home- 
 stead together, and came home, hand in hand, through 
 the garden, and we laughed to think how we had taken 
 him for a tramp. 
 
 And sometimes on a summer’s evening, when we talked 
 and read aloud to each other across a quaint oak table 
 that had been the miser’s of far-away lands and strange 
 birds of gorgeous plumage, the schoolmaster sat silent in 
 the arm-chair by the open lattice, resting his white head 
 against the mullion that the ivy was creeping up, and 
 listened to the blackbirds and thrushes as their songs 
 dropped by odd notes into silence, and gazed at the near 
 fields and trees, and the little homestead with its hayricks 
 on the hill, when the grass was apple-green in the gold 
 mist of sunset: and went on gazing when that had 
 
56 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 faded into fog, and the hedgerow elms were black against 
 the sky, as if the eye could not be filled with seeing, nor 
 the ear with hearing! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 “ Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, 
 Turn his necessity to glorious gain.” 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 “JACK,” said Charlie, “listen!” 
 
 He was reading bits out of the numbers to me, whilst I 
 was rigging a miniature yacht to sail on the dam; and 
 Mrs. Wood’s husband was making a plan of something at 
 another table, and occasionally giving me adyice about 
 my masts and sails. “It’s about the South American 
 forests,” said Charlie. “ ‘There every tree has a charac- 
 ter of its own; each has its peculiar foliage, and probably 
 also a tint unlike that of the trees which surround it. 
 Gigantic vegetables of the most different families inter- 
 mix their branches; five-leaved bignonias grow by the 
 side. of bonduc-trees; cassias shed their yellow blossoms 
 -upon the rich fronds of arborescent ferns; myrtles and 
 eugenias, with their thousand arms contrast with the 
 elegant simplicity of palms; and among the airy foliage 
 of the mimosa, the ceropia elevates its giant leaves and 
 heavy candelabra-shaped branches. Of some trees the 
 trunk is perfectly smooth, of others it is defended by 
 enormous spines, and the whole are often apparently sus- 
 tained by the slanting stems of a huge wild fig-tree. 
 With us, the oak, the chestnut, and the beech seem as if 
 they bore no flowers, so small are they and so little dis- 
 tinguishable except by naturalists; but in the forests of 
 South America it is often the most gigantic trees that 
 produce the most brilliant flowers; cassias hang down 
 their pendants of golden blossoms, vochisias unfold their 
 singular bunches; corollas, longer than those of our fox- 
 glove, sometimes yellow or sometimes purple, load the 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 57 
 
 arborescent bignonias; while the chorisias are covered, as 
 it were, with lilies, only their colours are richer and more 
 varied; grasses also appear in form of bamboos, as the 
 most sraceful of trees; bauhinias, bignonias, and aroide- 
 ous plants cling round the trees like enormous cables; 
 orchideous plants and bromelias overrun their limbs, or 
 fasten themselves to them when prostrated by the storm, 
 and make even their dead remains become verdant with 
 leaves and flowers not their own.’” 
 
 Though he could read very well, Charlie had, so far, 
 rather stumbled through the long names in this descrip- 
 tion, but he finished off with fluency, not to say en- 
 thusiasm. ‘“‘Such are the ancient forests, flourishing 
 in a damp and fertile soil, and clothed with perpetual 
 BLOC, 
 
 I was half-way through a profound sigh when I caught 
 the schoolmaster’s eye, who had paused in his plan- 
 making and was listening with his head upon his hand. 
 
 “What a groan!” he exclaimed. ‘‘ What’s the matter?”’ 
 
 “It sounds so splendid!” I answered, “and I’m so 
 afraid I shall never see it. I told Father last night I 
 should like to be a sailor, but he only said ‘Stuff and 
 nonsense,’ and that there was a better berth waiting for 
 me in Uncle Henry’s office than any of the Queen’s ships 
 would provide for me; and Mother begged me never to 
 talk of it any more, if I didn’t want to break her heart” 
 —and I sighed again. 
 
 The schoolmaster had a long smooth face, which looked 
 longer from melancholy, and he turned it and his arms 
 over the back of the chair, and looked at me with the 
 watchful listening look his eyes always had; but I am 
 ‘not sure if he was really paying much attention to me, 
 for he talked (as he often did) as if he were talking to 
 himself. 
 
 “T wanted to be a soldier,” he said, “ and my father 
 wouldn’t let me. I often used to wish I had run away, 
 and enlisted, when I was with Quartermaster McCulloch 
 of the Engineers (he’d risen from the ranks and was 
 younger than me), in Bermuda.” 
 
 “Bermuda! ‘That’s not very far from South America, 
 
58 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 is it?” said I, looking across to the big map of the 
 world. “Is it very beautiful, too?” 
 
 The schoolmaster’s eyes contracted as if he were short- 
 sighted, or looking at something inside his own head. 
 But he smiled as he answered :— 
 
 “The poet says— 
 
 “«<¢ A pleasing land of drowsy-head it is, 
 Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ; 
 And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 
 For ever flushing round a summer sky.’ ” 
 
 “ But are there any curious beasts and plants and _ that 
 sort of thing?” I asked. 
 
 ‘“‘T believe there were no native animals originally,” 
 said the schoolmaster. ‘I mean inland ones. But the 
 fowls of the air and the fishes of the sea are of all lovely 
 forms and colours. And such corals and sponges, and 
 sea-anemones, blooming like flowers in the transparent 
 pools of the warm blue water that washes the coral reefs 
 and fills the little creeks and bays!” 
 
 I gasped—and he went on. ‘‘ The commonest trees, I 
 think, are palms and cedars. Lots of the old houses were 
 built of cedar, and I’ve heard of old cedar furniture to be 
 picked up here and there, as some people buy old oak out 
 of English farmhouses. It is very durable and deliciously 
 scented. People used to make cedar bonfires when the 
 smallpox was about, to keep away infection. ‘The gardens 
 will grow anything, and plots of land are divided by ole- 
 ander hedges of many colours.” 
 
 “‘Oh—h !” ejaculated I, in long-drawn notes of admira- 
 tion. The schoolmaster’s eyes twinkled. 
 
 “Not only,” continued he, ‘do very gaudy lobsters and 
 quaint cray-fish and crabs with lanky legs dispute your 
 attention on the shore with the shell-fish of the loveliest 
 hues; there is no lack of remarkable creatures indoors. 
 Monstrous spiders, whose bite is very unpleasant, drop 
 from the roof; tarantulas and scorpions get into your 
 boots, and cockroaches, hideous to behold and disgusting 
 to smell, invade every place from your bed to your store- 
 cupboard. If you possess anything from food and cloth- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 59 
 
 ing to books and boxes, the ants will find it and devour it, 
 and if you possess a garden the mosquitoes will find you 
 and devour you.’ 
 
 “ Oh—h!” I exclaimed once more, but this time in a 
 different tone. 
 
 Mr. Wood laughed heartily. ‘“* Tropical loveliness has 
 its drawbacks, Jack. Perhaps some day when your 
 clothes are moulded, and your brain feels mouldy too 
 with damp heat, and you can neither work in the sun nor 
 be at peace in the shade, you may wish you were sitting 
 on a stool in your uncle’s office, undisturbed by venomous 
 insects, and cool in a November fog.” 
 
 I laughed too, but I shook my head. 
 
 a NO. iashan t mind, ihe. ansects. if 1. can vet there. 
 Charlie, were those wonderful ants old Isaac-said you'd 
 been reading about, Bermuda ants?” 
 
 I did not catch Charlie’s muttered reply, and when I 
 looked round I saw that his face was buried in the red 
 cushions, and that he was (what Jem used to call) “in 
 one of his tempers.” 
 
 I don’t exactly know how it was. I don’t think Charlie 
 was jealous or really cross, but he used to take fits of 
 fancying he was in the way, and out of it all (from being 
 a cripple), if we seemed to be very busy without him, 
 _especially about such things as planning adventures. I 
 knew what was the matter directly, but I’m afraid my 
 consolation was rather clumsy. 
 
 * Dont bescross, Charlie,’ I ..said; “1. thought, yeu 
 were listening too, and if it’s because you think you won’t 
 be able to go, 1 don’t believe there’s really a bit more 
 chance of my going, though my legs are all right.” 
 
 “Don't bother about me;? said Charlie ; “ but I wish 
 you’d put these numbers down, they’re in my way.” And 
 he turned pettishly over. 
 
 Before I could move, the Eerorimete: had taken the 
 papers, and was standing over Charlie’s couch, with his 
 right hand against the wall, at the level of his head, and 
 his left arm hanging by his side ; and I suppose it was his 
 attitude which made me notice, before he began to speak, 
 what a splendid figure he had, and how strong he looked. 
 
60 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 He spoke in an odd, abrupt sort of voice, very different 
 from the way he had been talking to me, but he looked 
 down at Charlie so intensely, that I think he felt it through 
 the cushions, and lifted his head. 
 
 ““When your father has been bringing you down here, 
 or at any time when you have been out amongst other: 
 people, have you ever overheard them saying, ‘Poor chap ! 
 it’s a sad thing,’ and things of that kind, as if they were 
 sorry for you?” 
 
 Cripple Charlie’s face flushed scarlet, and my own 
 cheeks burned, as I looked daggers at the schoolmaster, 
 for what seemed a brutal insensibility to the lame boy’s 
 feelings. He did not condescend, however, to meet my 
 eyes. His own were still fixed steadily on Charlie’s and 
 he went on. 
 
 “Lve heard it. My ears are quick, and for many a 
 Sunday after I came I caught the whispers behind me as 
 I went up the aisle, ‘Poor man!’ ‘Poor gentleman !’ 
 ‘He looks bad, too!’ One morning an old woman, in a 
 big black bonnet, said, ‘ Poor soul!’ so closesto me, that 
 I looked down, and met her withered eyes, full of tears— 
 for me!—and I said, ‘Thank you, mother,’ and she 
 fingered the sleeve of my coat with her trembling hand 
 (the veins were standing out on it like ropes), and said, 
 ‘I’ve knowed trouble myself, my dear. The Lord bless 
 yours to you!’” 
 
 “Tt must have been Betty Johnson, ” I interpolated ; 
 but the schoolmaster did not even look at me. 
 
 “You and I,” he said, bending nearer to Cripple - 
 Charlie, ‘ have had our share of this life’s pain so dealt 
 out to us that any one can see and pity us. My boy, take 
 a fellow-sufferer’s word for it, it is wise and good not to 
 shrink from the seeing and pitying. The weight of the 
 cross spreads itself and becomes lighter if one learns to suf- 
 fer with others as well as with oneself, to take pity and to 
 give it. And as one learns to be pained with the pains 
 of others, one learns to be happy in their happiness and 
 comforted by their sympathy, and then no. man’s life can 
 be quite empty of pleasure. I don’t know if my troubles 
 have been lighter or heavier ones than yours z 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. , - OI 
 
 The schoolmaster stopped short, and turned his head 
 so that his face was almost hidden against his hand upon 
 the wall. Charlie’s big eyes were full of tears, and I am 
 sure | distinctly felt my ears poke forwards on my head 
 with anxious curiosity to catch what Mr. Wood would tell 
 us about that dreadful time of which he had never spoken. 
 
 ‘When I was your age,” he said bluntly, “I was un- 
 usually lithe and active and strong for mine. When I 
 was half as old again, I was stronger than any man I 
 knew, and had many a boyish triumph out of my strength, 
 because I was slender and graceful, and this concealed 
 my powers. I had all the energies and ambitions natural 
 to unusual vigour and manly skill. I wanted to be a 
 soldier, but it was not to be, and I spent. my youth 
 at a desk in a house of business. I adapted myself, but 
 none the less I chafed whenever I heard of manly ex- 
 ploits, and of the delights and dangers that came of see- 
 ing the world. [used to think I could bear anything to 
 cross the seas and see foreign climes. I did cross the 
 Atlantic at last—a convict in a convict ship (Gop help 
 any man who knows what that is!), and I spent the ten 
 best years of my manhood at the hulks working in chains. 
 You’ve never lost freedom, my lad, so you have never felt 
 what it is not to be able to believe you’ve got it back. 
 You don’t know what it is to turn nervous at the respon- 
 sibility of being your own ‘master for a whole day, or to 
 wake in a dainty room, with the birds singing at the open 
 window, and to.shut your eyes quickly and pray to. go on 
 dreaming a bit, because you feel sure you’re really in your 
 hammock in the hulks.”’ 
 
 ‘The schoolmaster lifted his other hand above his head, 
 and pressed both on it, as if he were in pain. What 
 Charlie was doing I don’t know, but I felt so miserable I 
 could not help crying, and had to hunt for my pocket- 
 handkerchief under the table. It was full of acorns, and 
 by the time I had emptied it and dried my eyes, Mr. 
 Wood was lifting Charlie in his arms, and arranging his 
 cushions. | 
 
 “Oh, thank you!” Charlie said, as he leant back ; 
 “how comfortable you have made me!” 
 
62 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “‘T have been sick-nurse, amongst other trades. For 
 
 some months I was a hospital warder.” 
 ~“Was that when ” Charlie began, and then he 
 stopped short, and said, ‘‘Oh, I beg your pardon!” 
 
 ‘“ Ves; it was when I was a convict,” said the school- 
 master. “No offence, my boy. If I preach I must try 
 to practise. Jack’s eyes are dropping out of his head to 
 hear more of Bermuda, and you and I will put our whims 
 and moods on one side, and we’ll all tell travellers’ tales 
 together.” 
 
 Cripple Charlie kept on saying “Thank you,” and I 
 know he was very sorry not to be able to think of any- 
 thing more to say, for he told me so. He wanted to have 
 thanked him better because he knew that Mr. Wood had 
 talked about his having been a convict, when he did not 
 like to talk about it, just to show Charlie that he knew 
 what pain, and not being able to do what you want, feel 
 like, and that Charlie ought not to fancy he was neglected. 
 
 And that was the beginning of all the stories the 
 schoolmaster used to tell us, and,of the natural history 
 lessons he gave us, and of his teaching me to stuff birds, 
 and do all kinds of things. _ 
 
 We used to say to him, “ You’re better than the penny 
 numbers, for you’re quite as interesting, and we’re sure 
 you're true.”” And the odd thing was that he made 
 Charlie much more contented, because he started him 
 with so many collections, whilst he made me only more 
 and more anxious to see the world. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 “Much would have more, and lost all.” 
 English Prover b. 
 
 “ Learn you to an ill habit, and ye’ll c’at custom.” 
 Scotch Proverb. 
 
 Tue lane was full of colour that autumn, the first 
 autumn of the convict’s return. ‘The leaves turned early, 
 
 = 
 
 = 
 
. * 
 
 ° 
 
 WE AND THE WORLD. 63 
 
 and fell late, and made the hedges gayer than when the 
 dog-roses were out; for not only were the leaves of all 
 kinds brighter than many flowers, but the berries (from 
 the holly and mountain-ash to the hips and haws) were 
 so thick set, and so red and shining, that, as my dear mother 
 said, “ they looked almost artificial.” 
 
 I remember it well, because of two things. First, that 
 Jem got five of the largest hips we had ever seen off a 
 leafless dog-rose branch which stuck far our of the 
 hedge, and picked the little green coronets off, so that they 
 were smooth and glossy and egg-shaped, and crimson on 
 one side and yellow on the other; and then he got an 
 empty chaffinch’s nest close by and put the five hips into 
 it, and took it home, and persuaded Alice our. new parlour- 
 maid that it was a robin redbreast’s nest with eggs in it. 
 And she believed it, for she came from London and knew 
 no better. 
 
 The second thing I remember that autumn by, is that 
 everybody expected a hard winter because of the berries 
 being so fine, and the hard winter never came, and the 
 birds ate worms and grubs and left most of the hedge 
 fruits where they were. 
 
 November was bright and mild, and the morning frosts 
 only made the berries all the glossier when the sun came 
 out. Wehad one or two snow-storms in December, and 
 then we all said, ‘Now its coming!” but the snow 
 melted away and left no bones behind. In January the - 
 snow lay longer, and left big bones on the moors, and 
 Jem and I made a slide to school on the pack track, and 
 towards the end of the month the milldam froze hard, and 
 we had slides fifteen yards long, and skating ; and Winter 
 seemed to have come back in good earnest to fetch his 
 bones away. 
 
 Jem was great fun in frosty weather; Charlie and I 
 used to die of laughing at him. I think cold made him 
 pugnacious ; he seemed always ready for a row, and was 
 constantly in one. The January frost came in our Christ- 
 mas holidays so Jem had lots of time on his hands; he 
 spent almost all of it out of doors, and he devoted a good 
 dpa! of it to fighting with the rough lads of the village. 
 
 & ‘ 
 
64 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 There was a standing subject of quarrel, which is a great 
 thing for either tribes or individuals who have a turn 
 that way. A pond at the corner of the lower paddock 
 was fed by a stream which also fed the milldam; and the 
 milldam was close by, though, as it happened, not on my 
 father’s property. Old custom made the milldam the 
 winter resort of all the village sliders and skaters, and my 
 father displayed a good deal of toleration when those who 
 could not find room for a new slide, or wished to practise 
 their “‘ outer edge” in a quiet spot, came climbing over 
 the wall (there was no real thoroughfare) and invaded our 
 pond. 
 
 Perhaps it is because gratitude is a fatiguing virtue, 
 or perhaps it is because self-esteem has no practical limits, 
 that favours are seldom regarded as such for long. They 
 are either depreciated, or claimed as rights; very often 
 both. And what is common in all classes is almost uni- 
 versal amongst the uneducated. You have only to make 
 a system of giving your cast-off clothes to some shivering 
 family, and you will not have to wait long for an eloquent 
 essay on their shabbiness, or for an outburst of sincere 
 indignation if you venture to reserve a warm jacket for 
 a needy relative. Prescriptive rights, in short, grow faster 
 than pumpkins, which is amongst the many warnings life 
 affords us to be just as well as generous. ‘Thence it had 
 come about that the young roughs of the village regarded 
 our pond to all winter intents and purposes as theirs, and 
 my father as only so far and so objectionably concerned 
 in the matter that he gave John Binder a yearly job in 
 patching up the wall which it took them three months’ 
 trouble to kick a breach in. 
 
 Our neighbours were what is called ‘‘ very independent” 
 folk. In the grown-up people this was modified by the 
 fact that no one whohas to earn his own livelihood can be 
 quite independent of other people; if he would live he 
 must let live, and throw a little civility into the bargain. 
 But boys of an age when their parents found meals and 
 hobnailed boots for them whether they behaved well or 
 ill, were able to display independence in its roughest 
 form. And when the boys of our neighbourhood were 
 rough, they were very rough indeed. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 65 
 
 The village boys had their Christmas holidays about 
 the same time that we had ours, which left them as much 
 spare time for sliding and skating as we had, but they had 
 their dinner at twelve o’clock, whilst we had ours at one, 
 so that any young roughs who wished to damage our pond 
 were just comfortably beginning their mischief as Jem 
 and I were saying grace before meat, and the thought of 
 it took away our appetites again and again. 
 
 That winter they were particularly aggravating, The 
 December frost was a very imperfect one, and the mill- 
 dam never bore properly, so the boys swarmed over our 
 pond, which was shallow and safe. Very few of them 
 could even hobble on skates, and those few carried the 
 art no farther than by cutting up the slides. But thaw 
 came on, so that there was no sliding, and then the young 
 roughs amused themselves with stamping holes in the 
 soft ice with their hobnailed heels, When word came to 
 us that they were taking the stones off our wall and 
 pitching them down on the soft ice below, to act as 
 skaters’ stumblingblocks for the rest of that hard winter 
 which we expected, Jem’s indignation was not greater 
 than mine. My father was not at home, and indeed, 
 when we had complained before, he rather snubbed us, 
 and said that we could not want the whole of the pond to 
 ourselves, and that he had always lived quietly with his 
 neighbours and we must learn to do the same, and so 
 forth. No action at all-calculated to assuage our thirst 
 for revenge was likely to be taken by him, soJem and I 
 held a council by Charlie’s sofa, and it was a council of 
 war. At the end we all three solemnly shook hands, and 
 Charlie was left to write and despatch brief notes of sum- 
 mons to our more distant schoolmates, whilst Jem and I 
 tucked up our trousers, wound our comforters sternly 
 round our throats, and went forth in different directions 
 to gather the rest. 
 
 (Having lately been reading about the Highlanders 
 who used to send round a fiery cross when the clans 
 were called to battle, I should have liked to do so in this 
 instance ; but as some of the Academy boys were no 
 
 5 
 
66 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 greater readers than Jem, they might not have known 
 what it meant, so we abandoned the notion.) 
 
 There was not an Academy boy worth speaking of who 
 was in time for dinner the following day; and several of 
 them brought brothers, or cousins to the fray. By half- 
 past twelve we had crept down the field that was on the 
 other side of our wall, and had hidden ourselves in various 
 corners of a cattle-shed, where a big cart and some sail- 
 cloth and a turnip-heap provided us with ambush.  By- 
 and-by certain familiar whoops and hullohs announced 
 that the enemy was coming. One or two bigger boys 
 made for the dam (which I confess was a relief to us), 
 but our own particular foes advanced with a rush upon 
 the wall. 
 
 “They hevn’t coomed yet, hev they?” we heard the 
 sexton’s son say, as he peeped over at our pond. 
 
 “Noa,” was the reply. ‘It’s not gone one yet.” 
 
 “It’8 gone one byt’ church. I yeard it as we was 
 coming up t’ lane.” ' 
 
 “'T’ church clock’s always hafe-an-hour fasst, thee 
 knows.” 
 
 SebLaSH tis 
 
 SSitas on 
 
 **'T’ church clock’s t’ one to go by, anyhow,” the sex- 
 ton’s son maintained. 
 
 His friend guffawed aloud, ‘ 
 
 “ And it’s a reight un to go by two, my sakes! when 
 thee feyther shifts t’ time back’ards and for’ards every 
 Sunday morning to suit hissen.” 
 
 “To suit hissen! To suit t’ ringers, ye mean!” said 
 the sexton’s son. 
 
 ‘¢What’s thou to do wi’ t’ ringers?”’ was the reply, 
 enforced apparently by a punch in the back, and the two 
 lads came cuffing and struggling up the field, much to my 
 alarm, but fortunately they were too busy to notice us. 
 
 Meanwhile, the rest had not been idle at the wall. Jem 
 had climbed on the cart, and peeping through a brick 
 hole he could see that they had with some difficulty dis- 
 engaged a very heavy stone. As we were turning our 
 heads to watch the two lads fighting near our hiding-place, 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 67 
 
 we heard the stone strike with a heavy thud upon the 
 rotten ice below, and it was echoed bya groan of satisfac- 
 tion from above, 
 
 (‘‘ Ready!” I whispered.) 
 
 * Yon’ll break somebody’s nose when it’s frosted in,”’ 
 cried Bob Furniss, in a tone of sincere gratification. 
 
 “Eh, Tim Binder! there’ll be a rare job for thee feyther 
 next spring, pevin es up this wall, by t’ time we’ve done 
 wi’ it.’ 
 
 lect mmescone, swe. heard) im? says, oe hhour Gant 
 handle a stone. Let me come. Th’ ice is as soft as lop- 
 pered milk, and i’ ten minutes [’ll fill yon bit they’re so 
 chuff of skating on, as thick wi’ stones as a quarry.” 
 
 Pee NO Ww.) 8 1 said.) 
 
 Our foes considerably outnumbered us, but I think they 
 were at a disadvantage. They had worked off a good 
 deal of their steam, and ours was at explosion point. We 
 took them by surprise and in the rear. They had had 
 some hard exercise, and we were panting to begin. As a 
 matter of fact those who could get away ran away. We 
 caught all we could, and punched and pummelled and 
 rolled them in the snow to our hearts’ content. 
 
 Jem never was much of a talker, and I never knew him 
 speak when he was fighting; but three several times on 
 this occasion, I heard him say very stiffly and distinctly 
 (he was on the top of Tim Binder, “I'll fettle thee! Dll 
 fettlemhee! Ulistettle thee ty" 
 
 The battle was over, the victory was ours, but the 
 campaign was not ended, and thenceforward the disad- 
 vantages would be for us. Even real warfare is compli- 
 cated when men fight with men less civilized than them- 
 selves ; and we had learnt before now that when we snow- 
 balled each other or snowballed the rougher “lot” of 
 village boys, we did so under different conditions. We 
 had our own code of honours and fairness, but Bob Furniss 
 was not above putting a stone into a snowball if he owed 
 a grudge. 
 
 So when we heard a rumour that the bigger ‘‘ roughs” 
 were going to join the younger ones, and lie in wait to 
 “nay us off” the first day we came down to the ice, I 
 
68 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 cannot say we felt comfortable, though we resolved to be 
 courageous. Meanwhile, the thaw continued, which sus- 
 pended operations, and gave time, which is good for heal- 
 ing; and Christmas came, and we and our foes met and 
 mingled in the mummeries of the season, and wished: 
 each other Happy New Years, and said nothing about 
 the pond. | 
 
 How my father came to hear of the matter we did not 
 know at the time, but one morning he summoned Jem and 
 me, and bade us tell him all about it. I was always 
 rather afraid of my father, and I should have made out 
 a very stammeringestory, but Jem flushed up like a 
 turkey-cock, and gave our version of the business very 
 straightforwardly. ‘The other side of the tale my father 
 had evidently heard, and we fancied he must have heard 
 also of the intended attack on us, for it never took place, 
 and we knew of interviews which he had with John 
 Binder and others of our neighbours; and when the frost 
 came in January, we found that the stones had been 
 taken out of the pond, and my father gave us a sharp 
 lecture against being quarrelsome and giving ourselves 
 airs, and it ended with—‘‘The pond is mine. I wish you 
 to remember it because it makes it your duty to be hos- 
 pitable and civil to the boys I allow to goon it. And I 
 have very decidedly warned them and their parents to re- 
 member it, because if my permission for fair amusement 
 is abused to damage and trespass, I shall withdraw the 
 favour and prosecute intruders. But the day I shut up 
 my pond from my neighbours, I shall forbid you and Jack 
 ‘to go on it again unless the fault is more entirely on one 
 side than it’s likely to be when boys squabble.” 
 
 My father waved our dismissal, but I hesitated. 
 
 “The boys won’t think we told tales to you to get out 
 of another fight?” I gasped. 
 
 “Everybody knows perfectly well how I heard. It 
 came to the sexton’s ears, and he very properly informed 
 me.” ‘ 
 
 I felt relieved, and the first day we had on the ice went 
 off very fairly. The boys were sheepish at first and slow 
 to come on, and when they had assembled in force they 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. e460 
 
 were inclined to be bullying. But Jem and I kept our 
 tempers, and by-and-by my father came down to see us, 
 and headed a long slide in which we and our foes were 
 combined. As he left he pinched Jem’s frosty ear, and 
 said, “ Let me hear if there’s any real malice, but don’t 
 double your fists at every trifle. Slide and let slide! slide 
 and let slide!” And he took a pinch of snuff and de- 
 parted. 
 
 And Jem was wonderfully peaceable for the rest of the 
 day. A word from my father went a long way with him. 
 They were very fond of each other. 
 
 I had no love of fighting for fighting’s sake, and I had 
 other interests besides sliding and skating; sol was well 
 satisfied that we got through the January frost without 
 further breaches of the peace. Towards the end of the 
 month we all went a good deal upon the milldam, and 
 Mr. Wood (assisted by meas far as watching, handing 
 tools and asking questions went) made a rough sledge, in 
 which he pushed Charlie before him as he skated; and I 
 believe the village boys, as well as his own schoolfellows, 
 were glad that Cripple Charlie had a share in the winter 
 fun, for wherever Mr. Wood drove him, both sliders and 
 skaters made way. 
 
 And even on the pond there were no more real battles 
 that winter. Only now and then some mischievous urchin 
 tripped up our brand new skates, and begged our pardon 
 as he left us on our backs. And more than once, when 
 “the island” in the middle of the pond was a very fairy- 
 land of hoarfrosted twigs and snow-plumed larches, I 
 have seen its white loveliness rudely shaken, and skating 
 round to discover the cause, have beheld Jem, with 
 cheeks redder than his scarlet comforter, return an ‘‘ acci- 
 dental” shove with interest ; or posed like a ruffled robin 
 redbreast, to defend a newly-made slide against intrud- 
 ers. 
 
7O : WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAP TEREVIEL 
 
 “He it was who sent the snowflakes 
 Sifting, hissing through the forest ; 
 Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers, 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Shinbegis, the diver, feared not.’’ 
 The Song of Hiawatha. 
 
 THE first day of February was mild, and foggy, and 
 cloudy, and in the night I woke feeling very hot, and 
 threw off my quilt, and heard the dripping of soft rain in 
 the dark outside, and thought, “ There goes our skating.” 
 Towards morning, however, I woke again and had to pull 
 the quilt back into its place, and when I started after 
 breakfast to see what the dam looked like, there was a 
 sharpish frost, which, coming after a day of thaw, had 
 given the ice such a fine smooth surface as we had not 
 had for long. » 
 
 I felt quite sorry for Jem, because he was going in the 
 dogcart with my father to see a horse, and asI hadn’t 
 got him to skate with, I went down to the farm after 
 breakfast, to see what Charlie and the Woods were going 
 to do. Charlie was not well, but Mr. Wood said he 
 would come to the dam with me after dinner, as he had 
 to go to the next village on business, and the dam lay in 
 his way. 
 
 “Keep to the pond this morning, Jack,” he added, to 
 my astonishment. ‘“‘ Remember it thawed all yesterday ; 
 and if the wheel was freed and has been turning, it has 
 run water off from under the ice and all may not be sound 
 that’s smooth. 
 
 The pond was softer than: it looked, but the milldam 
 was most tempting. A sheet of “glare ice,” as Ameri- 
 cans say, smooth and clear as a newly-washed window- 
 pane. I did not goon it, but I brought Mr. Wood to it 
 in the afternoon, in the full hope that he would give me 
 leave. : 
 
 We found several young men on the bank, some fasten- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. Ze 
 
 ing their skates and some trying the ice with their heels, 
 and as we Stood there the numbers increased, and most of 
 them went on without hesitation; and when they rushed 
 in groups together, I noticed that the ice slightly 
 swayed. 
 
 “The ice bends a good deal, ” said Mr. Woodto aman 
 standing next to us. 
 
 ‘‘ They say it’s not so like to break when it bends,” was 
 the reply ; and the man moved on. 
 
 A good many of the elder men from the village had 
 come up, and a group, including John Binder, now stood 
 alongside of us. 
 
 ‘““There’s a good sup of water atop of it,” said the 
 mason; and I noticed then that the ice seemed to look 
 wetter, like newly-washed glass still, but like glass that 
 wants wiping dry. 
 
 ‘‘T’m afraid the ice is not safe, ” said the schoolmaster, 
 
 ““Tt’s a tidy thickness, sir,” said John Binder, and a 
 heavy man, with his hands in his pockets and_ his back 
 turned to us, stepped down and gave two or three jumps, 
 and then got up again, and, with his back still turned 
 towards us, said— 
 
 “It’s reight enough. ”’ 
 
 “Tt’s right enough for one man, but not for a crowd, 
 I’m afraid. Was the waterwheel freed last night, do you 
 know ?” 
 
 ‘“Tt was loosed last night, but it’s froz again,” saida 
 bystander. 
 
 “Tt’s not freezing now,” said the schoolmaster, and 
 you may see how much larger that weak place where the 
 stream is has got since yesterday. However, ” he added 
 good- humouredly,” I suppose you think you know your 
 own milldam and its ways better than I can?” 
 
 “Well,” said the heavy man, still with his back to us, 
 “‘T reckon we’ve slid on this dam a many winters afore 
 you come. No offence, I hope?” 
 
 ‘“‘By no means,” said the schoolmaster ; “ but if you old 
 hands do begin to feel doubtful as the afternoon goes on, 
 call off those lads at the other end in good time. And if 
 you could warn them not to go in rushes together—but 
 
 9 
 
72 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 perhaps they would not listen to you,” he added with a 
 spice of malice. 
 
 ““T don’t suppose they would, sir,’ said John Binder, 
 candidly. ‘‘ They’re very venturesome, is lads.” 
 
 “T reckon they’ll suit themselves,” said the heavy man, | 
 and he jumped on to the ice, and went off, still with his 
 back to us. 
 
 “Tf I hadn’t lived so many years out of England and 
 out of the world,” said the schoolmaster, turning to me 
 with a half vexed laugh, “I don’t suppose I should dis- 
 credit myself to no purpose by telling fools they are in 
 danger. Jack! will you promise me not to go on the 
 dam this afternoon?” 
 
 “Tt is dangerous, 1s it?” I “asked*reluctantly ; for “I 
 wanted sorely to join the rest. 
 
 “That’s a matter of opinion, it seems. But I have a 
 wish that you should not go on till I come back. I'll be 
 as quick as I can. Promise me.” 
 
 Saepromise. said’ It 
 
 “Will you walk with me?” he asked. But I refused. 
 I thought I would rather watch the others; and accord- 
 ingly, after I had followed the schoo]master with my eyes 
 as he strode off at a pace that promised soon to bring him 
 back, I put my hands into my pockets and joined the 
 groups of watchers on the bank. I suppose if I had 
 thought about it, I might have observed that though I 
 was dawdling about, my nose and ears and fingers were 
 not nipped. Mr. Wood was right,—it had not been freez- 
 ing for hours past. 
 
 The first thing I looked for was the heavy man. He 
 was so Clumsy looking that I quite expected him to fall 
 when he walked off on to ice only fit for skaters. But as 
 I looked closer I saw that the wet on the top was begin- 
 ning to have a curdled look, and that the glassiness of 
 the milldam was much diminished. The heavy man’s 
 heavy boots got good foothold, and several of his friends, 
 seeing this, went after him. And my promise weighed 
 sorely on me. 
 
 The next thing that drew my attention was a lad of 
 about seventeen, who was skating really well. Indeed, 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 73 
 
 everybody was looking at him, for he was the only one of 
 the villagers who could perform in any but the clumsiest 
 fashion, and, with an active interest that hovered between 
 jeering and applause, his neighbours followed him up and 
 down the dam. As I might not go on, I wandered up 
 and down the bank too, and occasionally joined in a 
 murmured cheer when he deftly evaded some intentional 
 blunderer, or cut a figure at the request of his particular 
 friends. I got tired at last, and went down to the pond, 
 where I ploughed about for a time on my skates in soli- 
 tude, for the pond was empty. ThenI ran up to the 
 house to see if Jem had come back, but he had not, and I 
 returned to the dam to wait for the schoolmaster. 
 
 The crowd was larger than before, for everybody’s work- 
 hours were over; and the skater was still displaying him- 
 self. He was doing very diffcult figures now, and I ran 
 round to where the bank was covered with people watch- 
 ing him. In the minute that followed I remember three 
 things with curious distinctness. First, that I saw Mr. 
 Wood coming back, only one field off, and beckoned to 
 him to be quick, because the lad was beginning to cut a 
 double three backwards, and I wanted the schoolmaster 
 to see it. Secondly, that the sight of him seemed suddenly 
 to bring to my mind that we were allon the far side of 
 the dam, the side he thought dangerous. And thirdly, 
 that, quickly as my eyes passed from Mr. Wood to the 
 skater, I caught sight of a bloated-looking young man, 
 whom we all knew asa sort of typical “‘ bad lot,” standing 
 with another man who was a great better, and from a 
 movement between them, it just flashed through my head 
 that they were betting as to whether the lad would cut 
 the double three backwards or not. 
 
 He cut one—two—and then he turned too quickly and 
 his skate caught in the softening ice, and when he came 
 headlong, his head struck, and where it struck it went 
 through. It looked so horrible that it was a relief to see 
 him begin to struggle ; but the weakened ice broke around 
 him with every effort, and he went down. 
 
 For many a year afterwards I used to dream of his face 
 as he sank, and of the way the ice heaved like the breast 
 
74 WE AND THE WORLD: 
 
 of some living thing, and fell back, and of the heavy 
 waves that rippled over it out of that awful hole. But 
 great as was the shock, it was small to the storm of shame 
 and agony that came over me when I realized that every 
 comrade who had been around the lad had saved himself » 
 by a rush to the bank, where we huddled together, a 
 gaping crowd of foolhardy cowards, without skill to do 
 anything or heart to dare anything to save him. 
 
 At the time it maddened me so, that I felt that if I 
 could not help the lad I would rather be drowned in the 
 hole with him, and I began to scramble in a foolish way 
 down the bank, but John Binder caught me by the arm 
 and pulled me back, and said (I suppose to soothe 
 me), 
 
 ‘““Yon’s the schoolmaster, sir;” and then I saw Mr. 
 Wood fling himself over the hedge by the alder thicket 
 (he*was rather good at high jumps), and come flying along 
 the bank towards us, when he said— 
 
 ‘“ What’s the matter?” 
 
 I threw my arms round him and sobbed, “ He was 
 cutting a double three backwards, and he went in.” 
 
 Mr. Wood unclasped my arms and turned to the rest. 
 
 “What have you done with him?” he said. “Did he 
 hurt himself ? ” 
 
 If the crowd was cowardly and helpless, if was not 
 indifferent ; and I shall never forget the haggard faces 
 that turned by one impulse, where a dozen grimy hands 
 pointed—to the hole. 
 
 ‘ies? drowned sdeade -,.! He’s inter tice. Sa aie 
 went right down,” several men hastened to reply, but most 
 of them only enforced the mute explanation of their 
 pointed finger, with “ He’s yonder.” 
 
 For yet an instant I don’t think Mr. Wood believed it, 
 and then he seized the man next to him (without looking, 
 for he was blind with rage) and said— 
 
 ‘* He’s yonder, and you're here ?’ 
 
 As it happened, it was the man who had talked with 
 his back to us. He was very big and very heavy, but he 
 reeled when Mr. Wood shook him, like a feather caught 
 by a storm. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 76 
 
 +) 
 
 “You were foolhardy enough an hour ago,” said the 
 schoolmaster. ‘‘ Won’t one of you venture on to your own 
 dam to help a drowning man?” 
 
 ‘“‘"There’s none on us can swim, sir,”’ said John Binder. 
 “ Tt’s a bad job ’—and he gave a sob that made me begin 
 to cry again, and several other people too—‘ but where’d 
 be t’ use of drowning five or six more atop of him?” 
 
 “Can any of you run if you can’t swim?” said the 
 schoolmaster. ‘“ Get a stout rope—as fast as you can, 
 and send somebody for the doctor and a bottle of brandy, 
 and a blanket or two to carry him home in. Jack! Hold 
 these.” 
 
 _ I took his watch and his purse, and he went down the 
 bank and walked on to the ice; but after a time his feet 
 went through as the skater’s head had gone. 
 
 “Tt ain’t a bit of use. There’s naught to be done,” 
 said the bystanders: for, except those who had rua. to 
 do Mr. Wood’s bidding, we were all watching and all 
 huddled closer to the edge than ever. The schoolmaster 
 went down on his hands and knees, on which a big lad, 
 with his hands in his trouser pockets, guffawed. 
 
 ‘What's he up to now?” he asked. 
 
 “Thee may haud thee tongue if thee can do naught,” 
 said a mill-girl who had come up. “TI reckon he knows 
 what he’s efter better nor thee.” She had pushed to the 
 front, and was crouched upon the edge, and seemed very 
 much excited. ‘‘Gop bless him for trying to save t’ best 
 lad in t’ village i’ any fashion, say]! ‘There’s them that’s 
 nearer kin to him and not so kind.” 
 
 Perhaps the strict justice of this taunt prevented a reply 
 (for there lurks some fairness in the roughest of us), or 
 perhaps the crowd, being chiefly men, knew from experi- 
 ence that there are occasions when it is best to let a 
 woman say her say. 
 
 “ Ve see he’s trying to spread hisself Rae John Binder 
 explained in pacific tones. ‘I reckon he thinks it’ll 
 bear him if he shifts half of his weight on to his 
 hands.” 
 
 The girl got nearer to the mason, and looked up at him 
 with her eyes full of tears. 
 
76 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “Thank ye, John,” she said. ‘“ D’ye think he’ll get 
 him out ?” 
 
 “Maybe, he will,my lass. He’s a man that knows 
 what he’s doing. I'll say so much for him.” 
 
 “Nay!” added the mason sorrowfully. ‘Th’ ice ’Il 
 never hold him—his hand’s in—and there goes his knee. 
 Maester ! maester!” he shouted, “‘ Come off! come off ! ” 
 and many a voice besides mine echoed him, “ Come 
 off! come off!” 
 
 The girl -got John Binder, by the jarm, and’ said 
 hoarsely, “ Fetch him off! He’s a reight good ’un— 
 over good to be drownded, if—if it’s of no use.” And 
 she sat down on the bank, and pulled her millshawl over 
 her head, and cried as I had never seen anyone cry be- 
 fore. 
 
 I was so busy watching her that I did not see that Mr. 
 Wood had got back to the bank. Several hands were 
 held out to help him up, but he shook his head and said 
 rE 10) TS abt oe ite 
 
 Two or three jack-knives were out in an instant. He 
 pointed to the alder thicket. “1 want two poles,” he 
 said, “sixteen feet long, if you can, and as thick as my 
 wrist at the bottom.” 
 
 All right, Sir.” 
 
 He sat down on the bank, and I rushed up and took 
 one of his cold wet hands in both mine, and said, ‘“ Please, 
 please, don’t go on any more.” 
 
 ‘“‘ He must be dead ever so long ago,” I added, repeat- 
 ing what I had heard.” 
 
 ‘“‘ He hasn’t been in the water ten minutes,” said the 
 schoolmaster, laughing. ‘ Jack! Jack! you're not half 
 ready for travelling yet. You must learn not to lose 
 your head and your heart and your wits and your sense 
 of time in this fashion, if you mean to be any good at 
 a pinch to yourself or your neighbours. Has the rope 
 come?” 
 
 ‘Noy Sig! 
 
 “Those poles?” said the schoolmaster, getting up. 
 
 “They’re here!” I shouted, as a young forest of poles 
 came towards us, so willing had been the owners of the 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. Fb 
 
 jack-knives. The thickest had been cut by the heavy 
 man, and Mr. Wood took it first. 
 
 “Thank you, friend,” he said. The man didn’t speak, 
 and he turned his back as usual, but he gave a sideways 
 surly nod before he turned. ‘The schoolmaster chose a 
 second pole, and then pushed both before him right out 
 on to the ice, in such a way that with the points touching 
 -each other they formed a sort of huge A, the thicker ends 
 being the nearer to the bank. 
 
 ‘“‘ Now Jack,” said he, ‘‘ pay attention; and no more 
 blubbering. ‘There’s always plenty of time for giving 
 Way afterwards.” 
 
 As he spoke he scrambled on to the poles, and began 
 to work himself and them over the ice, wfiggling in a 
 kind of snake fashion in the direction of the hole. We 
 watched him breathlessly, but within ten yards of the 
 hole he stopped. He evidently dared not go on; and 
 the same thought seized all of us—‘‘ Can he get back ?” 
 Spreading his legs and arms he now lay flat upon the 
 poles, peering towards the pole as if to try if he could see 
 anything of the drowning man. It was only for an 
 instant, then he rolled over on to the rotten ice, smashed 
 through and sank more suddenly than the skater had 
 done. 
 
 The mill-girl jumped up with a wild cry and rushed to 
 the water, but John Binder pulled her back as he had 
 pulled me. Martha, our housemaid, said afterwards (and 
 was ready to take oath on the gilt-edged church service 
 my mother gave her) that the girl was so violent that it 
 took fourteen men to hold her; but Martha wasn’t there, 
 and I only saw two, one at each arm, and when she 
 fainted they laid her down and left her, and hurried back 
 to see what was going on. For tenderness.is an acquired 
 grace in men, and it was not common in our neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 What was going on was that John Binder had torn his 
 hat from his head and was saying, “Idon’t know if 
 there’s aught we can do, but I can’t go home myself and 
 leave him yonder. I’m a married man with a family, but 
 I don’t vally my life if % 
 
 
 
78 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 But the rest of this speech was drowned in noise more 
 eloquent than words, and then it broke into cries of 
 “See thee !—It is—it’s t? maester! and he has—no !— 
 yea !—he #as—he’s gotten him. Polly, lass! he’s fetched 
 up thy Arthur by t’ hair of his heead.” 
 
 It was strictly true. The schoolmaster told me after- 
 wards how it was. When he found that the ice would 
 bear no longer, he rolled into the water on purpose, but, 
 to his horror, he felt himself seized by the drowning man, 
 which pulled him suddenly down. The lad had risen 
 once, it seems, though we had not seen him, and had got 
 a breath of air at the hole, but the edge broke in his 
 numbed fingers, and he sank again and drifted under 
 the ice. When he rose the second time, by an odd 
 chance it was just where Mr. Wood broke in, and his 
 clutch of the schoolmaster nearly cost both their lives. 
 
 “Tf ever,” said Mr. Wood, when he was talking about 
 it afterwards, “if ever, Jack, when you’re out in the world 
 you get under water, and somebody tries to save you; 
 when he grips you, don’t seize 42m, if you can muster self- 
 control to avoid it. If you cling to him, you'll either 
 drown both, or you’ll force him to do as I did—throttle 
 you, to keep you quiet.” 
 
 “Did you?” I gasped. 
 
 “Of course I did. I got him by the throat and dived 
 with him—the only real risk I ran, as I did not know how 
 deep the dam was.” 
 
 “Tt’s an old quarry,” said I. 
 
 “‘T know now. We went down well, and I squeezed 
 his throat as we went. As soon as he was still we 
 naturally rose, and I turned on my back and got him by 
 the head. I looked about for the hole, and saw it 
 glimmering above me like a moon in a . fog, and then up 
 we came.’ 
 
 When they did come up, our joy’was so great that for 
 the moment we felt as if all was accomplished; but far 
 the hardest part really was to come. When the school- 
 master clutched the poles once more, and drove one under 
 the lad’s arms and under his own left arm, and so kept 
 his burden afloat whilst he broke a swimming-path for 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. LEG 
 
 himself with the other, our admiration of his cleverness 
 gave place to the blessed thought that it might now be 
 possible to help him. The sight of the poles seemed 
 suddenly to suggest it, and in a moment every spare pole 
 had been seized, and, headed by our heavy friend, eight 
 or ten men plunged in, and, smashing the ice before them, 
 waded out to meet the schoolmaster. On the bank we 
 were dead silent; in the water they neither stopped 
 nor spoke till it was breast high round their leader. 
 
 I have often thought, and have always felt quite sure, 
 that if the heavy man had gone on till the little grey waves 
 and the bits of ice closed over him, not a soul of those 
 who followed him would—nay, cow/d—have turned back. 
 Heroism, like cowardice, is contagious, and I do not 
 think there was one of us by that time who would have 
 feared to dare or grudged to die. 
 
 As it was, the heavy man stood still and shouted for the 
 rope. It had come, and perhaps it was not the smallest 
 effect of the day’s teaching, that those on the bank 
 payed it out at once to those in the water till it reached 
 the leader, without waiting to ask why he wanted it. The 
 grace of obedience is slow to be learnt by - disputatious 
 northmen, but we had had some hard teaching that after- 
 noon. 
 
 When the heavy man got the rope he tied the middle 
 part of it round himself, ‘and, coiling the shorter end, he 
 sent it, as if it had been a quoit, skimming over the ice 
 towards the schoolmaster. ~As it unwound itself it slid 
 along, amd,after a struggle Mr. Wood grasped it. I fancy 
 he fastened it round the lad’s body; and got his own 
 hands freer to break the ice before them. ‘Then the 
 heavy man turned, and the long end of the line, passing 
 from hand to hand in the water, was seized upon the bank 
 by every one who could get hold of it. I never was more 
 squeezed and buffeted in my life ; but we fairly fought for 
 the privilege of touching if it wére but a strand of the 
 rope that dragged them in. 
 
 Anda flock of wild birds, resting on their journey at 
 the other end of the milldam, rose in terror and pursued 
 their seaward way; so wild and so prolonged were the 
 
 
 
 
80 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 echoes of that strange, speechless cry in which collective 
 man gives vent to overpowering emotion. 
 
 It is odd, when one comes to think of it, but I know it 
 is true, for two sensible words would have stuck in my 
 own throat and choked me, but I cheered till I could 
 cheer no longer. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 “In doubtful matters Courage may do much:—In desperate, 
 —Patience.” 
 Old Proverb. 
 
 THE young skater duly recovered, and thenceforward 
 Mr. Wood’s popularity in the village was established, 
 and the following summer he started a swimming-class, 
 to which the young men flocked with more readiness 
 than they commonly showed for efforts made to improve 
 them. 
 
 For my own part I had so realised, to my shame, that 
 one may feel very adventurous and yet not know how to 
 venture or what to venture in the time of need, that my 
 whole heart was set upon getting the schoolmaster to 
 teach me to swim and to dive, with any other lessons in 
 preparedness of body and mind which I was old enough 
 to profit by. And if the true tales of his own experiences 
 were more interesting than the Penny Numbers, it was 
 better still to feel that one was qualifying i 2’5 OWN 
 proper person for a life of adventure. , 
 
 During the winter Mr. Wood built a boat, which was 
 christened the Ade/a, after his wife. It was an interesting 
 process to us all. JI hung about and did my best to be 
 helpful, and both Jem and I spoiled our every-day 
 trousers, and rubbed the boat’s sides, the day she was 
 painted. It was from the Ade/a that Jem and I had 
 our first swimming-lessons, Mr. Wood lowering us with 
 a rope under our arms, by which he gave us as much 
 support as was needed, whilst he taught us how to 
 strike out. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. SI 
 
 We had*swimming races on the canal, and having 
 learned to swim and dive without our clothes, we learnt to 
 do so in them, and found it much more difficult for 
 swimming and easier for diving. It was then that the 
 trousers we had damaged when the Ade/a was built came 
 in most usefully, and saved us from having to attempt the 
 at least equally difficult task of persuading my mother to 
 let us spoil good ones in an amusement which had the 
 unpardonable quality of being ‘“ very odd.” 
 
 Dear old Charlie had as much fun out of the boat as we 
 had though he could not learn to dive. He used to look 
 as if every minute of a pull up the canal on a sunny 
 evening gave him pleasure ; and the brown Ivish spaniel 
 Jem gave him used to swim after the boat and look up 
 in Charlie’s face as if it knew how he enjoyed it. And 
 later on, Mr. Wood taught Bob Furniss to row and 
 Charlie to steer; so that Charlie could sometimes go out 
 and feel quite free to stop the boat when and where he 
 liked. That was after he started so many collections of 
 insects and water-weeds, and shells, and things you can 
 only see under a microscope. Bob and he used to take 
 all kinds of pots and pans and nets and dippers with them, 
 so that Charlie could fish up what he wanted, and keep 
 things separate. He was obliged to keep the live things 
 he got for his fresh-water aquarium in different jam-pots, 
 because he could never be sure which would eat up which 
 till he knew them better, and the water-scorpions and the 
 decon-f fly larvae ate everything. Bob Furniss did not 
 
 ?p g in among the reeds and waiting as long as 
 you ili: Mr. Wood sometimes wanted to get back to 
 his work, but Bob never wanted to get back tohis. And 
 he was very good-natured about getting into the water 
 and wading and grubbing for things; indeed, I think he 
 got to like it. . 
 
 At first Mr. Wood had been rather afraid of trusting 
 Charlie with him. He thought Bob might play. tricks 
 with the boat, even though he knew how to manage her, 
 when there was only one helpless boy with him. But 
 Mrs. Furniss said, ‘“*‘ Nay! Our Bob’s a bad ’un, but he’s 
 not one of that sort he’ll not plague them that’s afflicted.” 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 
82 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 And she was quite right; for though his father said he 
 could be trusted with nothing else, we found he could be 
 trusted with Cripple Charlie. 
 
 It was two days before the summer holidays came to an 
 end that Charlie asked me to come down to the farm and 
 help him to put away his fern collection and a lot of other 
 things into the places that he had arranged for them in his 
 room; for now that the schoolroom was wanted again, he 
 could not leave his papers and boxes about there. Charlie 
 lived at the farm altogether now. He was better there 
 than on the moors, so he boarded there and went home 
 for visits. ‘The room Mrs. Wood had given him was the 
 one where the old miser had slept. In a memorandum 
 left with his will it appeared that he had expressed a wish 
 that ‘the furniture of that room should not be altered, 
 which was how they knew it was his. So Mrs. Wood 
 had kept the curious old oak bed (the back of which was 
 fastened into the wall), and an old oak press, with a great 
 number of drawers with brass handles to them, and all the 
 queer furniture that she found there just as it was. Even 
 the brass warming-pan was only rubbed and put back in 
 its place, and the big bellows were duly hung up by the 
 small fireplace. But everything was so polished up and 
 cleaned, the walls repapered with a soft grey-green paper 
 spangled with dogdaisies, and the room‘so brightened up 
 with fresh blinds and bedclothes, and a bit of bright 
 carpet, that it did not look in the least dismal, and 
 Charlie was very proud and very fond of it. It had two 
 windows, one where the beehive was, and one very sunny 
 one, where he had a balm of gilead that Isaac’s wife gave 
 him, and his old medicine-bottles full of cuttings on the 
 upper ledge. The old women used to send him “slip- 
 pings ” off their fairy roses and myrtles and fuchsias, and 
 they rooted very well in that window, there was so much 
 sun. 
 
 Charlie had only just begun a fern collection, and I 
 had saved my pocket-money (I did not want it for any- 
 thing else) and had bought him several quires of cartridge- 
 paper; and Dr. Brown had given him a packet of medi- 
 cine-labels to cut up into strips to fasten his specimens in 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 83 
 
 with, and .the collection looked very well and very 
 scientific ; and all that remained was to find a good place 
 to put it away in. The drawers of the press were of all 
 shapes and sizes, but there were two longish very shallow 
 ones that just matched each other, and when I pulled one 
 of them out, and put the fern-papers in, they fitted exactly, 
 and the drawer just held half the collection. I called 
 Charlie to look, and he hobbled up on his crutches and 
 was delighted, but he said he should like to put the others 
 in himself, so I got him into a chair, and shut up the full 
 drawer and pulled out the empty one, and went downstairs 
 for the two mole-skins we were curing, and the glue-pot, 
 and the toffy-tin, and some other things that had to be 
 cleared out of the schoolroom now the holidays were 
 over. 
 
 When I came back the fern-papers were still outside, 
 and Charlie was looking flushed and cross. 
 
 “‘T don’t know how you managed,” he said, “ but I can’t 
 getthemin. This drawer must be shorter than the other ; 
 it doesn’t go nearly so far back.” 
 
 “Oh yes, it does, Charlie!” I insisted, for I felt as 
 certain as people always do feel about little details of that 
 kind. ‘‘ The drawers are exactly alike ; you can’t have got 
 the fern-sheets quite flush with each other,” and I began 
 to arrange the trayful of things I had brought upstairs in 
 the bottom of the cupboard. 
 
 “T know it’s the drawer,” I heard Charlie say. (‘‘ He’s 
 as obstinate as possible,” thought I.) 
 
 Then I heard him banging at the wood with his fists 
 and his crutch, (“He zs ina temper!’ was my mental 
 comment.) After this my attention was distracted for 
 a second or two by seeing what I thought was a bit of 
 toffy left in the tin, and biting it and finding it was a 
 piece of sheet-glue. I had not spit out all the disgust of 
 it, when Charlie called me in low, awe-struck tones: 
 “ Jack! come here. Quick!” 
 
 Iran to him. The drawer was open, but it seemed to 
 have another drawer inside it, a long narrow, shallow one. 
 
 ““T hit the back, and this sprang out,” said Charlie. 
 “It’s a secret drawer—and look !” 
 
34 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 I did look. ‘The secret drawer was closely packed with 
 rolls of thin leaflets, which we were old enough to recog- 
 nise as bank-notes, and with little bags of wash-leather ; 
 and when Charlie opened the little bags they were filled 
 with gold. ; 
 
 There was a paper with the money, written by the old 
 miser, to say that it was a codicil to his will, and that the 
 money was all for Mrs. Wood. Why he had not left it to 
 her in the will itself seemed very puzzling, but his lawyer 
 (whom the Woods consulted about it) said that he always 
 did things in a very eccentric way, but generally for some 
 sort of reason, even if it were rather a freaky one, and 
 that perhaps he thought that the relations would be less 
 spiteful at first if they did not know about the money, and 
 that Mrs. Wood would soon find it, if she used and valued 
 his old press. 
 
 I don’t quite know whether there was any fuss with the 
 relations about this part of the bequest, but I suppose the 
 lawyer managed it all right, for the Woods got the money 
 and gave up the school. But they kept the old house, 
 and bought some more land, and Walnut-tree Academy 
 became Walnut-tree Farm once more. And Cripple 
 Charlie lived on with them, and he was so happy, it really 
 seemed as if my dear mother was right when she said to 
 my father, “ I am so pleased, my dear, for that poor boy’s 
 sake, I can hardly help crying. He’s got two homes and 
 two fathers and mothers, where many a young man has 
 none, as if to make good his affliction to him.” 
 
 It puzzles me, even now, to think how my father could 
 have sent Jem and me to Crayshaw’s School. (Nobody 
 evercalled him Mr. Crayshaw except the parents of pupils 
 who lived at a distance. In the neighbourhood he and 
 his whole establishment were lumped under the one word 
 Crayshaw’s, and as a farmer hard by once said to me, 
 ‘‘ Crayshaw’s is universally disrespected.’’) 
 
 I do not think it was merely because ‘‘ Crayshaw’s ”’ 
 was cheap that we were sent there, though my father had 
 so few reasons to give for his choice that he quoted that 
 among them. A man with whom he had had business 
 dealings (which gave him much satisfaction for some 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 85 
 
 years, and more dissatisfaction afterwards) did really, I 
 think, persuade my father to send us to this school, one 
 evening when they were dining together. 
 
 Few things are harder to guess at than the grounds on 
 which an Englishman of my father’s type “ makes up his 
 mind ”; and yet the question is an important one, for an 
 idea once lodged in his head, a conviction once as much 
 his own as the family acres, and you will as soon part him 
 from the one as fromthe other. I have known little 
 matters of domestic improvements, in which my mother’s 
 comfort was concerned and her experience conclusive, for 
 which he grudged a few shillings, and was absolutely 
 impenetrable by her persuasions and representations. 
 And I have known him waste pounds on things of the 
 most curious variety, foisted on him by advertising agents 
 without knowledge, trial, or rational ground of confidence. 
 I suppose that persistency, a glibber tongue than he him- 
 self possessed, a mass of printed rubbish which always 
 looks imposing to the unliterary, that primitive combination 
 of authoritativeness and hospitality which makes some men 
 as ready to say Yes to a stranger as they are to say No at 
 home, and perhaps some lack of moral courage, may ac- 
 count forit. I can clearly remember how quaintly sheepish 
 my father used to look after committing some such folly, 
 and how, after the first irrepressible fall of countenance, my 
 mother would have defended him against anybody else’s 
 opinion, Jet alone herown. Young as I was I could feel 
 that, and had a pretty accurate estimate of the value of the 
 moral lecture on faith in one’s fellow-creatures, which was 
 an unfailing outward sign of my father’s inward conviction 
 that he had been taken in by a rogue. I knew too, well 
 enough, that my mother’s hasty and earnest Amen to this 
 discourse was an equally reliable token of her knowledge 
 that my father sorely needed defending, and some instinct 
 made me aware also that my father knew that this was so. 
 That he knew that it was that tender generosity towards 
 one’s beloved, in which so many of her sex so far exceed 
 ours, and not an intellectual conviction of his wisdom, 
 which made her support what he had done, and that feel- 
 ing this he felt dissatisfied, and snapped at her accord- 
 ingly. ; 
 
86 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 The dislike my dear mother took to the notion of our 
 going to Crayshaw’s only set seals to our fate, and the man- 
 ner of her protests was not more fortunate than the matter. 
 She was timid and vacillating from wifely habit, whilst 
 motherly anxiety goaded her to be persistent and almost 
 irritable on the subject. Habitually regarding her own 
 wishes and views as worthless, she quoted the Woods at 
 every turn of her arguments, which was a mistake, for my 
 father was sufficiently like the rest of his neighbours not to 
 cotton very warmly to people whose tastes, experiences, 
 and lines of thought were so much out of the common 
 as those of the ex-convict and his wife. Moreover, he 
 had made up his mind, and when one has done that, he 
 is proof against seventy men who can render a reason. 
 
 To rumours which accused “Crayshaw’s” of undue 
 severity, of discomfort, of bad teaching and worse man- 
 ners, my father opposed arguments which he allowed 
 were “old fashioned” and which were far-fetched from 
 the days of our great-grandfather. 
 
 A Strict schoolmaster was a good schoolmaster, and if 
 more parents were as wise as Solomon on the subject of 
 the rod, Old England would not be discredited by such a 
 namby-pamby race as young men of the present day 
 seemed by all accounts to be. It was high time the boys 
 did rough it a bit; would my mother have them always 
 tied to her apron-strings? Great Britain would soon be 
 Little Britain if boys were to be brought up like young 
 ladies. As to teaching, it was the fashion to make a fuss 
 about it, and a pretty pass learning brought some folks 
 to, to judge by the papers and all one heard. His own 
 grandfather lived to ninety-seven, and died sitting in his 
 chair, in a bottle-green coat and buff breeches. He wore 
 a pigtail to the day of his death, and never would be 
 contradicted by anybody. He had often told my father 
 that at the school e went to, the master signed the 
 receipts for his money with a cross, but the usher was a 
 bit of a scholar, and the boys had cream to their porridge 
 on Sundays. And the old gentleman managed his own 
 affairs to ninety-seven, and threw the doctor’s medicine- 
 bottles out of the window then. He died without a 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 87 
 
 doubt on his mind or a debt on his books, and my father 
 (taking a pinch out of Great-Grandfather’s snuff-box) 
 hoped Jem,and I might do as well. 
 
 In short we were sent to “ Crayshaw’s.” 
 
 It was not a happy period of my life. It was not a 
 good or wholesome period; and I am not fond of recall- 
 ing it. The time came when I shrank from telling 
 Charlie everything, almost as if he had been a girl. His 
 life was lived in such a different atmosphere, under such 
 different conditions. I could not trouble him, and I did 
 not believe he could make allowances for me. But on 
 our first arrival I wrote him a long letter (Jem never 
 wrote letters), and the other day he showed it tome. It 
 was a first impression, but a sufficiently vivid and truth- 
 ful one, so I give it here. 
 
 CraysHaw’s (for that’s what they call it here, and a 
 beastly hole it is). 
 Monday. 
 
 MY DEAR OLD CHARLIE,—We came earlier than was 
 settled, for father got impatient and there was nothing to 
 stop us, but I don’t think old Crayshaw liked our coming 
 so soon. You never saw such a place, it’s so dreary. A 
 boy showed us straight into the schoolroom. ‘There are 
 three rows of double desks running down the room and 
 disgustingly dirty, I don’t know what Mrs. Wood would 
 say, and old Crayshaw’s desk is in front of the fire, so 
 that he can see all the boys sideways, and it just stops 
 any heat coming to them. And there he was, and I don’t 
 think father liked the look of him particularly, you never 
 saw an uglier. Such a flaming face and red eyes like Bob 
 Furniss’s ferret and great big whiskers ; but I’ll make you 
 a picture of him, at least I'll make two pictures, for Lewis 
 Lorraine says he’s got no beard on Sundays, and rather a 
 good one on Saturdays. Lorraine is a very rum fellow, 
 but I like him. It was he showed us in, and he did catch 
 it afterwards, but he only makes fun of it. Old Cray- 
 shaw’s desk had got a lot of canes on one side of it and a 
 most beastly, dirty, snuffy red and green handkerchief on 
 the other and an ink-pot in the middle. He made up to 
 
‘ 
 
 88 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 father like anything and told such thumpers. He said 
 there were six boys in one room, but really there’s twelve. 
 Jem and I sleep together. ‘There’s nothing to wash in 
 and no prayers. If you say them you get boots at your 
 head, and one hit Jem behind the ear, so I pulled his 
 sleeve and said, “Get up, you can say them in bed.” But 
 you know Jem, and he said, ‘Wait till I’ve done, God 
 bless father and mother,” and when he had, he went in and 
 fought, and I backed him up, and then old Crayshaw 
 found us, and oh, how he did beat us! 
 
 Wednesday. Old Snuffy is a regular brute, and I 
 don’t care if he finds this and sees what I say. But he 
 won't, for the milkman is taking it. He always does if 
 you can pay him. But I’ve put most of my money into 
 the bank. Three of the top boys have a bank, and we all 
 have to deposit, only I kept fourpence in one of my boots. 
 They give us bank-notes for a penny and a half-penny ; 
 they make them themselves. The sweetshop takes them. 
 They only give you eleven penny notes for a shilling in 
 the bank, or else it would burst. At dinner we have a lot 
 of pudding to begin with, and its very heavy. You can 
 hardly eat anything afterwards. The first day Lorraine 
 said quite out loud and very polite, “Did you say duff 
 before meat, young gentlemen?” and I couldn’t help 
 laughing, and old Snuffy beat his head horridly with his 
 dirty fists. But Lorraine minds nothing; he says he 
 knows old Snuffy will kill him some day, but he says he 
 doesn’t want to live, for his father and mother are dead ; 
 he only wants to catch old Snuffy in three more booby- 
 traps before he dies. He’s caught him in four already. 
 You see, when old Snuffy is cat-walking he wears goloshes 
 that he may sneak about better, and the way Lorraine 
 makes boobytraps is by balancing cans of water on the 
 door when it’s ajar, so that he gets doused, and the can 
 falls on his head, and strings across the bottom of the 
 door, not far from the ground, so that he catches his 
 goloshes and comes down. The other fellows say that 
 old Crayshaw had a lot of money given him in trust for 
 Lorraine, and he’s spent it all, and Lorraine has no one 
 to stick up for him, and that’s why Crayshaw hates him. 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 89 
 
 
 
 Saturday. JI could not catch the milkman, and 
 now I’ve got your letter, though Snuffy read it first. Jem 
 and I cry dreadful in bed. ‘That’s the comfort of being 
 together. I'll try and be as good as I can, but you don’t 
 know what this place is. It’s very different to the farm. 
 Do you remember the row about that book Horace Simp- 
 son got? I wish you could see the books the boys have 
 here. At least I don’t wish it, for I wish I didn’t look at 
 them, the milkman brings them; he always will if you can 
 pay him. When I saw old Snuffy find one in Smith’s 
 desk, I expected he would half kill him, but he didn’t do 
 much to him, he only took the book away; and Lorraine 
 says he never does beat them much for that, because he 
 doesn’t want them to leave off buying them, because he 
 wants them himself. Don’t tell the Woods’ this. Don’t 
 tell mother Jem and I cry, or else she’ll be miserable. I 
 don’t so much mind the beatings (Lorraine says you get 
 hard in time), nor the washing at the sink—nor the duff 
 puddings—but it is such a beastly hole,and he is such an 
 old brute, and I feel so dreadfully I can’t tell you. Give 
 my love to Mrs. Wood and to Mr. Wood, and to Carlo 
 and to Mary Ann, and to your dear dear self, and to 
 Isaac when you see him. 
 
 And I am your affectionate friend, 
 
 JACK. 
 
 P.S. Jem sends his best love, and he’s got two black 
 eyes. 
 = S. No. 2. You would be sorry for Lorraine if you 
 knew him. Sometimes I’m afraid he’]] kill himself, for he 
 says there’s really nothing in the Bible about suicide. So 
 I said—killing yourself is as bad as killing anybody else. 
 So he said—is stealing from yourself as bad as stealing 
 from anybody else? And we had a regular argue. Some 
 of the boys argle-bargle on Sundays, he says, but most of 
 them fight. When they differ, they put tin-tacks with 
 the heads downwards on each other’s places on the forms 
 in schocl, and if they run into you and you scream, old 
 Snuffy beats you. The milkman brings them, by the half 
 ounce, with very sharp points, if you can pay him. Most 
 
90 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 of the boys are a horrid lot, and so dirty. Lorraine is as 
 dirty as the rest, and I asked him why, and he said it was 
 because he’d thrown up the sponge; but he got rather 
 red, and he’s washed himself cleaner this morning. He 
 says he has an uncle in India, and some time ago he 
 wrote to him, and told him about Crayshaw’s, and gave 
 the milkman a diamond pin, that had been his father’s, 
 and Snuffy didn’t know about, to post it with plenty of 
 stamps, but he thinks he can’t have put plenty on, for no 
 answer ever came. I’ve told him I[’ll post another one 
 for him in the holidays. Don’t say anything about this 
 back in your letters. He reads ’em all. 
 
 Monday. ve caught the milkman at last, he’ll 
 take it this evening. The lessons here are regular rubbish. 
 I’m so glad I’ve a good knife, for if you have you can dig 
 holes in your desk to put collections in. The boy next to 
 me has earwigs, but you have to keep a look-out, or he 
 puts them in your ears, I turned upa stone near the sink 
 this morning, and got five woodlice for mine. It’s con- 
 sidered a very good collection. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 “ But none inquired how Peter used the rope, 
 Or what the bruise that made the stripling stoop; 
 None could the ridges on his back behold, 
 None sought him shiv’ring in the winter’s cold. 
 x * * * 
 
 The pitying women raised a clamour round.” 
 Crabbé, “ The Borough.” 
 
 A GREAT many people ‘say that all suffering is good for 
 one, and I am sure pain does improve one very often, and 
 in many ways. It teaches one sympathy, it softens and it 
 strengthens. But I cannot help thinking that there are 
 some evil experiences which only harden and stain. The 
 best I can say for what we endured at Crayshaw’s is that 
 it was experience, and so I suppose could not fail to teach 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. QI 
 
 one something, which, as Jem says, was “more than 
 Snuffy did.” 
 
 The affection with which I have heard men speak of 
 their schooldays and schoolmasters makes me know that 
 Mr. Crayshaw was not a common type of pedagogue. He 
 was not a common type of man, happily; but L have met 
 other specimens in other parts of the world in which his 
 leading quality was as fully developed, though their lives 
 had nothing in common with his except the opportunities 
 of irresponsible power. 
 
 The old wounds are scars now, it is long past and over, 
 and I am grown up, and have roughed it in the world; 
 but I say quite deliberately that I believe that Mr. Cray- 
 shaw was not merely a harsh man, uncultured_and incon- 
 siderate, having need and greed of money, taking pupils 
 cheap, teaching them little or nothing, and keeping a kind 
 of rough order with too much flogging,—but that the 
 mischief of him was that he was possessed by a passion 
 (not the less fierce because it was unnatural) which grew 
 with indulgence and opportunity, as other passions grow, 
 and that this was a passion for cruelty. 
 ~ One does not rough it long in this wicked world without 
 seeing more cruelty both towards human beings and 
 towards animals than one cares to think about; but a 
 large proportion of common cruelty comes of ignorance, 
 bad tradition and uncultured sympathies. Some painful 
 outbreaks of inhumanity, where one would least expect it, 
 are no doubt strictly to be accounted for by disease. But 
 over and above these common and these exceptional 
 instances, one cannot escape the conviction that irrespon- 
 sible power is opportunity in all hands and a direct 
 temptation in some to cruelty, and that it affords horrible 
 development to those morbid cases in which cruelty 
 becomes a passion. 
 
 That there should ever come a thirst for blood in men 
 as well as tigers, is bad enough but conceivable when 
 linked with deadly struggle, or at the wild dictates of 
 revenge. Buta Just for cruelty growing fiercer by secret 
 and unchecked indulgence, a hideous pleasure in seeing 
 and inflicting pain, seems so inhuman a passion that we 
 shrink from acknowledging that this is ever so. / 
 
Q2 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 And if it belonged to the past alone, to barbarous 
 despotisms or to savage life, one might wisely forget it; 
 for the dark pages of human history are unwholesome as 
 well as unpleasant reading, unless the mind be very sane 
 in a body very sound. But those in whose hands lie the | 
 destinies of the young and of the beasts who serve and 
 love us, of the weak, the friendless, the sick and the insane, 
 have not, alas! this excuse for ignoring the black records 
 of man’s abuse of power! 
 
 The records of its abuse in the savage who loads 
 women’s slender shoulders with his burdens, leaves his 
 sick to the wayside jackal, and knocks his aged father on 
 the head when he is past work; the brutality of slave- 
 drivers, the iniquities of vice-maddened eastern despots ;— 
 such things those who never have to deal with them may 
 afford to forget. 
 
 But men who act for those who have no natural pro- 
 tectors, or have lost the power of protecting themselves, 
 who legislate for those who have no voice in the making 
 of laws, and for the brute creation, which we win to our 
 love and domesticate for our convenience ; who apprentice 
 pauper boys and girls, who meddle with the matters of 
 weak women, sick persons, and young children, are bound 
 to face a far sadder issue. That even in these days, when 
 human love again and again proves itself not only stronger 
 than death, but stronger than all the selfish hopes of life; 
 when the everyday manners of everyday men are conces- 
 sions of courtesy to those who have not the strength to 
 claim it; when children and pet animals are spoiled to 
 grotesqueness ; when the good deeds of priest and physi- 
 clan, nurse and teacher, surpass all earthly record of them 
 ——man, as man, is no more to be trusted with unchecked 
 \power than hitherto. . 
 
 ' The secret histories of households, where power should 
 be safest in the hands of love; of hospitals, of schools, of 
 . orphanages, of poorhouses, of lunatic-asylums, of religious 
 communities founded for Gop’s worship and man’s pity, 
 of institutions which assume the sacred title as well as the 
 responsibilities of Home—from the single guardian of 
 some rural idiot to the great society which bears the 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 93 
 
 blessed Name of Jesus—have not each and all their dark 
 stories, their hushed-up scandals, to prove how dire is the 
 need of public opinion without, and of righteous care 
 within, that what is well begun should be well con- 
 tinued? 
 
 If anyone doubts this, let him pause on each instance, 
 one by one, and think of ‘what he has seen, and heard, and 
 read, and known of; and he will surely come to the con- 
 viction that human nature cannot, even in the very service 
 of charity, be safely trusted with the secret exercise ot 
 irresponsible power, and that no light can be too fierce to 
 beat upon and purify every spot where the weak are 
 committed to the tender mercies of the consciences of the 
 strong. 
 
 Mr. Crayshaw’s conscience was not a tender one, and 
 very little light came into his out-of-the-way establishment, 
 and no check whatever upon his cruelty. It had various 
 effects on the different boys. It killed one in my day, and 
 the doctor (who had been “in a difficulty” some years 
 back, over a matter through which Mr. Crayshaw helped 
 him with bail and testimony) certified to heart disease, 
 and we all had our pocket-handkerchiefs washed, and went 
 to the funeral. And Snuffy had cards printed witha 
 black edge, and several angels and a broken lily, and the 
 hymn— 
 
 “ Death has been here and borne away 
 A brother from our side; 
 Just in the morning of his day, 
 As young as we he died,” 
 
 —and sent them to all the parents. But the pupils had to 
 pay for the stamps. And my dear mother cried dread- 
 fully, first because she was so sorry for the boy, and second- 
 ly because she ever had felt uncharitably towards Mr. 
 Crayshaw. 
 
 Crayshaw’s cruelty crushed others, it made liars and 
 sneaks of boys naturally honest, and it produced in 
 Lorraine an unchildlike despair that was almost grand, so 
 far was the spirit above the flesh inhim. But I think its 
 
94 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 commonest and strangest result was to make the boys 
 bully each other. 
 
 One of the least cruel of the tyrannies the big boys put 
 upon the little ones, sometimes bore very hardly on those 
 who were not strong. They used to ride races on our 
 backs and have desperate mounted battles and tourna-. 
 ments. In many a playground and home since then I 
 have seen boys tilt and race, and steeplechase, with 
 smaller boys upon their backs, and plenty of wholesome 
 rough-and-tumble in the game; and it has given mea 
 twinge of heartache to think how, even when we were at 
 play, Crayshaw’s baneful spirit cursed us with its example, 
 so that the big and strong could not be happy except at 
 the expense of the little and weak. 
 
 For it was the big ones who rode the little ones, with 
 neatly-cut ash-sticks and clumsy spurs. I can see them 
 now, with the thin legs of the small boys tottering under 
 them, like a young donkey overridden by a coalheaver. 
 
 I was a favorite horse, for I was active and nimble, and 
 (which was more to the point) well made. It was the 
 shambling, ill-proportioned lads who suffered most. The 
 biggest boy in school rode me, as a rule, but he was not 
 at all a bad bully, sol was lucky. He never spurred me, 
 and he boasted of my willingness and good paces. [I am 
 sure he did not know, I don’t suppose he ever stopped to 
 think, how bad it was for me, or what an aching lump of 
 prostration I felt when it was over. The day I fainted 
 after winning a steeplechase, he turned a bucket of cold 
 water over me, and as this roused me into a_ tingling 
 vitality of pain, he was quite proud of his treatment, and 
 told me nothing brought a really good horse round after 
 a hard day like a bucket of clean water. And (so much 
 are we the creatures of our conditions!) I remember feel- 
 ing something approaching to satisfaction at the reflec- 
 tion that I had “gone till I dropped,” and had been 
 brought round after the manner of the best-conducted 
 stables. 
 
 It was not that that made Jem and me runaway. (For 
 we. did run away.) Overstrain and collapse, ill-usage — 
 short of torture, hard living and short commons, one got 
 
LIBRARY 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 

 
 WU) Z| 
 ote 
 
 
 
 ‘*SO WE TOOK EACH OTHER’S HANDS, AND FOR NEARLY 
 A MILE WE RAN AS HARD AS WE COULD GO.” D 
 Page 95, 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 95 
 
 a certain accustomedness to, according to the merciful 
 law which within certain limits makes a second nature 
 for us out of,use and wont. ‘The one pain that knew no 
 pause, and allowed of no revival, the evil that overbore 
 us, mind and body, was the evil of constantdread. Upon 
 us little boys fear lay always, and the terror of it was that 
 it was uncertain. What would come next, and from 
 whom, we never knew. 
 
 It was I who settled we should run away. I did it the 
 night that Jem gave in, and would do nothing but cry 
 noiselessly into his sleeve and wish he was dead. So I 
 settled it and told Lorraine. I wanted him to come too, 
 but he would not. He pretended that he did not care, 
 and he said he had nowhere to go to. But he got into 
 Snuffy’s very own room at daybreak whilst we stood out- 
 side and heard him. snoring ; and very loud he must have 
 snored too, for I could hear my heart thumping so I 
 should not have thought I could have heard anything 
 else. And Lorraine took the back-door key off the 
 drawers, and let us out, and took it back again. He 
 feared nothing. There was a walnut-tree by the gate, and 
 Jem, said “ Suppose we do our faces like gipsies, so that 
 nobody may know us.” (For Jem was terribly fright- 
 ened of being taken back.) So we found some old bits of 
 peel and rubbed our cheeks, but we dared not linger long 
 over it, and I said, ‘‘ We’d better get further on, and we 
 can hide if we hear steps or wheels.” So we took each 
 other’s hands, and for neatly a mile we ran as hard as we 
 could go, looking back now and then over our shoulders, 
 like the picture of Christian and Hopeful running away 
 from the Castle of Giant Despair. 
 
 We were particularly afraid of the milkman, for milk- 
 men drive about early, and he had taken a runaway boy 
 back to Crayshaw’s years before, and Snuffy gave him 
 five shillings. They said he once helped another boy to 
 get away, but it was a big one, who gave him his gold 
 watch. He would do anything if you paid him. Jem 
 and I had each a little bundle in a handkerchief, but 
 nothing in them that the milkman would have cared for. 
 We managed very well, for we got behind a wall when he 
 
° 
 
 96 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 went by, and I felt so much cheered up I thought we 
 should get home that day, far as itwas. But when we 
 got back in the road, I found that Jem was limping, for 
 Snuffy had stamped on his foot when Jem had had it 
 stuck out beyond the desk, when he was writing; and the 
 running had made it worse, and at last he sat down by 
 the roadside, and said I was to go on home and send back 
 for him. It was not very likely I would leave him to the 
 chance of being pursued by Mr. Crayshaw; but there he 
 sat, and I thought I never should have persuaded him to 
 get on my back, for good-natured as he is, Jem is as obsti- 
 nate asa pig. But I said, “‘What’s the use of my having 
 been first horse with the heaviest weight in school, if I 
 can’t carry you?” So he got up and I carried him a long 
 way, and then a cart overtook us, and we got a lift home. | 
 And they knew us quite well, which shows how little use 
 walnut-juice is, and it is disgusting to get off. 
 
 I think, as it happened, it was very unfortunate that we 
 had discoloured our faces; for though my mother was 
 horrified at our being so thin and _ pinched-looking, my 
 father said that of course we looked frights with brown 
 daubs all over our cheeks and necks. But then he never 
 did notice people looking ill. He was very angry indeed, 
 at first, about our running away, and would not listen to 
 what we said. He was angry too with my dear mother, 
 because she believed us, and called Snuffy abad man and 
 abrute. And he ordered the dog-cart to be brought 
 round, and said that Martha was to give us some break- 
 fast, and that we might be thankful to get that instead of 
 a flogging, for that when e ran away from school to 
 escape a thrashing, his father gave him one thrashing 
 whilst the dog-cart was being brought round, and drove 
 him straight back to school, where the schoolmaster gave 
 him another, 
 
 ‘“And a very good thing for me,” said my father, 
 buttoning his coat, whilst my mother and Martha went 
 about crying, and Jem and I stood silent. If we were to 
 go back, the more we told, the worse would be Snuffy’s 
 revenge. An unpleasant hardness was beginning to creep 
 overme. “The next timeI run away,” was my thought, 
 
 ? 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 97 
 
 “T shallnot run home.” But with this came a rush of 
 regret for Jem’s sake. I knew that ‘‘ Crayshaw’s” did 
 more harm to him than to me, and almost involuntarily I 
 put my arms round him, thinking that if they would only 
 let him stay, I could go back and bear anything, like 
 Lewis Lorraine. Jem had been crying, and when he hid 
 his face on my shoulder, and leaned against me, I 
 thought it was for comfort, but he got heavier and heavier, 
 till I called out, and he rolled from my arms and was 
 caught in my father’s. He had been standing about on 
 the bad foot, and pain and weariness and hunger and 
 fright overpowered him, and he had fainted. 
 
 The dog-cart was counter-ordered, and Jem was put to 
 bed, and Martha served me a breakfast that would have 
 served six full-grown men. I ate far more than satisfied 
 me, but far less than satisfied Martha, who seemed to 
 hope that cold fowl and boiled eggs, fried bacon and 
 pickled beef, plain cakes and currant cakes, jam and 
 marmalade, buttered toast, strong tea and unlimited sugar 
 and yellow cream, would atone for the past in proportion 
 to the amount I ate, if it did not fatten me under her 
 eyes. I really think I spent the rest of the day in stupor. 
 I am sure it was not till the following morning that I 
 learned the decision to which my father had come about 
 us. 
 
 Jem was too obviously ill to be anywhere at present but 
 at home; and my father decided that he would not send 
 him back to Crayshaw’s at all, but to a much more ex- 
 pensive school in the south of England, to which the 
 parson of our parish was sending one of his sons. I was 
 to return to Crayshaw’s at once; he could not afford the 
 expensive school for us both, and Jem was the eldest. 
 Besides which, he was not going to countenance rebellion 
 in any school to which he sent his sons, or to insult a man 
 so highly recommended to him as Mr. Crayshaw had 
 been. There certainly seemed to.have been some sever- 
 ity, and the boys seemed to be a very rough lot, but Jem 
 would fight, and if he gave he must take. His great-grand- 
 father was just the same, and 4e fought the Putney Pet 
 
 7 
 
98 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 when he was five-and-twenty, and his parents thought he 
 was sitting quietly at his desk in Fetter Lane. 
 
 I loved Jem too well to be jealous of him, but I was 
 not the less conscious of the tender tone in which my 
 father always spoke even of his faults, and of the way it 
 stiffened and cooled when he added that I was not so 
 ready with my fists, but that I was as fond of my own 
 way as Jem was of a fight; but that setting up for being 
 unlike other people didn’t do for school life, and that the 
 Woods had done me no kindness by making a fool of me. 
 He added, however, that he should request Mr. Cray- 
 shaw, as a personal favour, that I should receive no pun- 
 ishment for running away, as I had suffered sufficiently 
 already. 
 
 We had told very little of the true history of Cray- 
 shaw’s before Jem fainted, and I felt no disposition to 
 further confidences. I took as cheerful a farewell of my 
 mother as I could for her sake ; and put on a good deal 
 of swagger and ‘don’t care” to console Jem. He said, 
 “You're as plucky as Lorraine,” and then his eyes shut 
 again. He was too ill to think much, and I kissed his 
 head and left him. After which I got stoutly into the 
 dog-cart, and we drove back up the dreary hills down 
 which Jem and I had run away. 
 
 That Snuffy was bland to cringing before my father did 
 not give me a hope that I should escape his direst re- 
 venge; and the expression of Lorraine’s face showed me, 
 by its sympathy, what #e expected. But we were both 
 wrong, and for reasons which we then knew nothing 
 about. 4 
 
 Cruelty was, as I have said, Mr. Crayshaw’s ruling 
 passion, but it was not his only vice. There was a 
 whispered tradition that he had once been in jail for a 
 misuse of his acquirements in the art of penmanship; and 
 if you heard his name cropping up in the confidential 
 conversation of such neighbours as small farmers, the 
 postman, the parish overseer, and the like, it was sure to 
 be linked with unpleasingly suggestive expressions such 
 as—‘a dirty bit of business,” ‘a nasty job that,” “an 
 awkward affair,” ‘very near got into trouble,” “a bit of 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 99 
 
 bother about it, but Driver and Quills pulled him 
 through; theirs isn’t a nice business, and they’re men of 
 t’? same feather as Crayshaw, so I reckon they’re friends.” 
 Many such hints have I heard, for the “ White Lion ” was 
 next door to the sweetshop, and in summer, refreshment 
 of a sober kind, with conversation to match, was apt to 
 be enjoyed on the benches outside. The good wives of 
 the neighbourhood used no such euphuisms as their more 
 prudent husbands, when they spoke of Crayshaw’s. 
 Indeed one of the whispered anecdotes of Snuffy’s past 
 was of a hushed-up story that was just saved from _be- 
 coming a scandal, but in reference to which Mr. Cray- 
 shaw was even more narrowly saved from a crowd of 
 women who had taken the too-tardy law into their own 
 hands. I remember myself the retreat of an unpaid 
 washerwoman from the back premises of Crayshaw’s on 
 one occasion, and the unmistakable terms in which she 
 expressed her opinions. 
 
 “Don’t tell me! I know Crayshaw’s well enough; 
 such folks is a curse to a country side, but judgment over- 
 takes ’em at last.” 
 
 “Judgment, as the good woman worded it, kept 
 threatening Mr. Crayshaw long before it overtook him, as 
 it is apt to disturb scoundrels who keep a hypocritical 
 good name above their hidden misdeeds. As it happened, 
 at the very time Jem and I ran away from him, Mr. 
 Crayshaw himself was living in terror of one or’ two 
 revelations, and to be deserted by two of his most re- 
 spectably connected boys was an ill-timed misfortune. 
 The countenance my father had been so mistaken as to 
 afford to his establishment was very important to him, for 
 we were the only pupils from within fifty miles, and our 
 parents’ good word constituted an ‘“unexceptionable 
 reference.” 
 
 Thus it was that Snuffy pleaded humbly (but in vain) 
 for the return of Jem, and that he not only promised that 
 I should not suffer, but to my amazement kept his word. 
 
 Judgment lingered over the head of Crayshaw’s for two 
 years longer, and I really think my being there had 
 something to do with maintaining its tottering reputation. 
 
100 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 I was almost the only lad in the school whose parents 
 were alive and at hand and in a good position, and my 
 father’s name stifled scandal. Most of the others were 
 orphans, being cheaply educated by distant relatives or 
 guardians, or else the sons of poor widows who were 
 easily bamboozled by Snuffy’s fluent letters, and the 
 religious leaflets which it was his custom to enclose. - (In 
 several of these cases, he was “managing” the poor 
 women’s ‘‘ affairs”? for them.) One or two boys belonged 
 to people living abroad. Indeed, the worst bully in the 
 school was a half-caste, whose smile, when he showed his 
 gleaming teeth, boded worse than any other boy’s frown. 
 He was a wonderful acrobat, and could do extraordinary 
 tricks of all sorts. My being nimble and ready made me 
 very useful to him as a confederate in the exhibitions 
 which his intense vanity delighted to give on half-holi- 
 days, and kept me in his good graces till I was old 
 enough to take care of myself. Oh, how every boy who 
 dreaded him applauded at these entertainments! And 
 what dangerous feats I performed, every other fear being 
 lost in the fear of him! I owe him no grudge for what 
 he forced me to do (though I have had to bear real fire 
 without flinching when he failed in a conjuring-trick, 
 which should only have simulated the real thing); what I 
 learned from him has come in so useful since, that I for- 
 give him all. 
 
 I was there for two years longer. Snuffy bullied. me 
 less, and hated me the more. I knew it, and he knew 
 that I knew it. It was a hateful life, but Iam sure the 
 influence of a good home holds one up in very evil paths. 
 Every time we went back to our respective schools my 
 father gave us ten shillings, and told us to mind our 
 books, and my mother kissed us and made us promise we 
 would say our prayers every day. I could not bear to 
 break my promise, though I used to say them in bed (the 
 old form we learnt from her), and often in such a very un- 
 fit frame of mind, that they were what it is very easy to 
 call ‘‘a mockery.” 
 
 4op knows (Who alone knows the conditions under 
 which each soul blunders and spells on through life’s 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. IOI 
 
 hard lessons) if they were amockery. / know they were 
 unworthy to be offered to Him, but that the habit helped 
 to keep me straight I am equally sure. Then I had a 
 good home to go to during the holidays. That was 
 everything, and it is in all humbleness that I say that I 
 do not think the ill experiences of those years degraded 
 me much. I managed to keep some truth and tenderness 
 about me ; and I am thankful to remember that I no more 
 cringed to Crayshaw than Lorraine did, and that though I 
 stayed there till I was a big boy, I never maltreated a 
 little one. 
 
 CHARTER XL, 
 
 Whose powers shed round him in the common strife 
 Or mild concerns of ordinary life, 
 
 A constant influence, a peculiar grace ; 
 * * * * 
 
 Or if an unexpected call succeed, 
 Come when it will, is equal to the need. 
 Wordsworth’s “ Happy Warrior.” 
 
 JUDGMENT came at last. During my first holidays I had 
 posted a letter from Lewis Lorraine to the uncle in India 
 to whom he had before endeavored to appeal. The 
 envelope did not lack stamps, but the address ‘was very 
 imperfect, and it was many.months in reaching him. He 
 wrote a letter, which Lewis never received, Mr. Crayshaw 
 probably knew why. But twelve months after that 
 Colonel Jervois came to England, and he lost no time in 
 betaking himself to Crayshaw’s. From Crayshaw’s he 
 came to my father, the only “unquestionable reference ” 
 left to Snuffy to put forward. 
 
 The Colonel came with a soldier’s promptness, and, 
 with the utmost courtesy of manner, went straight to the 
 point. His life had not accustomed him to our neigh. 
 bourly unwillingness to interfere with anything that did 
 not personally concern us, nor to the prudent patience 
 with which country folk will wink long at local evils. In 
 the upshot what he asked was what my mother had asked 
 
 . 
 
102 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 three years before. Had my father personal knowledge 
 or good authority for believing the school to be a weéll- 
 conducted one, and Mr. Crayshaw a fit man_ for his re- 
 sponsible post? Had he ever heard rumours to the man’s 
 discredit ? 
 
 Replies that must do for a wife will not always answer 
 a man who puts the same questions. My great-grand- 
 father’s memory was not evoked on this occasion, and my 
 father frankly confessed that his personal knowledge of 
 Crayshaw’s was very small, and that the man on whose 
 recommendation he had sent us to school there had just 
 proved to be a rascal and a swindler. Our mother had 
 certainly heard rumours of severity, but he had regarded 
 her maternal anxiety as excessive, etc., etc. In short, my 
 dear father saw that he had been wrong, and confessed 
 it, and was now as ready as the Colonel to expose 
 Snuffy’s misdeeds. 
 
 No elaborate investigation was needed. An attack 
 once made on Mr. Crayshaw’s hollow reputation, it 
 cracked on every side; first hints crept out, then scandals 
 flew. The Colonel gave no quarter, and he did not limit 
 his interests to his own nephew. 
 
 ‘“* A widow’s son, ma’am,” so he said tomy mother, bow- 
 ing over her hand as he led her in to dinner, in a style 
 to which we were quite unaccustomed ; “a widow’s son, 
 ma’am, should find a father in every honest man who can 
 assist him.” 
 
 The tide having turned against Snuffy, his friends (of 
 the Driver and Quills type) turned with it. But they 
 gained nothing, for one morning he got up as early as we 
 had done, and ran away, and I never heard of him again. 
 And before nightfall the neighbours, who had so long 
 tolerated his wickedness, broke every pane of glass in his 
 windows. 
 
 During all this, Lewis Lorraine and his uncle stayed 
 at our house. The Colonel spent his time between hold- 
 ing indignant. investigations, writing indignant letters 
 (which he allowed us to seal with his huge signet), and 
 walking backwards and forwards to the town to buy pres- 
 ents for the little boys. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 103 
 
 When Snuffy ran away, and the school was left to itself, 
 Colonel Jervois strode off to the nearest farm, requisi- 
 tioned a waggon, and having packed the boys into it, 
 bought loaves and milk enough to breakfast them all, 
 and transported the whole twenty-eight to our door. He 
 left four with my mother, and marched off with the rest. 
 The Woods took in a large batch, and in the course of 
 the afternoon he had for love or money quartered them 
 ail. He betrayed no nervousness in dealing with 
 numbers, in foraging for supplies, or in asking for what 
 he wanted. Whilst other people had been doubting 
 whether it might not ‘‘ create unpleasantness ” to interfere 
 in this case and that, the Colonel had fought each boy’s 
 battle, and seen most of them off on their homeward 
 journeys. He was used to dealing with men, and with 
 emergencies, and it puzzled him when my Uncle Henry 
 consulted his law-books and advised caution, and my 
 father saw his agent on farm business, whilst the fate of 
 one of Crayshaw’s victims yet hung in the balance. 
 
 When all was over the Colonel left us, and took Lewis 
 with him, and his departure raised curiously mixed feel- 
 ings of regret and relief. 
 
 He had quite won my mother’s heart, chiefly by his 
 energy and tenderness for the poor boys, and partly by 
 his kindly courtesy and deference towards her. Indeed 
 all ladies liked him—all, that is, who knew him. Before 
 they came under the influence o° his pleasantness and 
 politeness, he shared the half-hosule reception to which 
 any person or anything that was foreign to our daily ex- 
 perience was subjected in our neighbourhood. So that the 
 first time Colonel Jervois appeared in our pew, Mrs. 
 Simpson (the wife of a well-to-do man of business who 
 lived near.us) said to my mother after church, “I see 
 you've got one of the military with you,” and her tone 
 was more critical than congratulatory. But when my 
 mother, with unconscious diplomacy, had kept her to 
 luncheon, and the Colonel had handed her to her seat, 
 and had stroked his moustache, and asked in his best 
 manner if she meant to devote her son to the service of 
 his country, Mrs. Simpson undid her bonnet-strings, fairly 
 
104 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 turned her back on my father, and was quite unconscious 
 when Martha handed the potatoés; and she left us 
 wreathed in smiles, and resolved that Mr. Simpson should 
 buy their son Horace a commission instead of taking him 
 into the business. Mr. Simpson did not share her views, 
 and I believe he said some rather nasty things about 
 swaggering, and not having one sixpence to rub against 
 another. And Mrs. Simpson (who was really devoted to 
 Horace and could hardly bear him out of her sight) re- 
 flected that it was possible to get shot as well as to grow 
 a moustache if you went into the army; but she still 
 maintained that she should always remember the Colonel 
 as a thorough gentleman, and a wonderful judge of the 
 character of boys. 
 
 The Colonel made great friends with the Woods, and 
 he was deeply admired by our rector, who, like many 
 parsons, had a very military heart, and delighted in excit- 
 ing tales of the wide world which he could never explore. 
 It was perhaps natural that my father should hardly be 
 devoted to a stranger who had practically reproached his 
 negligence, but the one thing that did draw him towards 
 the old Indian officer was his habit of early rising. My 
 father was always up before any of us, but he generally 
 found the Colonel out before him, enjoying the early 
 hours of the day as men who have lived in hot climates 
 are accustomed to do. They used to come in together 
 in very pleasant moods to breakfast; but with the post- 
 bag Lorraine’s uncle was sure to be moved to voluble 
 indignation, or pity, or to Utopian plans, to which my 
 father listened with puzzled impatience. He did not 
 understand the Colonel, which was perhaps not to be 
 wondered at. ’ 
 
 His moral courage had taken away our breath, and 
 physical courage was stamped upon his outward man. If 
 he was anything he was manly. It was because he was 
 in some respects very womanly too, that he puzzled my 
 father’s purely masculine brain. The mixture, and the 
 vehemence of the mixture, were not in his line. He 
 would have turned “Crayshaw’s” matters over in his 
 own mind as often as hay in a wet season before grappling 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 105 
 
 with the whole bad business as the Colonel had done. 
 And on the other hand, it made him feel uncomfortable 
 and almost ashamed to see tears standing in the old 
 soldier’s eyes as he passionately blamed himself for what 
 had been suffered by “ my sister’s son.” 
 
 The servants one and all adored Colonel Jervois. They 
 are rather acute judges of good breeding, and men and 
 maids were at one on the fact that he was a visitor who 
 conferred social distinction on the establishment. They 
 had decided that we should ‘“‘ dine late so long as The 
 Gentleman ” was with us, whilst my mother was thinking 
 how to break so weighty an innovation to such valuable 
 servants. They served him with alacrity, and approved 
 of his brief orders and gracious thanks. ‘The Colonel did 
 unheard-of things with impunity—threw open his bed- 
 room shutters at night, and more than once unbarred and 
 unbolted the front door to go outside for a late cigar. 
 Nothing puzzled Martha more than the nattiness with 
 which he put all the bolts and bars back into their places, 
 as if he had been used to the door as long as she had. 
 
 Indeed he had all that power of making himself at 
 home, which is most fully acquired by having had to pro- 
 vide for yourself in strange places, but he carried it too 
 far. 
 
 Orie day he penetrated into the kitchen (having pre- 
 viously been rummaging the kitchen-garden) and insisted 
 upon teaching our cook how to make curry. The lesson 
 was much needed, and it was equally well intended, but it 
 was a mistake. Everything cannot be carried by storm, 
 whatever the military may think. Jane said, “ Yes, sir,” 
 at every point that approached to a pause in the Colonel’s 
 ample instructions, but she never moved her eyes from 
 the magnificent moustache which drooped above the 
 stew-pan, nor her thoughts from the one idea produced by 
 the occasion—that The Gentleman had caught her with- 
 out her cap. In short our curries were no worse, and no 
 better, in consequence of the shock to kitchen-etiquette 
 (for that was all) which she received. 
 
 And yet we modified our household ways for him, as 
 they were never modified for anyone else. On Martha’s 
 
106 WE AND THE WOKLD. 
 
 weekly festival for cleaning the bedrooms (and if a room 
 was occupied for a night, she scrubbed after the intruder 
 as if he had brought the plague in his portmanteau) the 
 smartest visitor we ever entertained had to pick his or her 
 way through the upper regions of the house, where soap 
 and soda were wafted on high and unexpected breezes 
 along passages filled with washstands and clothes-baskets, 
 cane-seated chairs and baths, mops, pails and brooms. 
 But the Colonel had “given such a jump” on meeting 
 a towel-horse at large round a sharp corner, and had 
 seemed so uncomfortable on finding everything that he 
 thought was inside his room turned outside, that for that 
 week Martha left the lower part of the house uncleaned, 
 and did not turn either the dining or drawing rooms into 
 the hall on their appointed days. She had her revenge 
 when he was gone. 
 
 On the day of his departure, my lamentations had met 
 with the warmest sympathy as I stirred toffy over Jane’s 
 kitchen fire, whilst Martha lingered with the breakfast 
 things, after a fashion very unusual with her, and gazed at 
 the toast-rack and said ‘ the Colonel had eaten nothing of 
 a breakfast to travel on.” But next morning, I met her 
 in another mood. It was a mood to which we were not 
 strangers, though it did not often occur. In brief, Martha 
 (ike many another invaluable domestic) ‘‘ had a témper 
 of her own ;”’ but to do her justice her ill feelings generally 
 expended themselves in a rage for work, and in taking as 
 little ease herself as she allowed to other people. I knew 
 what it meant when I found her cleaning the best silver 
 when she ought to have been eating her breakfast; but 
 my head was so full of the Colonel, that I could not help 
 talking about him, even if the temptation to tease Martha 
 had not been overwhelming. No reply could [ extract ; 
 only once, as she passed swiftly to the china cupboard, 
 with the whole Crown Derby tea and coffee service on one 
 big tray (the Colonel had praised her coffee), 1 heard her 
 mutter—‘“‘ Soldiers is very upsetting.” Certainly, con- 
 sidering what she did in the way of scolding, scouring, 
 black-leading, polishing and sand-papering that week, it 
 was not Martha’s fault if we did not “‘get straight again,” 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 107 
 
 furniture and feelings. I’ve heard her say that Calais 
 sand would “fetch anything off,” and I think it had 
 fetched the Colonel off her heart by the time that the 
 cleaning was done. 
 
 It had no such effect on mine. Lewis Lorraine him- 
 self did not worship his uncle more devoutly than I. 
 Colonel Jervois had given me a new ideal. It was 
 possible, then, to be enthusiastic without being unmanly ; 
 to live years out of England, and come back more 
 patriotic than many people who stayed comfortably at 
 home; to go forth into the world and be the simpler as 
 well as the ‘wiser, the softer as well as the stronger for the 
 experience? Soit seemed. And yet Lewis had told me, 
 with such tears as Snuffy never made him shed, how 
 tender his uncle was to his unworthiness, what allowances 
 he made for the worst that Lewis could say of himself, 
 and what hope he gave him of a good and happy future. 
 
 ‘He cried as bad as I did,” Lewis said, ‘and begged 
 me to forgive him for having trusted so much to my other 
 guardian. Do you know, Jack, Snuffy regularly forged a 
 letter ike my handwriting, to answer that one Uncle 
 Eustace wrote, which he kept back? He might well do 
 such good copies, and write the year of Our Lord with a 
 swan at the end of the last flourish! And you remember 
 what weheard about his having been in prison—but, oh, 
 dear! I don’t want to remember. He says I. am to 
 forget, and he forbade me to talk about Crayshaw’s, and 
 said I was not to trouble my head about anything that 
 had happened there. He kept saying, ‘ Forget, my boy, 
 forget! Say Gop help me,.and look forward. While 
 there’s life there’s always the chance of a better life for 
 everyone. Forget! forget !’” 
 
 Lewis departed with | his uncle. Citic went for two 
 nights to the moors. Jem’s holidays had not begun, and 
 in our house we were “cleaning down” after the Colonel 
 as if he had been the sweeps. 
 
 Iwent to old Isaac for sympathy. He had become 
 very rheumatic the last two years, but he was as intelli- 
 gent as ever, and into his willing ear I poured all that I 
 could tell of my hero, and much that I only imagined. 
 
108 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 His sympathy met me more than half-way. The 
 villagers as a body were unbounded in their approval of 
 the Colonel, and Mrs. Irvine was even greedier than old 
 Isaac for every particular I could impart respecting him. 
 
 “ He’s a handsome gentleman,” said the bee-master’s 
 wife, “‘and he passed us (my neighbor Mrs. Mettam, 
 and me) as near, sir, as 1 am to you, with a gold-headed 
 stick in his hand, and them lads following after him, for 
 all the world like the Good Shepherd and his flock.” 
 
 I managed not to laugh, and old Isaac added, ‘‘ There’s 
 a many in this village, sir, would have been glad to have 
 taken the liberty of expressing themselves to the Colonel, 
 and a depitation did get as far as your father’s gates 
 one night, but they turned bashful and come home again. 
 AndI know, for one, Master Jack, that if me and my 
 missus had had a room fit to offer one of them poor 
 young gentlemen, I’d have given a week’s wage to do 
 it, and the old woman would have been happy to her 
 dying day.” 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 **Gop help me! save I take my part 
 Of danger on the roaring sea, 
 A devil rises in my heart, 
 Far worse than any death to me.”’ 
 Tennyson's “ Sailor-boy.” 
 
 THE fact that my father had sent me back against my 
 will to a school where I had suffered so much and learnt 
 so little, ought perhaps to have drawn us together when 
 he discovered his mistake. Unfortunately it didnot. He 
 was deeply annoyed with himself for having been taken in 
 by Snuffy, but he transferred some of this annoyance to 
 me, on grounds which cut me to the soul, and which I fear 
 I resented so much that I was not in a mood that was 
 favourable to producing a better understanding between 
 us. The injustice which I felt so keenly was, that my 
 father reproached me with having what he called “kept 
 him in the dark” about the life at Crayshaw’s. At my 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 109g 
 
 age I must have seen how wicked the man and his 
 system were. 
 
 I reminded him that I had run away from them once, 
 and had told all that I dared, but that he would not hear 
 me then. He would not hear me now. 
 
 “I don’t wish to discuss the subject. It is a very 
 painful one,” he said (and I believe it was as physically 
 distressing to him as the thought of Cripple Charlie’s 
 malformation). “I have no wish to force your confidence 
 when it is too late,” he added (and it was this which I felt 
 to be so hard). “I don’t blame you; you have other 
 friends who suit you better, but you have never been fully 
 open with me. All I can say is, if Mr. Wood was better 
 informed than I have been, and did not acquaint me, he 
 has behaved in a manner which There—don’t 
 speak! we’ll dismiss the subject. You have suffered 
 enough, if you have not acted as I should have expected 
 you to act. I blame myself unutterably, and I hope I see 
 my way to such a comfortable and respectable start in 
 life for you that these three years in that vile place may 
 not be to your permanent disadvantage.” 
 
 I was just opening my lips to thank him, when he got 
 up and went to his tall desk, where he took a pinch of 
 snuff, and then added as he turned away, ‘“‘’ Thank Gop, I 
 have ove son who is frank with his father!” 
 
 My lips were sealed in an instant. ‘This, then, was my 
 reward for that hard journey of escape, with Jem on my 
 back, which had only saved him ; for having stifled envy 
 in gladness for his sake, when (in those bits of our differ- 
 ent holidays which overlapped each other) I saw and felt 
 the contrast between our opportunities ; for having suf- 
 fered my harder lot in silence that my mother might not 
 fret, when I felt certain that my father would not inter- 
 fere! My heart beat as if it would have pumped the 
 tears into my eyes by main force, but I kept them back, 
 and said steadily enough, “Is that all, sir?” 
 
 My father did not look up, but he nodded his head and 
 said, ““ Yes; you may go.” 
 
 As I went he called me back. 
 
 ‘“‘ Are you going to the farm this afternoon ?” 
 
 
 
I1lo WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 To my own infinite annoyance I blushed as I answered, 
 “T was going to sit with Charlie a bit, unless you have 
 any objection.” 
 
 “Not at all. I only asked for information. I have no 
 wish to interfere with any respectable friends you may be 
 disposed to give your confidence to. But I should like it 
 to be understood that either your mother or I must have 
 some knowledge of your movements.” 
 
 “ Mother knew quite well I was going!” I exclaimed. 
 “Why, I’ve got a parcel to take to Mrs. Wood from her.” 
 
 “Very good. There's no occasion to display temper. 
 Shut the door after you.” 
 
 I shut it very gently. (If three years at Crayshaw’s had 
 taught me nothing else, it had taught me much self- 
 control). Then I got away to the first hiding-place I 
 could find, and buried my head upon my arms. Would 
 not a beating from Snuffy have been less hard to bear? 
 Surely sore bones from those one despises are not so 
 painful as a sore heart from those one loves. 
 
 Our household affections were too sound at the core for 
 the mere fact of displeasing my father not to weigh 
 heavily on my soul. But I could not help defending my- 
 self in my own mind against what I knew to be injustice. 
 
 Jem “frank with his father”? Well he might be, when 
 our father’s partiality met him half way at every turn. 
 That was no fancy of mine. I had the clearest of childish 
 remembrances of an occasion when I wanted to do some- 
 thing which our farming man thought my father would 
 not approve, and how when I urged the fact that Jem had 
 already done it with impunity, he shook his head wise- 
 acrely, and said, “Aye, aye, Master Jack. But ye know 
 they say some folks may steal a horse, when other folks 
 mayn’t look over the hedge.” 
 
 The vagueness of “some folks ” and “other folks” had 
 left the proverb dark to my understanding when I heard 
 it, but I remembered it till I understood it. 
 
 I never was really jealous of Jem. He was far too 
 good-natured and unspoilt, and I was far too fond of him. 
 Besides which, if the mental tone of our country lives was 
 at rather a dull level, it was also wholesomely unfavoura- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. Ill 
 
 ble to the cultivation of morbid grievances, or the dissec- 
 tion of one’s own hurt feelings. If I had told anybody 
 about me, from my dear mother down to our farming- 
 man, that I was misunderstood and wanted sympathy, I 
 should probably have been answered that many a lad of 
 my age was homeless and wanted boots. Asa matter of 
 reasoning the reply would have been defective, but for 
 practical purposes it would have been much to the point. 
 And it is fair to this rough-and-ready sort of philosophy 
 to defend it from a common charge of selfishness. It 
 was not that I should have been the happier because 
 - another lad was miserable, but that an awakened sympathy 
 with his harder fate would tend to dwarf egotistic absorp- 
 tion in my own. Such considerations in short, are no 
 justification of those who are responsible for needless evil 
 or neglected good, but they are handy helps to those who 
 suffer from them, and who feel sadly sorry for themselves 
 
 I am sure the early-begun and oft-reiterated teaching 
 of daily thankfulness for daily blessings was very useful 
 to me at Crayshaw’s and has been useful to me ever 
 since. With my dear mother herself it was merely part 
 of that pure and constant piety which ran through her 
 daily life, like a stream that is never frozen and never 
 runs dry. In me it had no such grace, but it was an early- 
 taught good habit (as instinctive as any bodily habit) to 
 feel—*‘ Well, I’m thankful things are not so with me;” as 
 quickly as “ Ah, it might have been thus!” Looking at 
 the fates and fortunes and dispositions of other boys, I 
 had, even at Snuffy’s, ‘much to be thankful for’ as well 
 as much to endure, and it was a good thing for me that I 
 could balance the two. Forif the grace of thankfulness 
 does not solve the riddles of life, it lends a willing 
 shoulder to its common burdens. 
 
 I certainly had needed all my philosophy at home as 
 well as at school. It was hard to come back, one holi- 
 day-time after another, ignorant except for books that I 
 devoured in the holidays, and for my own independent 
 studies of maps, and an old geography book at Snuffy’s 
 from which I was allowed to give lessons to the lowest 
 form; rough in looks, and dress, and manners (I knew it, 
 
112 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 but it requires some self-respect even to use a nail-brush, 
 and self-respect was next door to impossible at Cray- 
 shaw’s); and with my north-country accent deepened, and 
 my conversation disfigured by slang. which, not being 
 fashionable slang, was as inadmissible as thieves’ lingo. 
 It was hard, I say, to come back thus, and meet dear old 
 Jem, and generally one at least of his schoolfellows whom 
 he had asked to be allowed to invite—both of them well 
 dressed, well-cared for, and well mannered, full of games 
 that were not in fashion at Crayshaw’s, and slang .as 
 ‘“‘ correct’”’ as it was unintelligible. 
 
 Jem’s heart was as true to me as ever, but he was not - 
 so thin-skinned as I am. He was never a fellow who 
 worried himself much about anything, and I don’t think it 
 struck him I could feel hurt or lonely. He would say, “I 
 say, Jack, what a beastly way your hair is cut. I wish 
 Father would let you come to our school:” or, ‘ Don’t 
 say it was a dirty trick—say it was a beastly chouse, or 
 something of that sort. We’re awfully particular about 
 talking at ’s, and I don’t want Cholmondley to hear 
 you.” 
 
 Jem was wonderfully polished-up himself, and as pug- 
 nacious on behalf of all the institutions of his school as 
 he had once been about our pond. I got my hair as near 
 right as one cutting and the town hair-cutter could bring 
 it, and mended my manners and held my own with good 
 temper. When it came to feats of skill or endurance, I 
 more than held my own. Indeed, I so amazed one very 
 “swell” little friend of Jem’s, whose mother (a titled 
 lady) had allowed him to spend part of the summer holi- 
 days with Jem for change of air, that he vowed I must go 
 and stay with him in the winter, and do juggler and acro- 
 bat at their Christmas theatricals. But he may have re- 
 ported me as being rough as well as ready, for her lady- 
 ship never ratified the invitation. Not that I would have 
 left home at Christmas, and not that I lacked pleasure in 
 the holidays. But other fashions of games and speech 
 and boyish etiquette lay between me and Jem; hospitality, 
 if not choice, kept him closely with his schoolfellows, and 
 ee they nor he had part in the day dreams of my 
 soul. 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. [13 
 
 For the spell of the Penny Numbers had not grown 
 weaker as I grew older. In the holidays I came back to 
 them as to friends. At school they made the faded maps 
 on Snuffy’s dirty walls alive with visions, and many a 
 night as I lay awake with pain and over-weariness in the 
 stifling dormitory, my thoughts took refuge not in dreams 
 of home nor in castles of the air, but in phantom ships 
 that sailed for ever round the world. 
 
 The day of the interview with my father I roused my- 
 self from my grievances to consider a more practical ques- 
 tion. Why should I not go to sea? No matter whose 
 fault it was, there was no doubt that I was ill-educated, 
 and that I did not please my father as Jem did. On the 
 other hand I was strong and hardy, nimble and willing to 
 obey; and I had roughed it enough, in all conscience. I 
 must have ill-luck indeed, if I lit upon a captain more 
 cruel than Mr. Crayshaw. I did not know exactly how 
 it was to be accomplished, but I knew enough to know 
 that I could not aim at the Royal Navy. Of course I 
 should have preferred it. I had never seen naval officers, 
 but if they were like officers in the army, like Colonel 
 Jervois, for instance, it was with such a port and bearing. 
 that I would fain have carried myself when I grew up to 
 be a man. I guessed, however, that money and many 
 other considerations might make it impossible for me to 
 be a midshipman ; but I had heard of boys being appren- 
 ticed to merchant-vessels, and I resolved to ask my father 
 if he would so apprentice me. 
 
 He refused, and he accompanied his refusal with an 
 unfavourable commentary on my character and conduct, 
 which was not the less bitter because the accusations were 
 chiefly general. 
 
 This sudden fancy for the sea—well, if it were not a 
 sudden fancy, but a dream of my life, what a painful in- 
 stance it afforded of my habitual want of frankness !— 
 This long-concealed project which I had_ suddenly 
 brought to the surface—I had talked about it to my 
 mother years ago, had I, but it had distressed her, and 
 even to my father, but he had snubbed me ?—then I had 
 been deliberately fostering aims and plans to which I had 
 
 8 
 
114 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 always known that my parents would be opposed. My 
 father didn’t believe a word of it. It was the old story. 
 I must be peculiar at any price. I must have something 
 new to amuse me, and be unlike the rest of the family. 
 It was always the same. For years I had found more 
 satisfaction from the conversation of aman who had spent — 
 ten years of his life in the hulks than from that of my own 
 father. Then this Indian Colonel had taken my fancy, 
 and it had made him sick to see the womanish—he could 
 call it no better, the weak-womanish—way in which I 
 worshipped him, If I were a daughter instead of a son, 
 my caprices would distress and astonish him less. He could 
 have sent me to my mother, and my mother might have 
 sent me to my needle. In a son, from whom he looked 
 for manly feeling and good English common-sense, it was 
 painful in the extreme. Vanity, the love of my own way, 
 and want of candour—(my father took a pinch of snuff 
 between each count of the indictment)—these were my 
 besetting sins, and would lead me into serious trouble. 
 This new fad, just, too, when he had made most favour- 
 able arrangements for my admission into my Uncle 
 Henry’s office as the first step in a prosperous career. I] 
 didn’t know; didn’t I? Perhaps not. Perhaps I had 
 been at the Woods’ when he and my mother were spéak- 
 ing of it. But nowI did know. The matter was decided, 
 and he hoped I should profit by my opportunities. I 
 might go, and I was to shut the door after me. 
 
 [ omit what my father said of the matter from a religious 
 point of view, though he accused me of flying in the face 
 of Providence as well as of the Fifth Commandment. 
 The piety which kept a pure and God-fearing atmosphere 
 about my home, and to which I owe all the strength I have 
 found against evil since I left it was far too sincere in both 
 my parents for me to speak of any phaseof it with disre- 
 spect. Though I may say here that I think it is to be 
 wished that more good people exercised judgment as well 
 as faith in tracing the will of Heaven in their own. Prac- 
 tically I did not even then believe that I was more “ called ” 
 to that station of life which was to be found in Uncle 
 Henry’s office, than to that station of life which I should 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 115 
 
 find on board a vessel in the Merchant Service, and it only 
 discredited truth in my inmost soul when my father put his 
 plans for my career in that light. Just as I could not help 
 feeling it unfair that a commandment which might have 
 been fairly appealed to if I had disobeyed him, should be 
 used against me in argument because I disagreed with 
 him. 
 
 I did disagree with him utterly. Uncle Henry’s office 
 was a gloomy place, where I had had to endure long 
 periods of waiting as a child when my mother took us in 
 to the dentist, and had shopping and visiting of uncertain 
 length to do. Uncle Henry himself was no favourite 
 with me. He was harder than my father if you vexed 
 him, and less genial when you didn’t. And I wanted to 
 go to sea. But it did not seem a light matter to me to 
 oppose my parents, and they were both against me. My 
 dear mother was thrown into the profoundest distress by 
 the bare notion. In her view to be at sea was merely to 
 run an imminent and ceasless risk of shipwreck ; and even 
 this jeopardy of life and limb was secondary to the dan- 
 gers that going ashore in foreign places would bring upon 
 my mind and morals. 
 
 So when my father spoke kindly to me at supper, and 
 said that he had arranged with Mr. Wood that I should 
 read with him for two hours every evening, in preparation 
 for my future life as an articled clerk, my heart was 
 softened. I thanked him gratefully, and resolved for my 
 own part to follow what seemed to be the plain path of 
 duty, though it led to Uncle Henry’s office, and not out 
 into the world. 
 
 The capacity in which I began life in Uncle Henry’s 
 office was that of office boy, and the situation was 
 attended in my case with many .favourable conditions. 
 Uncle Henry wished me to sleep on the premises, as my 
 predecessor had done, but an accidental circumstance led 
 to my coming home daily, which I infinitely preferred. 
 This was nothing less then an outbreak of boils all over 
 me, upon which every domestic application having failed, 
 and gallons of herb tea only making me worse, Dr. Brown 
 was called in, and pronounced my health in sore need 
 
116 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 of restoration. ‘The regimen of Crayshaw’s was not to be 
 recovered from in a day, and the old doctor would not 
 hear of my living altogether in the town. If I went to 
 the office at all, he said, I must ride in early, and ride 
 out in the evening. So much fresh air and exercise were 
 imperative, and I must eat two solid meals a day under 
 no less careful an eye than that of my mother. 
 
 She was delighted. She thought (even more than 
 usual) that Doctor Brown was a very Solomon in spec- 
 tacles, and I quite agreed with her. The few words that 
 followed gave a slight shock to her favourable opinion of 
 his wisdom, but I need hardly say that it confirmed 
 mine, 
 
 He had given me a kindly slap on the shoulder, which 
 happened at that moment to be the sorest point in my 
 body, and I was in no small pain from head to foot. I 
 only tightened my lips, but I suppose he bethought him- 
 self of what he had done, and he looked keenly at me 
 and said, “ You can bear pain, Master Jack?” 
 
 ‘““Oh, Jack’s a very brave boy,” said my dear mother, 
 ‘“‘ Indeed, he’s only too brave. He upset his father and 
 me terribly last week by wanting to go to sea instead of 
 to the office.” 
 
 “And much better for him, ma’am,” said the old 
 doctor, promptly ; ‘‘he’ll make a first-rate sailor, and if 
 Crayshaw’s is all the schooling he’s had, a very indifferent 
 clerk.” 
 
 “That’s just what I think!” I began, but my mother 
 coloured crimson with distress, and I stopped, and went 
 after her worsted ball which she had dropped, whilst she 
 appealed to Doctor Brown. 
 
 “Pray don’t say so, Doctor Brown. Jack is very good, 
 and it’s all gwzte decided. I couldn’t part with him, and 
 his father would be so annoyed if the subject 4 
 
 “Tut, tut, ma’am!” said the doctor, pocketing his 
 spectacles ; ‘““I never interfere in family affairs, and I 
 never repeat what I hear. The first rules of the profes- 
 sion, young gentleman, and very good general rules for 
 anybody.” 
 
 . I got quite well again, and my new life began. I rode 
 
 
 
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 Nx 
 
 Nt 
 
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 iia a 
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 ‘I GOT QUITE WELL AGAIN, AND MY NEW LIFE BEGAN, 
 I RODE IN AND OUT OF THE TOWN EVERY DAY ON ROB 
 ROY, OUR RED-HAIRED PONY.” D 
 
 Page 116, 
 
LIBRARY 
 OF THE — 
 
 a 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS — 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. ty OA 
 
 in and out of the town every day on Rob Roy, our red- 
 haired pony. After tea I went to the farm to be taught 
 by Mr. Wood, and at every opportunity I devoured such 
 books as I could lay my hands on. I fear I had very 
 little excuse for not being contented now. And yet I was 
 not content. 
 
 It seems absurd to say that the drains had anything 
 to do with it, but the horrible smell which prevaded the 
 office added to the disastefulness of the place, and made 
 us all feel ill and fretful, except my uncle, and Moses 
 Benson, the Jew clerk. He was never ill, and he said he 
 smelt nothing ; which shows that one may have a very 
 big nose to very little purpose. 
 
 My uncle pooh-poohed the unwholesome state of the 
 office, for two reasons which certainly had some weight. 
 The first was that he himself had been there for five and 
 twenty years without suffering by it; and the second 
 was, that the defects of drainage were so radical that (the 
 place belonging to that period of house-building when the 
 system of drainage was often worse than none at all) 
 half the premises, if not half the street, would have to be 
 pulled down for any effectual remedy. So it was left as 
 it was, and when Mr. Burton, the head clerk, had worse 
 headaches than usual, he used to give me sixpence for 
 chloride of lime} which I distributed at my discretion, and 
 on those days Moses Benson used generally to say that he 
 “fancied he smelt something.” 
 
 Moses Benson was an articled clerk to my uncle, but 
 he had no pretensions tobe considereda gentleman. His 
 father kept a small shop where second-hand watches 
 were the most obvious goods; but the old man was said 
 to have money, though the watches did not seem to sell 
 very fast, and his son had duly qualified for his post, and 
 had paid a good premium. Moses was only two or three 
 years older than I, not that I could have told anything 
 about his age from his looks. He was sallow, and had a 
 big nose; his hands were fat, his feet were small, and I 
 think his head was large, but perhaps his hair made it 
 look larger than it was, for it was thick and very black, 
 and though it was curly, it was not like Jem’s; the curls 
 
 a 
 
118 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 were more like short ringlets, and if he bent over his 
 desk they hid his forehead, and when he put his head 
 back to think, they lay on his coat-collar. And I sup- 
 pose it was partly because he could not smell with his 
 nose, that he used such very strong hair-oil, and so much 
 of it. It used to make his coat-collar in. a horrid state, 
 but he always kept a little bottle of “scouring drops” 
 on the ledge of his desk, and when it got very bad, I 
 knelt behind him on the corner of his stool and scoured 
 his coat-collar with a little bit of flannel. Not that I did 
 it half so well as he could. He wore very odd-looking 
 clothes, but he took great care of them, and was always 
 touching them up, and “reviving” his hat with one of 
 Mrs. O’Flannagan’s irons. He used to sell bottles of 
 the scouring drops to the other clerks, and once he got 
 me to get my mother to buy some. He gave me a good 
 -many little odd jobs to do for him, but he always thanked 
 me, and from the beginning to the end of our acquaint- 
 ance he was invariably kind. 
 
 I remember a very odd scene that happened at the 
 beginning of it. 
 
 Mr. Burton (the other clerk, whose time was to expire 
 the following year, which was to make a vacancy for me) 
 was a very different man from Moses Benson. He was re- 
 spectably connected, and looked down on “ the Jew-boy,” 
 but he was hot tempered, and rather slow-witted, and I 
 think Moses could manage him; and I think it was he 
 who kept their constant “tiffs”? from coming to real 
 quarrels, 
 
 One day, very soon after I began office-life, Benson 
 sent me out to get him some fancy note-paper, and when 
 I came back I saw the red-haired Mr. Burton standing 
 by the desk and looking rather more sickly and cross 
 than usual. I laid down the paper and the change, and 
 asked if Benson wanted anything else. He thanked me 
 exceedingly kindly, and said “ No,” and I went out of 
 the enclosure and back to the corner where I had been 
 cutting out some newspaper extracts for my uncle. At 
 the same time I drew from under my overcoat which was 
 lying there, an old railway volume of one of Cooper’s 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 119g 
 
 novels which Charlie had lent me. I ought not to have 
 been reading novels in office-hours, but I had had to stop 
 short last night because my candle went out just at the 
 most exciting point, and I had had no time to see what 
 became of everybody before I started for town in the 
 morning. I could bear suspense no longer, and plunged 
 into my book. 
 
 How it was in these circumstances that I heard what 
 the two clerks were saying, I don’t know. ‘They talked 
 constantly in these open enclosures, when they knew I 
 was within hearing. On this occasion I suppose they 
 thought I had gone out, and it was some minutes before I 
 discovered that they were talking of me. Burton spoke 
 _ first, and in an irritated tone. ‘ 
 
 “You treat this young shaver precious different to the 
 last one.” 
 
 The Jew spoke very softly, and with an occasional 
 softening of the consonants in his words. ‘‘ How obsherv- 
 ing you are!”’ said he. 
 
 Burton snorted. “It don’t take much observation to 
 see that. But I suppose you have your reasons. You 
 Jews are always so sly. That’s how you get on so, I 
 suppose.” 
 
 “You Gentiles,” replied Moses (and the Jew’s voice 
 had tones which gave him an infinite advantage in retal- 
 lating scorn), “you Gentiles would do as well as we do if 
 you were able to foresee and knew how to wait. You have 
 _allthe selfishness for success, my dear, but the gifts of 
 prophecy and patience are wanting to you.” 
 
 “That’s nothing to do with your little game about the 
 boy,” said Burton; ‘“‘ however, I suppose you can keep 
 your own secrets.” 
 
 ‘“‘T have no secrets,” said Moses gently. ‘“ And if you 
 take my advice, you never will have. If you have no 
 secrets, my dear, they will never be found out. If you tell 
 your little designs your best friends will be satisfied, and 
 will not invent less creditable ones for you.” 
 
 “If they did, you’d talk ’em down,” said Burton 
 roughly. ‘Short of a woman I never met such a hand 
 at jaw. You'll be in Parliament yet ” (“Tt is poshi- 
 
 
 
120 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ble!” said the Jew hastily,) ‘‘ with that long tongue of 
 yours. But you haven’t told us about the boy, for all 
 you've said.” 
 
 “ About this boy,” said Moses, ‘fa proverb will be 
 shorter than my jaw. ‘The son of the house is not a 
 servant forever.’ As to the other—he was taken for 
 charity and dismissed for theft, is it not so? He came 
 from the dirt, and he went back to the dirt. They often 
 do. Why should I be civil to him?” 
 
 What reply Mr. Burton would have made to this ques- 
 tion I had no opportunity of judging. My uncle called 
 him, and he ran hastily upstairs. And when he had gone, 
 the Jew came slowly out, and crossed the office as if he 
 were going into the street. By this time my conscience 
 was pricking hard, and I shoved my book under my coat 
 and called to him: ‘‘ Mr. Benson.” 
 
 = eaoue® ohessaid: 
 
 ““J am very sorry,” I stammered, blushing, “ but I 
 heard what you were saying. I did not mean to listen. 
 I thought you knew that I was there.” 
 
 “Tt is of no importance,” he said, turning away; “I 
 have no secrets.” 
 
 But I detained him. 
 
 > Mr. Benson [)-'Tell-me, please You -a¢7e, tailing 
 about me, weren’t you? What did you mean about the 
 son of the house not being a servant for ever?” 
 
 He hesitated for an instant, and then turned round and 
 came nearer to me. 
 
 “Tt is true, is itnot?” he said. ‘‘ Next year you may 
 be clerk. In time you may be your uncle’s confidential 
 clerk, which I should like to be myself. You may 
 eventually be partner, as I should like to be; and in the 
 long run you may succeed him, as I should like to do. 
 It is a good business, my dear, a sound business, a 
 business of which much, very much, more might be made. 
 You might die rich, very rich. You might be mayor, you 
 might be member, you might—but what is the use. You 
 willnot. You do not see it, though I am telling you. 
 You will not wait for it, though it would come. What is 
 that book you hid when I came in? ” 
 
 * - 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. I2I 
 
 “Tt is about North American Indians,” said I, dragging 
 it forth. “I am very sorry, but I left off last night at 
 such an exciting bit.” 
 
 The Jew was thumbing the pages, with his black ring- 
 lets close above them. 
 
 “Novels in office hours!” said he; but he was very 
 good-natured about it, and added, “I’ve one or two books 
 at home, if you’re fond of this kind of reading, and will 
 promise me not to neglect your duties.” 
 
 “Oh, I promise!” said I. 
 
 “T’ll put them under my desk in the corner he said ; 
 ‘indeed, I would part with some of them for a trifle.”’ 
 
 Ithanked him warmly, but what he had said was still 
 -hanging in my mind, and I added, ‘“Afe there real 
 prophets among the Jews nowadays, Mr. Benson? ” 
 
 ‘““They will make nothing by it, if there are,” said he; 
 and there was a tone of mysteriousness in his manner of 
 speaking which roused my romantic curiosity. ‘A few 
 of ush (very few, my dear!) mould our own fates, and the 
 lives of the rest are moulded by what men have within 
 them rather than by what they find without. If there 
 were a true prophet in every market-place to tell each man 
 of his future, it would not alter the destinies of seven 
 men in thish wide world.” 
 
 As Moses spoke the swing door was pushed open and 
 one of my uncle’s clients entered. He was an influential 
 man, anda very tall one. The Jew bent his ringlets 
 before him, almost beneath his elbow, and slipped out as 
 he came in. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 “Then, hey for boot, and horse, lad, 
 And round the world away! 
 Young blood must have its course, lad, 
 And every dog his day.”’ 
 C. Kingsley. 
 
 Moses BENsON was as good as his word in the matter of 
 books of adventure. Dirty books, some without backs, 
 
 ao 
 
122 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 and some with very greasy ones (for which, if I bought 
 them, I seldom paid more than half-price), but full of 
 dangers and discoveries, the mightiness of manhood, and 
 the wonders of the world. I read them at odd moments 
 of my working hours, and dreamed of them when I went 
 home to bed. And it was more fascinating still to look 
 out, with Charlie’s help, in the Penny Numbers, for the 
 foreign places, and people, and creatures mentioned in the 
 tales, and to find that the truth was often stranger than 
 the fiction. 
 
 To live a fancy-life of adventure in my own head, was 
 not merely an amusement to me at this time—it was a 
 refuge. Maiters did not really improve between me and 
 my father, though I had obeyed his wishes. It was by 
 his arrangement that I spent so much of my time at home 
 with the Woods, and yet it remained a grievance that I 
 liked to do so. Whether my dear mother had given up 
 all hope of my becoming a genius I do not know, but my 
 father’s contempt for my absorption in a book was un- 
 abated. I felt this if he came suddenly upon me with my 
 head in my hands and my nose in a tattered volume ; and 
 if 1 went on with my reading it was with a sense of being 
 in the wrong, whilst if I shut up the book and tried to 
 throw myself into outside interests, my father’s manner 
 showed me that my efforts had only discredited my 
 candour. 
 
 As.is commonly the case, it was chiefly little things that 
 pulled the wrong way of the stuff of life between us, but 
 they pulled it very much askew. I was selfishly absorbed 
 in my own dreams, and I think my dear father made a 
 mistake which is a too common bit of tyranny between 
 people who love each other and live together. He was 
 not satisfied with my dozzg what he liked, he expected me 
 to de what he liked, that is, to be another person instead 
 of myself. Wives and daughters seem now and then to 
 respond to this expectation as to the call of duty, and to 
 become inconsistent echoes, odd mixtures of severity and 
 hesitancy, hypocrites on the highest grounds; but sons are 
 not often so self-effacing, and it was not the case with me. 
 It was so much the case with my dear mother, that she 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 123 
 
 never was of the slightest use (which she might have been) 
 when my father and I misunderstood each other. By my 
 father’s views of the moment she always hastily set her 
 own, whether they were fair or unfair to ine; and she 
 made up for it by indulging me at every point that did 
 not cross an expressed wish of my father’s, or that could 
 not annoy him because he was not there. She never held 
 the scales between us. 
 
 « And yet it was the thought of her which kept me trom 
 taking my fate into my own hands again and again. To 
 have obeyed my father seemed to have done so little 
 towards making him satisfied with me, that I found no 
 consolation at home for the distastefulness of the office ; 
 and more than once I resolved to run away, and either 
 enlist or go to Liverpool (which was at,no great distance 
 from us) and get on board some vessel that was about to 
 sail for other lands. But when I thought of my mother’s 
 distress, I could not face it, and I let my half-formed 
 projects slide again. 
 
 Oddly enough, it was Uncle Henry who brought matters 
 to acrisis. I think my father was disappointed (though 
 he did not blame me) that I secured no warmer a place in 
 Uncle Henry’s affections than I did. Uncle Henry had 
 no children, and if he took a fancy to me and I pleased 
 him, such a career as the Jew-clerk had sketched for me 
 would probably be mine. This dawned on me by degrees 
 through chance remarksfrom my father and the more open 
 comments of friends. For good manners with us were 
 not of a sensitively refined order, and to be clapped on 
 the back with—‘“ Well, Jack, you've got into a good berth, 
 I hear. I suppose you look to succeed your uncle some 
 day?” was reckoned a friendly familiarity rather than an 
 offensive impertinence. 
 
 I Jearned that my parents had hoped that, as I was 
 his nephew, Uncle Henry would take me as clerk with- 
 out the usual premium. Indeed, when my uncle first 
 urged my going to him, he had more than hinted that 
 he should not expect a premium with his brother’s son. 
 But he was fond of his money (of which he had plenty), 
 and when people are that, they aie apt to begin to 
 
124 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 grudge, if there is time, between promise and perform- 
 ance. Uncle Henry had a whole year in which to think 
 about foregoing two or three hundred pounds, and as it 
 drew to a close, it seemed to worry him to such a degree, 
 that he proposed to take me for half the usual premium 
 instead of completely remitting it; and he said something 
 about my being a stupid sort of boy, and of very little use 
 to him for some time to come. He said it to justify him- 
 self for drawing back, I am quite sure, but it did me no 
 good at home. 
 
 My father had plenty of honourable pride, and he would 
 hear of no compromise. He said that he should pay the 
 full premium for me that Uncle Henry’s other clerks had 
 had to pay, and from this no revulsion of feeling on my 
 uncle’s part would move him. He was quite bland with 
 Uncle Henry, and he was not quite bland towards 
 me. 
 
 When I fairly grasped the situation (and I contrived to 
 get a pretty clear account of it from my mother), there 
 rushed upon me the conviction that a new phase had 
 come over my prospects. When I put aside my own 
 longings for my father’s will; and every time that office- 
 life seemed intolerable to me, and I was tempted to break 
 my bonds, and thought better of it and settled down 
 again, this thought nad always remained behind: “I will 
 try; and if the worst comes to the worst, and I really 
 cannot settle down into a clerk, I can but run away then.” 
 But circumstances had altered my case. I felt that now I 
 must make up my mind for good and all. My father would. 
 have to make some little sacrifices to find the money, 
 and when it was once paid, I could not let it be in vain. 
 Come what might, I must stick to the office then, and for 
 life. 
 
 Some weeks passed whilst I was turning this over and 
 overin my mind. I was constantly forgetting things in 
 the office, but Moses Benson helped me out of every 
 scrape. He was kinder and kinder, so that I often felt 
 sorry that I could not feel fonder of him, and that his 
 notions of fun and amusement only disgusted me instead 
 of making us friends. They convinced me of one thing. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 125 
 
 My dear mother’s chief dread about my going out of my 
 own country was for the wicked ways I might learn in 
 strange lands. A town with an unpronounceable name 
 suggested foreign iniquities to her tender fears, but our 
 own town, where she and everybody we knew bought 
 everything we daily used, did not frighten her at all. I 
 did not tell her, but I was quite convinced myself that I 
 might get pretty deep into mischief in my idle hours, even 
 if I lived within five miles of home, and had only my 
 uncle’s clerks for my comrades. 
 
 During these weeks Jem came home for the holidays. 
 He was ata public school now, which many of our friends 
 regarded as an extravagant folly on my father’s part. We 
 had a very happy time together, and this would have gone 
 far to keep me at home, if it had not, at the same time, 
 deepened my disgust with our town, and my companions 
 in the office. In plain English, the training of two good 
 schools, and the society of boys superior to himself, had 
 made a gentleman of Jem, and the contrast between his 
 looks and ways, and manners, and those of my uncle’s 
 clerks was not favourable to the latter. How proud my 
 father was of him! With me he was in a most irritable 
 mood (and one grumble to which I heard him give 
 utterance, that it was very inconvenient to have to pay 
 this money just at the most expensive period of Jem’s 
 education), went heavily into the scale for running away. 
 And that night, as it happened, Jem and I sat up late, and 
 had a long and loving chat. He abused the office to my 
 heart’s content, and was very sympathetic when I told him 
 that I had wished to go to sea, and how my father had 
 refused to allow me. 
 
 ‘““T think he made a great mistake,” said Jem; and he 
 told me of ‘a fellow’s brother” that he knew about, who 
 was in the Merchant Service, and how well he was doing. 
 “It’s not even as if Uncle Henry were coming out 
 generously,” he added. 
 
 Dear, dear! How pleasant it was to hear somebody 
 else talk on my side of the question. And who was I that 
 I should rebuke Jem for calling our worthy uncle a 
 curmudgeon, and stigmatizing the Jew-clerk as a dirty 
 
 , 
 
126 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 beast? I really dared not tell him that Moses grew more 
 familiar as my time to be articled drew near; that he 
 called me Jack Sprat, and his dearest friend, and offered 
 to procure me the “ silver-top ” (or champagne)—which he 
 said I must “stand” on the day I took my place at the 
 fellow desk to his—of the first quality and at less than cost 
 price ; and that he had provided me gratis with a choice 
 of “excuses” (they were unblushing lies) to give to our 
 good mother, for spending that evening in town, and 
 *‘ having a spree.” 
 
 From my affairs we came to talk of Jem’s, and I found 
 that even he, poor chap! was not without his troubles. 
 He confided to me, with many expressions of shame and 
 vexation, that he had got into debt, but having brought 
 home good reports and even a prize on this occasion, he 
 hoped to persuade my father to pay what he owed. * 
 
 “Vou see, Jack, he’s awfully good to me, but he will 
 do things his own way, and what’s worse, the way they 
 were done in his young days. You remember the row we 
 had about his giving me an allowance? He didn’t want 
 to, because he never had one, only tips from his governor 
 when the old gentleman was pleased with him. And he 
 said it was quite enough to send me to such a good and 
 expensive school, and I ought to think of that, and not 
 want more because I’d got much. We’d an awful row, 
 for I thought it was so unfair his making out I was 
 greedy and ungrateful, and I told him so, and I said I 
 was quite game to go to a cheap school if he liked, only 
 wherever I was I did want to be ‘like the other fellows.’ 
 I begged him to take me away and to Jet me go some- 
 where cheap with you; and I said, if the fellows there 
 had no allowances, we could do without. As I told him, 
 it’s not the beastly things that you buy that you care 
 about, only of course you don’t like to be the only fellow 
 who can’t buy ’’em. So then he came round, and said I 
 should have an allowance, but I must do with a very 
 small one. So I said, very well, then I musn’t go in for 
 the games. Then he wouldn’t have that; so I made out 
 a list of what the subscriptions are to cricket, and so on, 
 and then your flannels and shoes, and it came to double 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. Ploy 
 
 what he offered me. He said it was simply disgraceful 
 that boys shouldn’t be able to be properly educated, and 
 have an honest game at cricket for the huge price he 
 paid, without the parents being fleeced for all sorts of 
 extravagances at exorbitant prices. And I know well 
 enough its disgraceful, what we have to pay for school 
 books and for things of all sorts you have to get in the 
 town ; but, as I said to the governor, why don’t you kick 
 up a dust with the head master, or write to the papers— 
 what’s the good of rowing us? One must have what 
 other fellows have, and get ’em where other fellows get 
 ’em. But he never did—I wish he would. I should 
 enjoy fighting old Pompous if I were in his place. But 
 they’re as civil as butter to each other, and then old 
 Pompous goes on feathering his nest, and backing up the 
 tradespeople, and the governor pitches into the young 
 men of the present day.” 
 
 “He did give you the bigger allowance, didn’t he?” 
 said I, at this pause in Jem’s rhetoric. 
 
 “Yes, he did. He’s awfully good to me. But you 
 know, Jack, he never paid it quite all, and he never paid 
 _ it quite in time. I found out from my mother he did it 
 on purpose to make me value it more, and be more care- 
 ful. Doesn’t it seem odd he shouldn’t see that I can’t 
 pay the subscriptions a few shillings short or a few days 
 late? One must find the money somehow, and then one 
 has to pay for that, and’then you’re short, and go on tick, 
 and it runs up, and then they dun you, and you’re cleaned 
 out, and there you are!” 
 
 At which climax old Jem laid his curly head on his 
 arms, and I began to think very seriously. 
 
 “How much do you owe?” 
 
 Jem couldn’t say. He thought he could reckon up, so 
 I got a pencil and made a list from his dictation, and 
 from his memory, which was rather vague. When it was 
 done (and there seemed to be a misty margin beyond), I 
 was horrified. “Why, my dear fellow!” I exclaimed, 
 “if you'd had your allowance ever so regularly, it wouldn’t 
 have covered this sort of thing.”’ 
 
 “T know, I know,” said poor Jem, clutching remorse- 
 
128 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 fully at his curls. “I’ve been a regular fool! Jack! 
 whatever you do—never tick. It’s the very mischief. 
 You never know what you owe, and so you feel vague 
 and order more. And you never know what you don’t 
 owe, which is worse, for sometimes you're in such de- 
 spair, it would be quite a relief to catch some complaint 
 and die. It’s like going about with a stone round your 
 neck, and nobody kind enough to drown you. I can't 
 stand any more of it. I shall make a clean breast to 
 Father, and if he can’t set me straight, I won’t go back; 
 I’ll work on the farm sooner, and let him pay my bills 
 instead of my schooling—and serve old Pompous right.” 
 
 Poor Jem! long after he had cheered up and gone to 
 bed, I sat on and thought. When my premium was paid 
 where was the money for Jem’s debts to come from? 
 And would my father be in the humour to pay them? If 
 he did not, Jem would not go back to school. Of that I 
 was quite certain. Jem had thought over his affairs, 
 which was an effort for him, but he always thought in one 
 direction. His thoughts never went backwards and for- 
 wards as mine did. If he had made up his mind, there 
 was no more prospect of his changing it than if he had 
 been my father. And if the happy terms between them 
 were broken, and Jem’s career checked when he was 
 doing so well! the scales that weighed my own future 
 were becommg very uneven now. 
 
 I clasped my hands and thought. If I ran away, the 
 money would be there for Jem’s debts, and his errors 
 would look pale in the light of my audacity, and he would 
 be dearer than ever at home, whilst for me were freedom, 
 independence (for I had not a doubt of earning bread 
 and cheese, if only as a working man); perhaps a better 
 understanding with my father when I had been able to 
 prove my courage and industry, or even when he got the 
 temperate and dutiful letter | meant to post to him when 
 I was fairly off; and beyond all, the desire of my eyes, 
 the sight of the world. 
 
 Should I stay now? And for what? To see old Jem 
 at logger-heads with my father, and perhaps demoralised 
 by an inferior school? ‘To turn my own back and shut 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 129 
 
 my eyes for ever on all that the wide seas embrace; my 
 highest goal to be to grow as rich as Uncle Henry or 
 richer, and perhaps as mean or meaner? Should I 
 choose for life a life I hated, and set seals to my choice 
 by drinking silver-top with the Jew-clerk ?—No, Moses, 
 no, no! 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 I got up soon after dawn and was in the garden at sun- 
 rise the morning that I ran away. I had made my plans 
 carefully, and carried them out, so far with success. 
 
 Including the old miser’s bequest which his lawyer had 
 paid, there were thirteen pounds to my name in the town 
 savings-bank, and this sum I had drawn out to begin life 
 with. I wrapped a five-pound note in a loving letter to 
 Jem, and put both into the hymn-book on his shelf—I 
 knew it would not be opened till Sunday. Very few run- 
 aways have as much as‘eight pounds to make a start 
 with: and as one could not be quite certain how my 
 father would receive Jem’s confession, I thought he 
 might be glad to have a few pounds of his own, and I 
 knew he had spent his share of the miser’s money long 
 ago. 
 
 I meant to walk to a station about seven miles distant, 
 and there take train for Liverpool. I should be clumsy 
 indeed, I thought, if I could not stow away on board 
 some vessel,-as hundreds of lads had done before me, 
 and make myself sufficiently useful to pay my passage 
 when I was found out. 
 
 When I got into the garden I kicked my foot against 
 something in the grass. It was my mother’s little garden- 
 ing-fork. She had been tidying her pet perennial border, 
 and my father had called her hastily, and she had left it 
 half finished, and had forgotten the fork. A few minutes 
 more or less were of no great importance to me, for it was 
 very early, so I finished the border quite neatly, and took 
 the fork indoors. 
 
 I put it in a corner of the hall where the light was 
 growing stronger and making familiar objects clear. Ina 
 house like ours and amongst people like us, furniture was 
 not chopped and changed and decorated as it is now. 
 
 9 
 
130 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 The place had looked like this ever since I could remem- 
 ber, and it would look like this to-morrow morning, though 
 my eyes would not see it. I stood stupidly by the hall 
 table where my father’s gloves lay neatly one upon the 
 other beside his hat. I took them up, almost mechani- 
 cally, and separated them, and laid them together again 
 finger to finger, and thumb to thumb, and held them with 
 a stupid sort of feeling, as if I could never put them down 
 and go away. 
 
 What would my father’s face be like when he took them 
 up this very morning to go out and look for me and 
 when—oh when !—should I see his face again ? 
 
 I began to feel what one is apt to learn too late, that in 
 childhood one takes the happiness of home for granted, 
 and kicks against the pricks of its grievances, not having 
 felt the far harder buffetings of the world. Moreover 
 (which one does not think of then), that parental blunders 
 and injustices are the mistakes and tyrannies of a special 
 love that one may go many a mile on one’s own wilful 
 way and not meet a second time. Who—in the wide 
 world—would care to be bothered with my confidence, 
 and blame me for withholding it? Should I meet many 
 people to whom it would matter if we misunderstood each 
 other? Would anybody hereafter love me well enough to 
 be disappointed in me? Would other men care so much 
 for my fate as to insist on guiding it by lines of their own 
 ruling ? 
 
 I pressed the gloves passionately against my eyes to 
 keep in the tears. If my day-dreams had been the only 
 ‘question I should have changed my mind now. If the 
 home grievances had been all, I should have waited for 
 time and patience to mend them. I could not have 
 broken all these heart-strings. I should never have run 
 away. But there was much more, and my convictiots 
 were not changed, though I felt as if I might have 
 managed better as regards my father. 
 
 Would he forgive me? I hoped and believed so. 
 Would my mother forgive me? I knew she would—as 
 Gop forgives. And with the thought of her, I knelt down, 
 and put my head on the hall table and prayed from my 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. LHe | 
 
 soul—not for fair winds, and prosperous voyages, and 
 good luck, and great adventures ; but that it might please 
 Gop to let me see Home again, and the faces that I loved 
 ah, so dearly, after all! 
 
 And then I got up, and crossed the threshold, and went 
 out into the world. 
 
 CHAP LIER XLV. 
 
 ‘¢ A friend in need is a friend indeed.’’ 
 Old Proverb. 
 
 ‘I HAVE often thought that the biggest bit ‘of good luck 
 (and I was lucky), which befell me on my outset into the 
 world, was that the man I sat next to in the railway- 
 carrlage- was not a rogue, I travelled third-class to 
 Liverpool for more than one reason—it was the cheapest 
 way, besides which I did not wish to meet any family 
 friends—and the man I speak of was a third-class_ pas- 
 senger, and he went to Liverpool too. 
 
 At the time I was puzzled to think how he came to 
 guess that I was running away, that I had money with 
 me, and that I had never been to Liverpool before; but I 
 can well imagine now how my ignorance and anxiety 
 must have betrayed themselves at every station I mistook 
 for the end of my journey, and with every question 
 which I put, as I flattered myself, in the careless tones of 
 common conversation. I really wonder I had not thought 
 beforehand about my clothes, which fitted very badly on 
 the character I assumed, and the company I chose; but 
 it was not perhaps to be expected that I should know 
 then, as I know now, how conspicuous all over me must 
 have been the absence of those outward signs of hardship 
 and poverty, which they who know poverty and hardship 
 know so well. 
 
 I wish 7 had known them, because then I should have 
 given the man some of my money when we parted, instead 
 of feeling too delicate to do so. I can remember his face 
 too well not to know now how much he must have needed it, 
 and how heroic a virtue honesty must have been in him. 
 
£32 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 It did not seem to strike him as at all strange or un- 
 natural that a lad of my age should be seeking his own 
 fortune, but I feel sure that he thought it was misconduct 
 on my part which had made me run awayfrom home. I 
 had no grievance to describe which he could recognise as 
 grievous enough to drive me out into the world. How- 
 ever, I felt very glad that he saw no impossibility in my 
 earning my own livelihood, or even anything very unusual 
 in my situation. 
 
 ‘““T suppose lots of young fellows run away from home 
 and go to sea from a place like this?” said I when we 
 had reached Liverpool. 
 
 ‘““And there’s plenty more goes that has no homes to 
 run from,” replied he sententiously. 
 
 Prefacing each fresh counsel with the formula, ‘‘ You’ll 
 excuse me,’? he gave me some excellent advice as we 
 threaded the greasy streets, and jostled the disreputable- 
 looking population of the lower part of thetown. General 
 counsels as to my conduct, and the desirableness of turn- 
 ing over a new leaf for ‘‘ young chaps ” who had been wild 
 and got into scrapes at home. And particular counsels 
 which were invaluable to me, as to changing my dress, 
 how to hide my money, what to turn my hand to with the 
 quickest chance of bread winning in strange places, and 
 how’ to keep my own affairs to myself among strange peo- 
 ple. 
 
 It was in the greasiest street, and among the most dis- 
 reputable-looking people, that we found the “slop-shop ” 
 where, by my friend’s orders, I was to “rig out” in 
 clothes befitting my new line of life. He went in first, so 
 he did not see the qualm that seized me on the doorstep, 
 A revulsion so violent that it nearly made me sick then 
 and there ; andif some one had seized me by the nape of 
 my neck, and landed me straightway at my desk in Uncle 
 Henry’s office would, I believe, have left me tamed for 
 life. For if this unutterable vileness of sights and sounds 
 and smells which hung around the dark entry of the slop- 
 shop were indeed the world, I felt a sudden and most 
 vehement conviction that I would willingly renounce the 
 world for ever. As it happened, I had not at that moment 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 13 
 
 the choice. My friend had gone in, and I dared not stay 
 among the people outside. I groped my way into the 
 shop, which was so dark as well as dingy that they had 
 lighted a small oil-lamp just above the head of the man 
 _who served out the slops. Even so the light that fell on 
 him was dim and fitful, and was the means of giving me 
 another start in which I gasped out—‘‘ Moses Benson!” 
 
 The man turned and smiled (he had the Jew-clerk’s 
 exact smile), and said softly: 
 
 “Cohen, my dear, not Benson. ” 
 
 And as he bent at another angle to the oil-lamp I saw 
 that he was older than the clerk, and dirtier; and though 
 his coat was quite curiously like the one I had so often 
 cleaned, he had evidently either never met with the in- 
 valuable “scouring drops,” or did not feel it worth while 
 to make use of them in such a dingy hole. 
 
 One shock helped to cure the other. Come what 
 might, I could not sneak back now to the civil congratu- 
 Jations of that other Moses, and the scorn of his eye. 
 But I was so nervous that my fellow-traveller transacted 
 my business for me, and when the oil-lamp flared and I 
 caught Moses Cohen looking at me, I jumped as if Snuffy 
 had come behind me. And when.we got out (and it was 
 no easy matter to escape from the various benevolent 
 offers of the owner of the slop-shop), my friend said: 
 
 “You'll excuse me telling you—but whatever you do 
 don’t go near that there Jew again. He’s no friend for a 
 young chap like you.” 
 
 “YT should have got your slops cheaper,” he added, 
 “if I could have taken your clothes in without you.” 
 
 My “slops’* were a very loose suit of clothes made of 
 much coarser material than my own, and I suppose they 
 were called “slops” because they fitted in such a 
 peculiarly sloppy manner. The whole “rig out” (it in- 
 cluded a strong clasp-knife, and a little leathern bag to 
 keep my money in, which I was instructed to tie round 
 my neck) was provided by Mr. Cohen in exchange for the 
 clothes I had been wearing before, with the addition of 
 ten shillings in cash. I dipped again into the leathern 
 bag to provide a meal for myself and my friend; then, 
 
134 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 by his advice, I put a shilling and some coppers into my 
 pocket, that I might not have to bring out my purse in 
 public, and with a few parting words of counsel he wrung 
 my hand, and we parted—he towards some place of 
 business where he hoped to get employment, and I in the 
 direction of the docks, where the ships come and go. 
 
 “T hope you wz get work,” were my last words. 
 
 ‘““The same to you, my lad,” was his reply, and it 
 seemed to acknowledge me as one of that big brother- 
 hood of toilers who, when they want “ something to do,” 
 want it not to pass time but to earn daily bread. 
 
 CHART HRN: 
 
 **Deark d’on Dearka.” (“ Beg of a Beggar.”) 
 Lrish Proverb, 
 
 i . From her way of speaking they also saw immediately that 
 she too was an Eirisher. . . . They must be a bonny family when 
 they are all at home! ’’—7Zhe Life of Mansie Wauch, Tailor in Dat- 
 keith. 
 
 “Dock” (so ran the 536th of the ‘Penny Numbers’) is 
 “a place artificially formed for the reception of ships, the 
 entrance of which is generally closed by gates. There 
 are two kinds of docks, dry-docks and wet-docks. ‘The 
 former are used for receiving ships in order to their being 
 inspected and repaired. For this purpose the dock must 
 be so contrived that the water may be admitted or ex- 
 cluded at pleasure, so that a vessel can be floated in when 
 the- tide is high, and that the water may run out with the 
 fall of the tide, or be pumped out, the closing of the gates 
 ,preventing its return. Wet-docks are formed for the pur- 
 pose of keeping vessels always afloat... . One of the 
 chief uses of a dock is to keep a uniform level of water, 
 so that the business of loading and unloading ships can 
 be carried on without any interruption. . . . The first wet- 
 dock for commercial purposes made in this kingdom was 
 formed in the year 1708, at Liverpool, then a place of no 
 importance.” 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 135 
 
 The business of loading and unloading ships can be carried 
 on without any interruption. If everything that the ‘ Penny 
 Numbers’ told of were as true to the life as that, the 
 world’s wonders (at least those of them which begin with 
 the first four letters of the alphabet) must be all that 
 I had hoped; and perhaps that bee-hive about which 
 Master Isaac and I had had our jokes, did really yield 
 a “considerable income” to the fortunate French bee- 
 master ! 
 
 Loading and unloading, coming and going, lifting and 
 lowering, shouting and replying, swearing and retorting, 
 creaking and jangling, shricking and bumping, cursing 
 and chaffing, the noise and restlessness of men and things 
 were utterly bewildering. I had often heard of a Babel 
 of sounds, but I had never before heard anything so like 
 what one might fancy it must have been when that great 
 crowd of workmen broke up, and left building their tower, 
 ina confounding of language and misunderstanding of 
 speech. For the men who went to and fro in these docks, 
 each his own way, jostling and: yelling to each other, 
 were men of all nations, and the confusion was of tongues 
 as well as of work. At one minute | found myself stand- 
 ing next to a live Chinaman in a pig-tail, who was staring 
 as hard as I at some swarthy supple-bodied sailors with 
 eager faces, and scant clothing wrapped tightly round 
 them, chatting. to each other in a language as strange to 
 the Chinaman as to me, their large lustrous eyes return- 
 ing our curiosity with interest, and contrasting strangely 
 with the tea-caddy countenance of my elbow neighbour. 
 Then aturbaned Turk went by, and then two grinning 
 negroes, and there were lots of men who looked more like 
 Englishmen, but who spoke with other tongues, and 
 amongst those who loaded and unloaded in this busy , 
 place, which was once of no importance, Irish brogue 
 seemed the commonest language of all. 
 
 One thing made me hopeful—there were plenty of boys 
 no bigger than myself who were busy working, and 
 therefore earning wages, and as I saw several lads who 
 were dressed in suits the very counterpart of my own, 
 
 ~ I felt sure that my travelling companion had done me a 
 
136 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 good turn when he rigged me out in slops. An incident 
 that occurred in the ‘afternoon. made me a little more 
 doubtful about this. 
 
 I really had found much to counterbalance the anxieties 
 of my position in the delightful novelty and variety of life 
 around me, and not a little to raise my hopes; for I had 
 watched keenly for several hours as much as I could see 
 from the wharf of what was going on in this ship and 
 that, and I began to feel less confused. I perceived 
 plainly that a great deal of every-day sort of work went 
 on in ships as well as in houses, with the chief difference, 
 in dock at any rate, of being done in public. In the most 
 free and easy fashion, to the untiring entertainment of 
 crowds of idlers besides myself, the men and boys on 
 vessel after vessel lying alongside, washed out their 
 shirts and socks, and hung them up to dry, cooked their 
 food, cleaned out their pots and pans, tidied their holes 
 and corners, swept and brushed, and fetched and carried, 
 and did scores of things which I knew I could do perfectly, 
 for want of something better to do. 
 
 “Tt’s clear there’s plenty of dirty work to go on with 
 till one learns seamanship,” I thought; and the th ought 
 was an honest satisfaction to me. 
 
 I had always swept Uncle Henry’s office, and that had 
 been light work after cleaning the schoolroom at Snuffy’s. 
 My hands were never likely to be more chapped at sea 
 than they had been with dirt and snow and want of things 
 to dry oneself with at school; and as to coal-carry- 
 ing 
 
 Talking of coals, on board the big ship, out of which 
 great white bales, strapped with bars of iron, were being 
 pulled up by machinery, and caught and flung about by 
 the ‘“ unloaders,” there was aman whose business seemed 
 to be to look after the fires, and who seemed also to have 
 taken a roll in the coal-hole for pleasure ; and I saw him 
 find atin basin and a square of soap, and a decent rough 
 towel to wash his face and hands, such as would have 
 been reckoned luxurious in a dormitory at Snuffy’s. Alto- 
 gether, when a heavy hand was laid suddenly on ay 
 shoulder, and a gruff voice said : 
 
 
 
WE AND .THE WORLD. 137 
 
 “Well, my young star-gazing greenhorn, and what do 
 you want?” 
 
 I replied with alacrity, as well as with more respect 
 than the stranger’s appearance was calculated to inspire, 
 ‘Please, sir, I want to go to sea, and I should like to ship 
 for America.” 
 
 He was not anice-looking man by any means—far too 
 suggestive of Snuffy, when Snuffy was partly drunk. 
 But after a pause, he said: 
 
 “All right. Where are your papers? What was your 
 ship, and why did ye run?” 
 
 “‘T have not served in a ship yet, sir,’”’ said I, “but I’m 
 sure vi 
 He did not allow me to goon. With a,sudden fierce 
 look that made him more horribly like Snuffy than before, 
 he caught me by my sleeve and a bit of my arm, and 
 shoved me back from the edge of the dock till we stood 
 alone. “Then where did ye steal your slops?” he 
 hissed at me with oaths. “Look here, ye young gallows- 
 bird, if ye don’t stand me a liquor, I'l] run ye in as a run- 
 
 away apprentice. So cash up, and look sharp.” 
 
 I was startled, but I was not quite such a fool as I 
 looked, mind or body. I had once had a hardish strug- 
 gle with Snuffy himself when he was savage, and I was 
 strong and agile beyond my seeming. I dived deeply 
 into my trousers-pocket, as if feeling for the price of a 
 “liquor,” and the man having involuntarily allowed 
 me a little swing for this, I suddenly put up my shoulders, 
 and ran at him as if my head were a battering-ram, and 
 his moleskin waistcoat the wall of a beleaguered city, and 
 then wrenching myself from his grasp, and dodging the 
 leg he had put out to trip me, I fled blindly down the 
 quay. 
 
 No one can take orange-peel into account, however. I 
 slipped on a large piece, and came headlong with the 
 aggravation of hearing my enemy breathing hoarsely 
 close above me. As regards him, I suppose it was lucky 
 that my fall jerked the shilling and the penny out of my 
 pocket, for as the shilling rolled away he went after it, and 
 I saw him no more. What I did see when I sat up was 
 
 
 
138 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 the last of my penny (which had rolled in another di- 
 rection), as it gave one final turn and fell into the dock. 
 
 I could have cried with vexation, and partly with 
 fatigue, for it was getting late, and I was getting tired. I 
 had fallen soft enough, as it happened, for I found myself 
 on a-heap of seeds, some kind of small bean, and the 
 yielding mass made a pleasant resting-place. There was 
 no one very near, and I moved round to the back of the 
 heap to be still more out of sight, and sat down to try and 
 think what it was best to do. If my slops were really a 
 sort of uniform to which I| was not entitled, they would do 
 me more harm than good. But whom could I ask? If 
 _there were an honest, friendly soul in all this crowd, and I 
 could come across him, I felt that (without telling too 
 much of my affairs) I could explain that I had exchanged 
 some good shore clothes of my own for what I had been 
 told were more suitable to the work I was looking out for, 
 and say further that though I had never yet been at sea, I 
 was hardy, and willing to make myself useful in any way. 
 But how ‘could I tell whom to trust? I might speak fair 
 to some likely-looking man, and he might take me some- 
 where and strip me of my slops, and find my leather 
 money-bag, and steal that too. When I thought how 
 easily my fellow-traveller might have treated me thus, I 
 felt a thrill of gratitude towards him, and then I wondered 
 how he had prospered in his search for work. As for me, 
 it was pretty clear that if I hoped to work my way in this 
 wicked world, I must suspect a scoundrel in every man I 
 met, and forestall mischief by suspicion. As I sat and 
 thought, I sifted the beans through my fingers, and saw 
 that there were lots of strange seeds mixed with them, 
 some of very fantastic shapes; and I wondered what 
 countries they came from, and with what shape and scent 
 and colour the plants blossomed, and thought how Charlie 
 would like some of them to sow m pots and watch. As I 
 drove my hands deeper into the heap, I felt that it was 
 quite warm inside, and then I put my head down to smell 
 if there was any fragrance in the seeds, and I did not lift 
 it up again, for I fell fast asleep. 
 
 I was wakened by a touch on my head, and a voice 
 

 
 *“*IT WAS WAKENED BY A TOUCH ON MY HEAD, AND A 
 VOICE JUST ABOVE ME.” D 
 
 Page 138 
 

 
WE AND THE WORLD. 139 
 
 just above me, saying: “‘ He’s alive anyhow, thank Gop!” 
 and sitting up among the beans I found that it was dark 
 and foggy, but a lamp at some distance gave me a pretty 
 good view of an old woman who was bending over me. 
 
 She was dressed, apparently, in several skirts of un- 
 equal lengths, each one dingier and more useless-looking 
 than the one beneath it. She had a man’s coat, with a 
 short pipe in the breast-pocket, and what her bonnet was 
 like one could not tell, for it was comfortably tied down 
 by a crimson handkerchief with big white spots, which 
 covered it completely. Her face was as crumpled and as 
 dirty _as her clothes, but she had as fine eyes and as kind 
 eyes as mine have ever met. And every idea of needful 
 wariness and of the wickedness of the world went quite 
 naturally out of my head, and I said, “ Did you think I 
 was dead, mother?” 
 
 “T did not; though how would I know what would be 
 the matter wid ye, lying there those three hours on your 
 face, and not a stir out 0’ ye?” 
 
 “You're very kind,” I said, dusting the bean-dust off 
 my trousers, and I suppose I looked a little puzzled, for 
 the old woman (helping me by flicking at my sleeve) went 
 on: “I'll not deceive ye, my dear. It was myown Micky 
 that was on my mind; though now you’ve lifted your face, 
 barring the colour of his hair, there’s no likeness betwixt 
 ye, and I’m the disappointed woman again, Gop help 
 es 
 
 “Is Micky your son?” I asked. 
 
 “He is, and a better child woman never had, till he 
 tired of everything I would do for him, being always the. 
 boy for change, and went for a stow-away from this-very 
 port.” 
 
 ‘Sit down, mother; stow-aways are lads that hide on 
 board ship, and get taken to sea for nothing, aren’t 
 they?” 
 
 “They are, darlin’; but it’s not for nothing they get 
 kept at sea, ye may take your oath. And many’s the one 
 that leaves this in the highest of expictations, and is glad 
 enough to get -back to it in a tattered shirt and a whole 
 skin, and with an increase of contintment under the ways 
 of home upon his mind,” 
 
 % 
 
IA2 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 And giving a tighter knot to the red kerchief, which 
 had been disordered by her lamentations, the old woman 
 went down the dock, I following her. 
 
 We had not to go far. Biddy’s coffee barrow was 
 placed just as the pieman had advised. It was as. near 
 the ships as possible. In fact it was actually under the 
 shadow of a big black-looking vessel which loomed large 
 through the fog, and to and from which men were coming 
 and going as usual. With several of these the old woman 
 interchanged some good-humoured chaff as she settled 
 herself in her place, and bade me sit beside her. 
 
 “Tuck your legs under ye, agra! on that bit of an ould 
 sack. ’Tis what I wrap round me shoulders when the 
 nights do be wet, as it isn’t this evening, thank Gop! 
 And there’s the coffee for ye.” 
 
 “Mother,” said I, “do you think you could sit so as to 
 hide me for a few minutes? All the money I have is in 
 a bag round my neck, and I don’t want strangers to see 
 ites 
 
 “Ye'll just keep it there, then,” replied Biddy, irately, 
 “and don’t go an’ insult me with the show of it.” 
 
 And she turned her back on me, whilst I drank my 
 coffee, and ate some excellent cakes, which formed part 
 of her stock-in-trade. One of these she insisted on my 
 putting into my pocket “against the hungry hour.” I 
 thanked her warmly for the gift, whereupon she became 
 mollified, and said I was kindly welcome; and whilst she 
 was serving some customers, I turned round and looked at 
 the ship. Late as it was, people seemed very busy about 
 her, rather more so than about any I had seen. As I sat, 
 I was just opposite to a yawning hole in the ship’s side, 
 into which men were noisily running great bales and 
 boxes, which other men on board were lowering into the 
 depths of the vessel with very noisy machinery and with 
 much shouting in a sort of uncouth rhythm, to which the 
 grating and bumping of the crane and its chains was 
 a trifle. I was so absorbed by looking, and it was so 
 impossible to hear anything else unless one were attend- 
 ing, that I never discovered that Biddy and I were alone 
 again, till the touch of her hand on my head made me 
 jump. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 143 
 
 ‘“‘T beg your pardon, mother,” I said; “I couldn’t think 
 what it was.” 
 
 pulmaxmyouressdear.) ts? just the ‘curls,-and.I’m> the 
 foolish woman to look at’em. Barrin’ the hair, ye don’t 
 favour each other the laste.” 
 
 I had really heard a good deal about Micky, and was 
 getting tired of him, and inclined to revert to my own 
 affairs. 
 
 “Mother, do you know where this ship comes from ?” 
 
 “T donot. But she sails with the morning for Halifax, 
 I’m told. And that’s America way, and I insensed the 
 cook—that was him that axed me where I bought my 
 cofftee—to have an cye out for Micky, in case he. might 
 come across him anywhere.” 
 
 America way! ‘To-morrow morning! A_ storm of 
 thoughts rushed through my head, and in my passionate 
 longing for help I knelt up by the old Irishwoman and 
 laid my hand upon hers. 
 
 ‘““Mother dear, do help me! You are so kind, and 
 you've a boy of your own at sea. I want to go to 
 America, and I’ve no papers or anything. Couldn’t I 
 stow away as Micky did? Couldn’t I stow away on this 
 one? I can work well enough when they find me out, if 
 I could only hide so as to get off; and you know the 
 ships and the docks so well, you could tell me how, if 
 only you would.” 
 
 I am always ashamed.to remember the feeble way in 
 which I finished off by breaking down, though I do not 
 know that I could have used any argument that would 
 have gone so far with Biddy. If it had been a man who 
 had been befriending me, I’m sure I shouldn’t have played 
 the fool, but it was a woman, so I felt doubly helpless in 
 having to depend on her, and she felt doubly kind, and in 
 short, I put my face in my hands and sobbed. 
 
 For quite four hours after this I was puzzled to death 
 by smelling stale bad tobacco about myself; then I dis- 
 covered that by some extraordinary jerk in the vehemence 
 of the embrace which was Biddy’s first response to my 
 appeal, the little black pipe had got out of her coat-pocket 
 and tumbled down the breast of my slops, 
 
 :* 
 
144 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 I hope my breakdown was partly due to the infectious 
 nature of emotion, of which Biddy was so lavish that my 
 prospects were discussed in a sadly unbusinesslike fashion. 
 My conscience is really quite clear of having led her to 
 hope that I would look out for Micky on the other side of 
 the Atlantic, but I fear that she had made up her mind 
 that we should meet, and that this went far towards con- 
 verting her to my views for stowing away on the vessel 
 lying alongside of us. However, that important point 
 once reached, the old woman threw herself into the 
 enterprise with a practical knowledge of the realities of 
 the undertaking and a zest for the romance of it which 
 were alike invaluable to me. 
 
 “The botheration of it is,” said Biddy, after some talk, 
 tangling her bonnet and handkerchief over her face till I 
 felt inclined to beg her to let me put her straight—‘“ the 
 botheration of it is, that it’s near to closing-time, and 
 when the bell rings ivery soul’ll be cleared out, labourers 
 and idlers, and myself among ’em. Ye’ll have to hide, 
 me darlin’, but there’ll be no mighty difficulty in that, for 
 I see a fine bit of tarpaulin yonder that’d consale a dozen 
 of the likes of you. But there’s that fool of a watchman 
 that'll come parading and meandering up and down wid 
 all the airs of a sentry on him and none of the good 
 looks, and wid a sneaking bull’s-eye of a lantern in his 
 hand. He’s at the end of the wharf now, purshuin’ to 
 him! Maybe I’ll get him to taste a dhrop of me coffee 
 before the bell rings. Many’s the cupI gave to the old 
 watchman before him, peace to his sowl, the kindly cray- 
 thur! that never did a more ill-natured thing on his beat 
 than sleep like a child. Hide now, darlin’, and keep the 
 tail of your eye at a corner where ye’ll see the ship. 
 Maybe he’ll take a nap yet, for all his airs, and then 
 there’s the chance for ye! And mind now, keep snug 
 till the pilot’s gone as I warned ye, and then it’s the bold 
 heart and the civil tongue, and just the good-nature of 
 your ways, that’ll be your best friends. The cook tells 
 me the captain’s as dacent a man as iver he served with, 
 so you might aisy do worse, and are not likely to do 
 better. Are ye hid now? Whisht! Whisht!” 
 
 ) 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 145 
 
 I heard most of this through a lifted corner of the 
 tarpaulin,,under which I had the good luck to secrete 
 myself without observation and without difficulty. In the 
 same manner I became witness to the admirable air of 
 indifference with which Biddy was mixing herself a cup 
 of coffee as the watchman approached, I say mixing 
 advisedly, for as he came up she was conspicuously pour- 
 ing some of the contents of the stone bottle into her cup. 
 Whether this drew the watchman’s attention in an un- 
 usual degree, of course I do not know, but he stopped to 
 say, ‘Good evening, Biddy.” 
 
 ‘““Good evening to ye, me dear, and a nasty damp | 
 evening it is.”’ 
 
 _ “YVou’re taking something to keep the damp out, I see, 
 missus.”’ 
 
 “Tam, dear; but it’s not for a foine milithrary-looking 
 man like yourself to be having the laugh at a poor old 
 craythur with nothin’ but the wind and weather in her 
 bones.” 
 
 “The wind and weather get into my bones, I can tell 
 you,” said the watchman ; “and I begin my work in the 
 fog just when you’re getting out of it.” 
 
 “* And that’s thrue, worse luck. ‘Takea dhrop of coffee, 
 allanna, before I lave ye.” 
 
 ‘“‘No, thank ye, missus; I’ve just had my supper.” 
 
 ‘* And would that privint ye from takin’ the cup I’d be 
 offering ye, wid a taste of somethin’ in it against the 
 damps, barrin’ the bottle was empty ?” 
 
 “Well, I’m not particular—as you are so pressing. 
 Thank ye, mum ; here’s your good health.” 
 
 I heard the watchman say this, though at the moment I 
 dared not peep, and then I heard him cough. 
 
 ‘““My sakes, Biddy, you make your—coffee—strong.” 
 
 “Strong, darlin’? It’s pure, ye mane. It’s the rale 
 craythur, that, and bedad! there’s a dhrop or two left 
 that’s not worth the removing, and we’ll share it annyhow. 
 Here’s to them that’s far—r away,” 
 
 “Thank you, thank you, woman.” 
 
 “’Thim that’s near, and thim that’s far away!” said 
 Biddy, improving upon her toast. 
 
 Io 
 
146 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 There was a pause. I could hear the old woman 
 packing up her traps, and then the man (upon whom the 
 ‘coffee and whisky seemed to produce a roughening rather 
 than a soothing effect) said coarsely, ‘‘ You’re a rum lot, 
 you Irish!” 
 
 “We are, dear,” replied Biddy blandly; “and that’s 
 why we’d be comin’ all the way to Lancashire for the 
 improvement of our manners.” And she threw the sack- 
 ing round her neck, and lifted the handles of her bar- 
 row. 
 
 “Good-night, me darlin 
 
 749 
 
 said she, raising her voice 
 
 as she moved off. ‘* We’llmeet again, Gop willing.” 
 “ Safe enough, unless you tumble into the dock,” replied 
 the watchman. “Go steady, missus. I hope you'll get 
 
 safe home with that barra o’ yours.” 
 
 ‘Gop send all safe home that’s far from it!” shouted 
 Biddy, in tones that rose above the rumbling of the wheel 
 and the shuffling of her shoes. 
 
 “Haw! haw!” laughed the watchman, and with in- 
 creased brutalness in his voice he reiterated, ‘‘ You’re 
 a rum lot, Biddy! and free of most things, blessings and 
 all.”’ 
 
 I was not surprised that the sound of the wheel and the 
 shoes ceased suddenly. Biddy had set down her bar- 
 row to retort. But it was with deep gratitude that I found 
 her postpone her own wrath to my safety, and content 
 herself with making her enemy “a prisint of the contimpt 
 of a rogue.” 
 
 ‘*And what would I be doing but blessing ye?” she 
 cried, in a voice of such dramatic variety as only quick 
 wits and warm feelings can give, it was so full at once of 
 suppressed rage, humorous triumph, contemptuous irony, 
 and infinite tenderness. And I need hardly say that it 
 was raised to a ringing pitch that would have reached my 
 ears had they been buried under twenty tarpaulins. 
 ‘““Gop bless ye for ivermore! Good luck to ye! fine 
 weather to ye! health and strength to ye! May the 
 knaves that would harm ye be made fools for your ben- . 
 efit, and may niver worse luck light on one hair of your 
 head than the best blessings of Biddy Macartney ! ” 
 
 { 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 147 
 
 Something peculiar in the sound of Biddy’s retreating 
 movements made me risk another glance from an angle 
 of the tarpaulin. 
 
 And upon my honour it is strictly true that I saw the 
 old Irish woman drive her barrow down the dock till she 
 passed out of sight and that she went neither walking 
 nor running, but dancing; and a good high stepping 
 dance too, that showed her stockings, and shook the 
 handkerchief on her head. And when she reached the 
 end of the wharf she snapped her fingers in the air. 
 
 Then I drew my head back, and I could hear the 
 watchman guffaw as if he would have split his sides. 
 And even after he began totramp up and down I could 
 hear him still chuckling as he paced by. 
 
 And if I did not hear Biddy chuckle, it was perhaps 
 because the joke on her side lay deeper down. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 * The mariners shout, 
 The ships swing about, 
 The yards are all hoisted, 
 The sails flutter out.” 
 The Saga of King Olaf. 
 
 THE docks were very quiet now. Only a few footfalls 
 broke the silence, and the water sobbed a little round the 
 piles, and there was some creaking and groaning and 
 grinding, and the vessels drifted at their moorings, and 
 bumped against the wharves. 
 
 The watchman paced up and down, and up and down. 
 T did not hear him very clearly from under the tarpaulin, 
 and sometimes when he went farther away I did not hear 
 him at all. © At last I was so long without hearing him 
 that I peeped cautiously out. What Biddy had said might 
 be, seemed really to have happened, The watchman was 
 sitting in a sort of armchair of ironbound cotton-bales ; 
 his long coat was tucked between his legs, his hat was 
 over his nose, and he was fast asleep. 
 
 + 
 & 
 — | 
 
148 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 I did not need any one to tell me that now was my time; 
 but it was with limbs that almost refused their office from 
 sheer fright, that I crept past the sleeping man, and 
 reached the edge of the wharf. There was the vessel 
 moving very slightly, and groaning dismally as she moved, 
 and there was the hole, and it was temptingly dark. But— 
 the gangway that had been laid across to it from the 
 wharf was gone! I could have jumped the chasm easily 
 witha run, butI dared not takearun. If I did it at all it 
 must be done standing. I tried to fetch a breath free 
 from heart-throbs, but in vain; so [set my teeth, and 
 pulled nerves and sinews together and jumped. 
 
 It was too much for me, and I jumped short and fell. 
 Then my training under the half-caste told in my favour. 
 I caught the edge of the hole with my hands, and swung 
 suspended over the water, with quite presence of mind 
 enough to hear and think of what was going on about me. 
 What I heard was the watchman, who roused up to call 
 out, ‘‘ Who’s there?” and then he shot a sharp ray of light 
 from his lantern right into the hole. It was very lucky for 
 me that I was so low, for the light went over my head 
 and he saw nothing of me, my dark clothes making no 
 mark against the ship’s black hull. 
 
 My head was cool enough now, and my heart steady, 
 and JI listened with an intensity that postponed fear, 
 though my predicament was not a pleasant one, and the 
 rippling water below me was confusing. 
 
 The suspense was no doubt shorter than it seemed, 
 before the light disappeared, and with a thankful heart 
 I distinctly heard the watchman flop down again among 
 the cotton-bales. Then I drew myself up over the edge 
 and crept noiselessly into the ship. I took care to creep 
 beyond range of the lantern, and then the swaying of the 
 vessel made me feel so giddy that I had to he still for a 
 while where I was, before I could recover myself enough 
 to feel about for a suitable hiding-place. 
 
 As I afterwards learnt, I was on the lower deck, which 
 was being used for cargo instead of passengers. ‘The said 
 cargo seemed so tightly packed, that in spite of creeping, 
 and groping, and knocking myself pretty hard, I could feel 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 149 
 
 no nook or corner to my mind. Then I turned giddy 
 again and reeled against the door of a cabin, which gave 
 way so far as to let me fall inwards on to a heap of old 
 sails, ropes, and other softish ship lumber stowed away 
 within. As I fell my hand struck something warm, which 
 I fancied gave a writhe out of my grasp. I groped and 
 seized it again, and now there was no mistake. It was 
 somebody’s arm, who said in a quick undertone, ‘‘ Gently, 
 gently, sirs; I’m coming along with ye. IJ] gie ye my 
 word I’m after no harm.” 
 
 I was taken aback, but thought it well to keep up my 
 position, which appeared to be one of advantage. The 
 young man (for it was a youngster’s voice) was evidently 
 no ship’s officer. If he were a dockyard-pilferer, it was a 
 nuisance, and a complication in my affairs, but I might 
 pull through the difficulty with presence of mind. 
 
 “Speak low!” I whispered sharply. ‘“‘What’s your 
 name, and where do you come from ?” 
 
 “Alister Auchterlay, they call me” (the whisper was a 
 reluctant one, but I jogged his arm rather fiercely to 
 shake the truth out of him). “I come from Aberdeenshire. 
 But, man ! if ye’re for having me up in court, for Gop’s 
 sake let me plead in another name, for my mother taks 
 the papers.” 
 
 ‘What are you doing here?” I whispered in a not very 
 steady whisper, as I think my prisoner detected. 
 
 ‘‘T’m just stowing away,” he said eagerly; ‘“‘ I’m no 
 harming athing. Eh, sir, if you’re a ship’s ’prentice, or 
 whatever may be your duties on this vessel, let me bide! 
 There’s scores of stowaways taken every day, and I’ll work 
 as few could.” 
 
 “Do, do try and speak low,” I whispered; “or we shall 
 both be found out. J’ slowing away myself!” 
 
 “Whew, laddie! How long will ye have been in Liver- 
 pool ?” 
 
 “Only to-day. How long have you been here?” 
 
 ‘“* A week, and a sore week too.” 
 
 “You’ve no friends here have you ?” 
 
 “Yreens, did ye: say? Il’ve’no'freens nearer: than 
 Scotland.” 
 
150 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “You must have had a hard time of it,” I whispered. 
 
 “Ye may say so. I’ve slept four nights in the docks, 
 and never managed to stow tillto-night. There’sa watch- 
 man about.” ; 
 
 “I know,” said I. 
 
 “T shouldn’t have got in to-night, aie the misconducted 
 body’s asleep, though I’ll say it’s the first time I sai him 
 sleeping these four days. Eh, sirs ! there’s an awful indif- 
 ference to responsibility, when a man does a thing like 
 yon. But it’ll be whisky, I’m thinking; for I heard him 
 at clishmaclavers with one of these randy, drucken old 
 Eirishers.” 
 
 My blood boiled. ‘‘ She was mo¢ drunk!’ said I. ‘‘ And 
 she’s—she’s a great friend of mine.” 
 
 ““Whisht! whisht, man! We’ll be heard, I ask your 
 pardon, I’m sure,” 
 
 I made no reply. The Scotchman’s tone was unpleas- 
 antly dry. Besides it is very difficult to give vent to one’s 
 just indignation in whispers, and I still felt giddy, though 
 I was resting my back against some of the lumber, rather 
 comfortably. 
 
 “You'll no be Eirish yourself ?”’ the Scotchman asked in 
 his own accent, which was as strong in its way as Biddy’s. 
 
 mati os English,” I said. 
 
 ‘Just so. And edyucated, I dare to say?” 
 
 ‘“‘T suppose so.” 
 
 ““'Ve’ve not forgiven me that I wronged the old lady? 
 Indeed, but I ask your pardon, and hers no less. It’s not 
 for the best of us to sit in judgment on the erring, as my 
 mother has often said to me, unless it comes in the plain 
 path of duty. But maybe your own temper would be a bit 
 soored if your head were as light and your heart as sick as 
 mine with starvation and hope deferred i 
 
 ‘Are you hungry?” I interrupted. 
 
 “T’ll not be sorry when we get a meal.” 
 
 “What have you had to-day ?” I asked. 
 
 ‘I’ve been in the dock all day,” he answered evasively, 
 “but I’m no great eater at the best of times, and I chewed 
 two bits of orange-peel, not to speak of a handful of corn 
 where there was a big heap had been spilt by some waste- 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. I5! 
 
 ful body or another, that had small thoughts of its coming 
 to use. . Now hoo in this world’s a man to make honest 
 profit on a commodity he entrusts——’ 
 
 .“Sh! sh! You’re raising your voice again,” said I. 
 ‘““Where’s your hand? It’s only a cake, but it’ll he better 
 than nothing.” AndI held out the cake Biddy had made 
 me put in my pocket. 
 
 “T’llno take it from ye. Keep it for your own needs ; 
 I’m harder than yourself, it’s likely,” he said, pushing my 
 hand aside, and added almost peevishly, “but keep the 
 smell of it from me.” 
 
 “Leaner sparesit pettectly/7il whispered. “ I’ve had 
 - plenty to eat quite lately.” 
 
 I shall never forget how he clutched it then. I could 
 hear his teeth clash with the eagerness of his eating. It 
 almost frightened me in the darkness. 
 
 “Eh! man, that was good!” he gasped. “Are ye 
 sure indeed and in truth ye could spare it all? I didn’t 
 think they made such bannocks out of Scotland. But 
 we’ve much to learn in all matters, doubtless. Thank ye 
 a thousand times.” 
 
 “The old [rishwoman gave it me!” I said with some 
 malice. “She made me put it in my pocket, though she 
 had given me a good meal before, for which she would 
 take nothing.” 
 
 “It was leeberal of her,” said Alister Auchterlay. 
 “Verra leeberal ; but there are good Christians to be met 
 with amongst all sorts, there’s not a doot aboot it.” 
 
 “JT should probably have pursued my defence of 
 Biddy against this grudging—not to say insulting—tribute 
 to her charity, if I had not begun to feel too tired to 
 talk, and very much teased by the heaving of the vessel. 
 
 ‘*T wish the ship would be quiet till we start,” I said. 
 ‘We're nct at sea yet.” 
 
 In reply to this Alister at some length, and with as 
 much emphasis as whispering permitted, explained to me 
 that a ship could not, in the nature of things, keep still, 
 except in certain circumstances, such as being in dry 
 dock for repairs or lying at anchor in absolutely still water. 
 
 ‘Good gracious !’’ I interrupted. ‘ Of course I know 
 all that. You don’t suppose I expect it not to move.” 
 
152 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “ T understood ye to say that ye wushed it,” he replied 
 with dignity, if not offence. 
 
 ‘“*T don’t know what I wish!” I moaned. 
 
 My companion’s reply to this was to feel about for me 
 and then to begin scrambling over me; then he said— 
 “Move on, laddie, to your right, and ye’ll find space to 
 lie on the flat of your back, close by the ship’s side. I’m 
 feared you're barely fit for the job ye’ve undertaken, but 
 ye’ll be easier if ye’ll lie down, and get some sleep.” 
 
 I moved as he told me, and the relief of lying flat was 
 great—so great that I began to pull myself together again, 
 and made ready in my mind to thank my unseen com- 
 panion for the generosity with which he had evidently 
 given me the place he had picked for himself. But 
 whilst I was thinking about it I fell fast asleep. 
 
 When I woke, for the first minute I thought I was at 
 home, and I could not conceive what Martha could be 
 doing, that there should be, as far as one could hear, 
 chimney - sweeping, cinder - riddling, furniture - moving, 
 clock-winding, and spring-cleaning, of the most awful 
 nature, all going on at once, and in a storm of yelling and 
 scolding, which was no part of our domestic ways. But 
 in another minute I knew where I was, and by the light 
 coming through a little round porthole above me, I -could 
 see my companion. 
 
 He was still sleeping, so that I could satisfy my keen 
 curiosity, without rudeness. He had indeed given up the 
 only bit of space to me, and was himself doubled up 
 among lumber in a fashion that must have been very 
 trying to the length of his limbs. For he was taller than 
 I, though not, I thought, much older; two years or so, 
 perhaps. The cut of his clothes (not their raggedness, 
 though they were ragged as well as patched) confirmed 
 me in my conviction that he was “not exactly a gentle- 
 man”; but I felt a little puzzled about him, for, broad as 
 his accent was, he was even less exactly of the Tim Binder 
 and Bob Furniss class, 
 
 He was not good-looking, and yet I hardly know any 
 word that would so fittingly describe his face in the repose 
 of sleep, and with that bit of light concentrated upon it, 
 
 {? 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 168 
 
 as the word “noble.” It was drawn and pinched with 
 pain and the endurance of pain, and I never saw anything 
 so thin, except his hands, which lay close to his sides— 
 both clenched. But I do think he would have been 
 handsome if his face had not been almost aggressively 
 intelligent when awake, and if his eyebrows and eyelashes 
 had had any colour.. His hair was fair but not bright, and 
 it was straight without being smooth, and tossed into locks 
 that had no grace or curl. And why he made me think 
 of a Bible picture—Jacob lying at the foot of the ladder to 
 heaven, or something of that sort+-I could not tell, and 
 did not puzzle myself to wonder, for the ship was moving, 
 and there was a great deal to be seen out of the window, 
 tiny as it was. 
 
 It looked on to the dock, where men were running 
 about in the old bewildering fashion. To-day it was not so 
 bewildering to me, because J could see that the men were 
 working with some purpose that affected our vessel, 
 though the directions in which they ran, dragging ropes as 
 thick as my leg, to the grinding of equally monstrous 
 chains, were as mysterious as the figures of some dance 
 one does not know. As to the noises they made, men 
 and boys anywhere are given to help on their work with 
 sounds of some sort, but I could not have believed in 
 anything approaching to these, out of a lunatic asylum, 
 unless I had heard them. 
 
 I could hear quite well, I could hear what was said, and 
 a great deal of it, I am sorry to say, would have been 
 better unsaid. But the orders which rang out interested 
 me, for I tried to fit them on to what followed, though 
 without much result. At last the dock seemed to be 
 moving away from me—I saw men, but not the same men 
 —and every man’s eye was fixed on us. Then the thick 
 brown rope just below my window quivered like a bow- 
 string, and tightened (all the water starting from it in a 
 sparkling shower) till it looked as firm as a bar of iron, 
 and I held on tight, for we were swinging round. Sud- 
 denly the voice of command sang out—(I fancied with a 
 touch of triumph in the tone)—“ Let go the warp!” The 
 thick rope sprang into the air, and wriggled like a long 
 
154 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 snake, and it was all I could do to help joining in the 
 shouts that rang from the deck above and from the dock 
 below. ‘Then the very heart of the ship began to beat 
 with a new sound, and the Scotch lad leaped like a deer- 
 hound to the window, and put his arm round my shoulder 
 and whispered, “‘ That’s the screw, man! we're off!” 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 “ He that tholes o’ercomes.” 
 Tak’ your venture, as mony a gude ship has done.” 
 Scotch Proverbs, 
 
 I am disposed to think that aship is a place where one 
 has occasional moments of excitement and enthusiasm 
 that are rare elsewhere, but that it is not to be beaten (if 
 approached) for the deadliness of the despondency to be 
 experienced therein. 
 
 For perhaps a quarter of an hour after our start I felt 
 much excited, and so, I think, did my companion. 
 Shoulder to shoulder we were glued to the little round 
 window, pinching each other when the hurrying steps 
 hither and thither threatened to come down our way. We 
 did not talk much, we were too busy looking out and 
 listening to the rushing water, and the throbbing of the 
 screw. The land seemed to slip quickly by, countless 
 ships, boats and steamers barely gave us time to have a 
 look at them, though Alister (who seemed to have learned 
 a good deal during his four days in the docks) whispered 
 little bits of information about one and another. Then 
 the whole shore seemed to be covered by enormous sheds, 
 and later on it got farther off, and then the land lay distant, 
 and it was very low and marshy and most dreary-looking, 
 and I fancied it was becoming more difficult to keep my 
 footing at the window; and just when Alister had been 
 pointing out a queer red ship with one stumpy mast 
 crowned by a sort of cage, and telling me that it was a 
 light-ship, our own vessel began to creak and groan worse 
 than ever, and the floor under our feet seemed to run 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 155 
 
 away from them, and by the time you had got used to 
 going down, it caught you and jerked you up again till 
 my head refused to think anything about anything, and 
 I half dropped and was half helped by Alister on to the 
 flat of my back as before. 
 
 As to him, I may as well say at once, that I never knew 
 him affected at sea by the roughest wind that could blow, 
 and he sat on a box and looked at me half pityingly, and 
 half, I suppose, with the sort of curiosity I had felt about 
 him. 
 
 Siem fearedr the. lite 1 be: a> bit overrough for ye,”) he 
 said kindly. “ Would ye think of going up and disclosing 
 yourself before we’re away from all chance of getting 
 ashore ?”’ | 
 
 “No, no!” said I vehemently, and added more feebly, 
 “IT daresay I shall be all right soon.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Maybe,” said the Scotchman. 
 
 He went back to the window and gazed out, seeing, I 
 have no doubt, plenty to interest him ; though my eyes, if 
 open for a moment, only shrank back and closed again 
 instinctively, with feelings of indescribable misery. So 
 indefinite time went on, Alister occasionally making 
 whispered comments which I did not hear, and did not 
 trouble myself to ask questions about, being utterly 
 indifferent to the answers. But I felt no temptation to 
 give in. I only remember feeling one intense desire and 
 it amounted to a prayer, that if these intolerable sensa- 
 tions did not abate, I might at any rate become master 
 enough of them to do my duty in their teeth. The 
 thought made me more alert, and when the Scotch lad 
 warned me that steps were coming our way, I implored 
 him to hide deeper under the sails, if he wished, without 
 consideration for me, as I had resolved to face my fate 
 at once, and be either killed or cured. 
 
 “Thank ye kindly,” said Alister, “ but there’s small use 
 in hiding now. They can but pitch us overboard, and 
 I’ve read that drowning is by far an easier death than 
 being starved, if ye come to that.” 
 
 It was in this frame of mind that a sailor found us, and 
 took us prisoners with so little difficulty that he drew the 
 
156 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 scarcely fair conclusion that we were the cheekiest, coolest 
 hands of all the nasty, sneaking, longshore loafers he had 
 ever had to deal with in all his blessed and otherwise than 
 blessed born days. And wrathful as this outburst was, it 
 was colourless to the indignation in his voice, when (tre- 
 plying to some questions from above) he answered— 
 
 fi Vwo onvem. +” 
 
 Several other sailors came to the help of our captor, 
 and we were dragged up the ladder and on deck, where the 
 young Scotchman looked to better advantage ‘than down 
 below, and where I made the best presentment of myself 
 that my miserable condition would allow. We were soon 
 hauled before the captain, a sensible-faced, red-bearded 
 man, with a Scotch accent rather harsher than Alister’s, 
 in which he harangued us in very unflattering phrases for 
 our attempt to “steal a passage,” and described the evil 
 fate of which we were certain, if we did not work uncom- 
 monly hard for our victuals. 
 
 With one breath I and my companion asserted our 
 willingness to do anything, and that to get a free passage 
 as idlers was our last wish and intention. To this, amid 
 appreciating chuckles from the crew, the captain replied, 
 that, so sneaks and stowaways always sazd@ ,; a taunt which 
 was too vulgar as repartee to annoy me, though I saw 
 Alister’s thin hands clenching at his side. I don’t know 
 if the captain did, but he called out—“ Here! you lankey 
 lad there, show your hands.” 
 
 “They’re no idle set,’ said Alister, stretching them 
 out. He lifted his eyes as he said it, and I do not 
 think he could have repressed the flash in them to save 
 his life. Every detail of the scene was of breathless 
 interest to me, and as I watched to see if the captain took 
 offence, I noticed that (though they were far less remark- 
 able from being buried in a fat and commonplace coun- | 
 tenance) his eyes, like Alister’s were of that bright, cold, 
 sea-blue common among Scotchmen. He did not take 
 offence, and I believe I was right in thinking that the boy’s 
 wasted hands struck him much as they had struck me. 
 
 “Don’t speak unless I question you. How long will ye 
 have been hanging round the docks before ye’d the im- 
 pudence to come aboard here?” 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 157 
 
 “‘T slept four nights in the docks, sir.” 
 
 ‘“‘And where did ye take your meals?” 
 
 A flush crept over Alister’s bony face. ‘ I’m no’ a great 
 eater, sir,” he said, with his eyes on the deck: and then 
 suddenly lifting a glance at me out of the corner of them, 
 he added, ‘the last I had was just given me by a freen.” 
 
 “That'll do, Put your hands down. Can you sew?” 
 
 “ T ask your pardon, sir?” 
 
 “Ts the fool deaf? Can ye use a needle and thread?” 
 
 “* After a rough fashion, sir, and I can knit a bit.” 
 
 ‘Mr Waters.” 
 
 A man with a gold band round his cap stepped forward 
 and touched it. : 
 
 “Take him to the sailmaker. He can help to patch the 
 old fore-stay-sail on the forecastle. And you can qi 
 
 The rest. of the order was in a low voice, but Mr. Waters 
 saluted again and replied, ‘ Yes, sir.” 
 
 The captain saluted Mr. Waters, and then as Alister 
 moved off, he said, “ You’re not sick, I see. Have you 
 sailed before?” | 
 
 “ From Scotland, sir.” 
 
 Whether, being a Scotchman himself, the tones of 
 Alister’s voice, as it lingered on the word “ Scotland,” 
 touched a soft corner in the captain’s soul, or whether the 
 blue eyes met with an involuntary feeling of kinship, or 
 whether the captain was merely struck by Alister’s power- 
 ful-looking frame, and thought he might be very useful 
 when he was better fed, I do not know; but I feel sure 
 that as he returned my new comrade’s salute, he did so in 
 a softened humour. Perhaps this made him doubly rough 
 to me, and I have no doubt I looked as miserable an 
 object as one could (not) wish to see. 
 
 “You're sick enough,” he said; “stand straight, sir! 
 we don’t nurse invalids here, and if you stop you'll have 
 to work for your food, whether you can eat it or not.” 
 
 SAswill,. sir,” said v1. 
 
 “Put out your hands.” 
 
 I did, and he looked keenly, first at them, and then, 
 from head to foot, at me. And then to my horror, he 
 asked the question I had been asked by the man who 
 robbed me of my shilling. 
 
 
 
158 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ‘““Where did you steal your slops?” 
 
 I hastened to explain. ‘ A working-man, sir, in Liver- 
 pool, who was kind enough to advise me, said that 
 I should have no chance of getting work on board-ship 
 in the clothes I had on. So I exchanged them, and got 
 these, in a shop he took me to,” and being anxious to 
 prove the truth of my tale, and also to speak with the 
 utmost respect of everybody in this critical state of my 
 affairs, I added: “I don’t remember the name of the 
 street, sir, but the shop was kept by a—by a Mr. Moses 
 Cohen.” 
 
 “ By Mister—zoho ?” 
 
 ‘“ Mr. Moses Cohen, sir.” 
 
 When I first uttered the name, I fancied I heard some 
 sniggering among the sailors who still kept guard over 
 me, and this time the captain’s face wrinkled, and he 
 turned to another officer standing near him and re- 
 peated— 
 
 ‘“Mister Moses Cohen!” and they both burst into a 
 fit of laughter which became a roar among the subordi- 
 nates, till the captain cried—“ Silence there!” and still 
 chuckling sardonically, added, “ Your suit must have 
 been a very spic and span one, young gentleman, if 
 Mister Moses Cohen accepted it in heu of that rig out.” 
 ‘& “T paid ten shillings as well,” said I. 
 
 The laughter recommenced, but the captain looked 
 wrathful. ‘Oh, you paid ten shillings as well, did you? 
 And what the thunder and lightning have you tried to 
 steal a passage for when you’d money to pay for one?” 
 
 ‘“‘T didn’t mean to steal a passage, sir,” said I, “and I 
 don’t mean it now. I tried to get taken asa sailor-lad, 
 but they seemed to expect me to have been to sea before, 
 and to have some papers to show it. So I stowed away, 
 and I’m very sorry if you think it dishonest, sir, but I 
 meant to work for my passage, and I will work hard.” 
 
 ‘And what do you suppose an ignorant landlubber like, 
 you can do, as we don’t happen to be short of public © 
 speakers! ” 
 
 “T thought I’could clean things, and carry coals, and 
 do rough work till I learnt my trade, sir.” 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 159 
 
 “Can you climb?” said the captain looking at the 
 rigging. * 
 
 “T’ve never climbed on board-ship, sir, but I was good 
 at athletics when I was at school, and I believe I could.” 
 
 “We'll see,” said the captain significantly. ‘‘ And sup- 
 posing you’re of no use, and we kick ye overboard, can 
 ye swim?” 
 
 ‘« Ves, sir, and dive. I’m at home in the water.” 
 
 “Tt’s more than you are oz it. Bo’sun!” 
 
 ye esmecinag 
 
 ‘Take this accomplished young gentleman of fortune, 
 and give him something to do. Give him an oil rag and 
 let him rub some of our brass, and stow hisown. And, 
 bo’sun !” 
 
 Yes, sir.” 
 
 “Take him first to Mr. Johnson, and say that I request 
 Mr. Johnson to ascertain how much change Mister Moses 
 Cohen has left him, and to take charge of it.” 
 
 Nes: Sirs 
 
 “The captain’s witticisms raised renewed chuckling 
 among the crew, as I followed the boatswain, duly salut- 
 ing my new master as I passed him, and desperately try- 
 ing to walk easily and steadily in my ordinary boots upon 
 the heaving deck. 
 
 Mr. Johnson was the third mate, and I may as well say” 
 at once that his shrewdness and kindness, his untiring 
 energy and constant cheerfulness, make his memory very 
 pleasant to me and to all who served with him, and whose 
 reasons for being grateful to him belong to all hours of 
 the day and night, and to every department of our work 
 and our play. 
 
 I was far too giddy to hear what the boatswain said to 
 Mr. Johnson, but I was conscious that the third mate’s 
 eyes were scanning me closely as he listened. Then he 
 said, “ Have you got any money, youngster?” 
 
 “Here, sir,” said 1; and after some struggles I got the 
 leather bag from my neck, and Mr. Johnson pocketed it. 
 
 “Ran away from school, I suppose ?”’ 
 
 I tried to reply, and could not. Excitement had kept 
 me up before the captain, but the stress of it was subsid- 
 
160 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ing, and putting my arms up to get my purse had aggra- 
 vated the intense nausea that was beginning to overpower 
 me. I managed to shake my head instead of speaking, 
 after which I thought I must have died then and there of 
 the agony across my brow. It seemed probable that I 
 should go far to pay for my passage by the amusement I 
 afforded the crew. Even Mr. Johnson laughed, as he 
 said, “ He seems pretty bad. Look after him, and then 
 let him try his hand on those stanchions—they’re dis- 
 graceful. Show him how, and see that he lays on « 
 
 ‘Ave, aye, sit.” 
 
 “And, bo’sun! don’t be too rough on him just yet. 
 We’ve all of us made our first voyage.” 
 
 PVery UMe sit 
 
 I could have fallen at the man’s feet for those few kind 
 words, but his alert step had carried him far away; and 
 the boatswain had gripped me by the arm, and landed 
 me on a seat, before I could think of how to express my 
 thanks. 
 
 “Stay where ye are, young stowaway,” said he “and 
 T’ll fetch the oil and things. But don’t fall overboard! 
 for we can’t afford to send a hexpedition on a voyage of 
 discovery harter ye.” 
 
 Off went the boatswain, and py the time he came back 
 with a bundle of brass rods under his arm, and an old 
 sardine-tin full of a mixture of oil, vinegar, and sand, and 
 a saturated fragment of a worn-out worsted sock, I had 
 more or less recovered from a violent attack of sickness, 
 and was trying to keep my teeth from being chattered out 
 of my aching head in the fit of shivering that succeeded 
 It. 
 
 ‘“‘ Now, my pea-green beauty!” said he, “pull yourself 
 together, and bear a hand with this tackle. I’ll carry the 
 stanchions for you.” I jumped up, thanked him, and 
 took the oil tin and etceteras, feeling very grateful that 
 he did carry the heavy brass rods for me on to the poop, 
 where I scrambled after him, and after a short lesson in 
 an art the secret of which appeared to bé to rub hard 
 enough and long enough, he left me with the pointed 
 hint that the more I did within the next hour or two, the 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 161 
 
 better it would be for me. ‘“ And wecee the worser—hif 
 ye learnt what 7za¢ means when ye wos at school,’’ he 
 added. 
 
 Fully determined to do my best, I rubbed for the dear 
 life, my bones and teeth still shuddering as I did so; but 
 whatever virtue there was in my efforts was soon its own 
 reward, for the vigorous use of my arms began to warm 
 me, so greatly to the relief of my headache and general 
 misery, that I began to hold myself up, and drink in the 
 life-giving freshness of the salt breezes with something 
 that came quite close to hope, and was not far off enjoy- 
 ment. As to the stanchions, I was downright proud of 
 them, and was rubbing away, brightening the brass, and 
 getting the blood comfortably circulated through my 
 body, when with the usual running and shouting, a crowd 
 of men poure? on to the poop with long-handled scrub- 
 bing-brushes, and big tubs, etc., followed by others drag- 
 ging a fire hose. No time was lost in charging the hose 
 with water (a plentiful commodity !), and this was squirted 
 into every hole and cranny in all directions, whilst the 
 first lot of men rubbed and scrubbed and brushed most 
 impartially all over the place. 
 
 I went quietly on with my work, but when the stream 
 threatened a group of stanchions, so highly polished that 
 I could not endure the notion of a speck on their bright- 
 ness, I lifted them out of harm’s way, and with the clatter 
 of this movement drew the attention of the plier of the 
 hose. 
 
 ‘““Why, bless my stars, garters, and hornaments of hall 
 sorts!” said he; “if ’ere ain’t the young gentleman of 
 fortin’ on the poop deck in his Sunday pumps!” and 
 without more ado he let. fly the water, first at my feet and 
 then upwards, till I. was soused from head to foot, and the 
 scrubbers and swabbers laughed at my gasps as I know | 
 could not have moved their sense of humour if I had had 
 the finest wit in the world. However, I suppose they had 
 had to take as well as give such merriment in their time ; 
 and I keenly remembered Biddy’s parting hint that the 
 “good-nature of my ways,” would be my best friend in 
 this rough society. So I laughed and shook myself, and 
 
 Lt 
 
162 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 turning up my sleeves to my elbows, and my trousers to 
 my knees, I also denuded myself of boots and socks and 
 put them ‘aside. 
 
 “Is this the correct fashion?” I inquired—a joke which 
 passed muster for very good humour; and I was squirted 
 at no more on that occasion, The chill had made me feel 
 most miserable again, but I had found by experience that 
 the great thing was to keep my blood circulating, and 
 that rubbing-up the ship’s brass answered this purpose 
 exceedingly well. I rubbed it so bright, that when the 
 boatswain came to summon me to dinner, he signified his 
 approval in his own peculiar fashion, which appeared to 
 be that of an acknowledged wit. 
 
 “H’m!” said he, “I'll say that for ye, young shore- 
 loafer, that you’ve learnt that the best part of polishing- 
 paste is elbow-grease. It wasn’t all parley-voo and the 
 pianner where you was at boarding-school !” 
 
 I said I hoped not, and laughed as respectfully as it 
 becomes the small to do at the jokes of the great. 
 
 But when I was fairly squatted in a corner of the fore- 
 castle, with my plate on my lap, in friendly proximity to 
 Alister, I received a far worse shock than the ship’s hose 
 had given me. For under cover of the -sailors’ talk (and 
 they were even noisier at their dinner than at their work) 
 my comrade contrived to whisper in my ear, ‘“‘ The pilot is 
 still on board.” , 
 
 I got what comfort I could out of hearing the sailmaker 
 praise Alister as “an uncommon handy young chap,” a 
 compliment which he enforced by a general appeal to some 
 one to ‘‘ give him” a lad that had been brought upto make 
 himself useful, and anybody else was welcome “for him ” 
 to fine gentlemen with no learning but school learning. 
 For this side attack on me roused the boatswain to repro- 
 duce his jokes about elbow-grease versus parley-voo and 
 the pzanner, and to adda general principle on his own 
 account to the effect that it was nothing to him if a lad had 
 been “edicated” in a young ladies’ boarding-school, so 
 long as he’d been taught to rub brass till you could “see 
 something more of your face than thumbmarks in it.” 
 The general and satisfactory conclusion being (so I hoped) 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 163 
 
 that we were neither of us quite useless, and might pos- 
 sibly be Spared the ignominy of a return voyage with the 
 pilot. 
 
 About an hour and a half after dinner, when I was 
 ‘““rubbing-up ” some “ bright things ” in the cook’s galley, 
 Alister looked in, and finding me alone, said, “ Would ye 
 dare to come on deck? We’re passing under bonny big ~ 
 rocks, with a lighthouse perched up on the height above 
 our heads, for all the world like a big man keeping his out- 
 look with glowering eyes.” 
 
 done think iscarer said I. 1% The cooky.toldzimé 
 not to stir till these were done. Are we going slower? 
 That pumping noise is slower than it was, I’m sure.” 
 
 ‘““We are so,” said Alister; “I’m wondering if——” He 
 ran out without finishing his sentence, but soon returned 
 witha face rather more colourless than usual with repressed 
 excitement: “Jack!” -he«gasped, “they're lowering a 
 boat. Zhe pilot’s going ashore.” 
 
 He remained with me now, sitting with his head on his 
 hands. Suddenly a shout of two or three voices from the 
 water was answered by a hearty cheer from the deck. By 
 one impulse, Alister and I sprang to our feet and gripped 
 each other by the hand; and I do not believe there were 
 any two sailors on board who sped the parting pilot 
 with more noise than we two made in the cook’s gal- 
 ley. 
 
 . It was gloriously true. They had kept us both. But, 
 though I have no doubt the captain would have got rid of 
 us if we had proved feckless, I think our being allowed to 
 remain was largely due to the fact that the vessel had left 
 Liverpool short of her full complement of hands. Trade 
 was good at the time, and one man who had joined had 
 afterwards deserted, and another youngster had been taken 
 to hospital only the day before we sailed. He had epilep- 
 tic fits, and though the second mate (whose chief quality 
 seemed to be an impartial distrust of everybody but him- 
 self, and a burning desire to trip up his fellow-creatures at 
 their weak points and jump upon them accordingly) ex- 
 pressed in very strong language his wish that the captain 
 had not sent the lad off, but had kept him for him (the 
 
164 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 second mate) to cure, the crew seemed all of opinion that 
 there was no “shamming”’ about it, and that the epileptic 
 sailor-boy would only have fallen from one of the yards in 
 a fit, and given more trouble than his services were worth 
 over picking him up. 
 
 The afternoon was far from being as fine as the morn- 
 ing had been. Each time I turned my eyes that way it 
 seemed to me that the grey sea was looking drearier and 
 more restless, but I stuck steadily to some miscellaneous 
 and very dirty work that I had been put to down below; 
 and, as the ship rolled more and more under me, as IJ ran 
 unsteadily about with buckets and the like, I began to 
 wonder if this was the way storms came gradually on, and 
 whether, if the ship went down to-night “with all on 
 board,” I should find courage to fit my fate. 
 
 I was meditating gloomily on this subject, when I heard 
 a shrill whistle, and then a series of awful noises, at the 
 sound of which every man below left whatever he was at, 
 and rushed on deck. I had read too many accounts of 
 shipwrecks not to know that the deck is the place to make 
 for, so | bolted with the rest, and caught sight of Alister 
 flying in the same direction as we were. When we got up 
 I looked about me as well as I could, but I saw no rocks 
 or vessels in collision with us. The waves were not 
 breaking over us, but four or five men standing on the 
 bulwarks, were pulling things like monstrous grubs out 
 of a sort of trough, and chucking them with more or 
 less accuracy at the heads of the sailors who had gathered 
 round. 
 
 “ What is it, Alister?’ I asked. 
 
 “Tt’s just the serving out of the hammocks that they 
 sleep in,” Alister replied. “I’m thinking we’ll not be 
 entitled to them.” 
 
 ‘“‘What’s that fellow yelling about?” 
 
 ‘“‘He’s crying to them to respond to their names and 
 numbers. Whisht, man! till I hear his unchristian lingo, 
 and see if he cries on us.” 
 
 But in a few minutes the crowd had dispersed, and the 
 hammock-servers with them, and Alister and I were left 
 alone. I felt foolish, and I suppose looked so, for Alister 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 165 
 
 burst out laughing and said—‘ Hech, laddie! it’s a small 
 matter. » We’ll find a corner to sleepin. And let me 
 tell ye, I’ve tried getting into a hammock myself, and 
 
 “ Hi! you lads!” 
 
 In no small confusion at having been found idle and 
 together, we started to salute the third mate, who pointed 
 to a sailor behind him, and said—‘ Follow Francis, and 
 he’ll give you hammocks and blankets, and show you how 
 to swing and stow them.” 
 
 We both exclaimed—‘ Thank you, sir!” with such 
 warmth that as he returned our renewed salutations he 
 added—‘“‘ I hear good accounts of both of you. Keep it 
 up, and you'll do.” * 
 
 Alister’s sentence had been left unfinished, but I 
 learnt the rest of it by experience. We scrambled down 
 after Francis, till we seemed to be about at the level 
 where we had stowed away. I did nct feel any the 
 better for the stuffness of the air and an abominable 
 smell of black beetles, but I stumbled along till we all 
 arrived in a very tiny little office where the purser sat 
 surrounded by bags of ships’ biscuits (which they pleasantly 
 call “bread” at sea) and with bins of sugar, coffee, etc., 
 etc. I daresay the stuffiness made him cross (as the nasty 
 smells used to make us in Uncle Henry’s office), for he 
 used a good deal of bad language, and seemed very un- 
 willing to let us have the hammocks and blankets. How- 
 ever, Francis got them and banged us well with them 
 before giving them to us to carry. They were just like 
 the others—canvas-coloured sausages wound about with 
 tarred rope; and warning us to observe how they were 
 fastened up, as we should have to put them away “ ship- 
 shape” the following morning, Francis helped us to 
 unfasten and ‘“‘swing”’ them in the forecastle. There were 
 hooks in the beams, so that part of the business was easy 
 enough, but, when bedtime came, I found that getting 
 into my hammock was not as easy as getting it ready to 
 get into. 
 
 The sailmaker helped Alister out of his difficulties at 
 once, by showing him how to put his two hands in the 
 
 e 
 
 , 
 
166 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 middle of his hammock and wriggle himself into it and 
 roll his blankets round him in seamanlike fashion. But 
 my neighbours only watched with delight when I first 
 sent my hammock flying by trying to get in at the side as 
 if it were a bed, and then sent myself flying out on the 
 other side after getting in. As I picked myself up I 
 caught sight of an end of thick rope hanging from a beam 
 close above my hammock, and being a good deal nettled 
 by my own stupidity and the jeers of the sailors, I sprang 
 at the rope, caught it, and swinging myself up, I dropped 
 quietly and successfully into my new resting-place. Once 
 fairly in and rolled in my blanket, I felt as snug as a 
 chrysalis in his cocoon, and (besides the fact that lying 
 
 * down is a great comfort to people who are not born with 
 sea-legs), I found the gentle swaying of my hammock 
 a delightful relief from the bumping, jumping, and jarring 
 of the ship. I said my prayers, which made me think of 
 my mother, and cost me some tears in the privacy of 
 darkness ; but, as I wept, there came back the familiar 
 thought that I had “much to be thankful for,’ and I 
 added the General Thanksgiving with an “especially” in 
 the middle of it (as we always used to have when my 
 father read prayers at home, after anything like Jem and 
 me getting well of scarlet fever, or a good harvest being 
 all carried). 
 
 I got all through my “ especially,” and what with think- 
 ing of the workman, and dear old Biddy, and Alister, 
 and Mr. Johnson, and the pilot, it was a very long one ; 
 and I think I finished the Thanksgiving and said the 
 Grace of our LorD after it. But J cannot be quite sure, 
 for it was such a comfort to be at peace, and the 
 hammock swung and rocked till it cradled me to sleep. 
 
 A light sleep, I suppose, for I dreamed very vividly of 
 being at home again, and that I had missed getting off 
 to sea after all; and that the ship had only been a dream. 
 I thought I was rather sorry it was not real, because I 
 wanted to see the world, but I was very glad to be with 
 Jem, and I thought he and I went down to the farm to 
 look for Charlie, and they told us he was sitting up in 
 the ash-tree at the end of the field, In my dream I did 
 
 ») 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 167 
 
 not feel at all surprised that Cripple Charlie should have 
 got into the ash-tree, or at finding him there high up 
 among the branches looking at a spider’s web with a 
 magnifying glass. But I thought that the wind was so 
 high I could not make him hear, and the leaves and 
 boughs tossed so that I could barely see him; and when 
 I climbed up to him, the branch on which I sat swayed 
 so deliciously that I was quite content to rock myself and 
 watch Charlie in silence, when suddenly it cracked, and 
 down I came with a hard bang on my back. 
 
 I woke and sat up, and found that the latter part of 
 my dream had come true, as a lump on the back of 
 _ my head bore witness for some days. Francis had play- 
 fully let me down “with a run by the head,” as it is » 
 called; that is, he had undone my hammock-cord and 
 landed me on the floor. He left Alister in peace, and I 
 can only think of two reasons for his selecting me for the 
 joke. First that the common sailors took much more 
 readily to Alister from his being more of their own rank 
 in birth and upbringing, though so vastly superior by 
 education. And secondly, that I was the weaker of the 
 two; for what I have seen of the world has taught me that 
 there are plenty of strong people who will not only let the 
 weaker go to the wall, but who find an odd satisfaction 
 in shoving and squeezing them there. 
 
 However, if I was young and sea-sick, I was not quite 
 helpless, happily; I refastened my hammock, and got 
 into it again, and being pretty well tired out by the day’s 
 work, I slept that sleep of the weary which knows no 
 dream, 
 
168 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 “Yet more! The billows and the depth have more: 
 
 High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! 
 x a * * * & # 
 
 Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! 
 Give back the true and brave!” 
 Felicia Hemans. 
 
 “ To them their duty was clear, and they did it successfully; and 
 the history of the island is written briefly in that little formula!” 
 Daily Telegraph, Dec. 5, 1878. 
 
 I pip not feel as if I had been asleep five minutes, when 
 I was rudely awakened, of course by noise, whistling and 
 inarticulate roaring, and I found that it was morning, 
 and that the boatswain’s mate was “turning the hands 
 up” to wash decks. Alister was ready, and I found that 
 my toilet was, if possible, shorter than at Snuffy’s in 
 winter. 
 
 “We puts hon our togs fust, and takes our shower- 
 baths harterwards,” the boatswain humourously explained, 
 as he saw me trying to get the very awkward collar of my 
 “slops” tidy as I followed with the crowd. 
 
 The boatswain was a curious old fellow. He was born 
 in London, “within sound of Bow bells,” as he told me; 
 but though a Cockney by birth, he could hardly be called 
 a native of anywhere but the world at large. He had 
 sailed in all seas, and seemed to have tried his hand at 
 most trades. He had at one time been a sort of man-of- 
 all-work in a boys’ school, and I think it was partly from 
 this, and partly out of opposition to the sailmaker, that he 
 never seemed to grudge my not having been born a poor 
 person or to fancy I gave myself airs (which I never 
 did), or to take a pleasure in making me feel the roughest 
 edge of the menial work I had to do, like so many of the 
 men. But he knew very well just where things did feel 
 strangest and hardest to me, and showed that he knew it 
 by many a bit of not unkindly chaff. 
 
 His joke about the shower-bath came very strictly true 
 to me. We were all on the main deck bare-armed and 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 169 
 
 bare-legged, mopping and slopping and swabbing about 
 in the cold sea-water, which was liberally supplied to us 
 by the steam-pump and hose. I had been furnished with 
 a sgucegee (a sort of scraper made of India-rubber at the 
 end of a broomstick), and was putting as much “ elbow- 
 grease” into my work as renewed sea-sickness left me 
 strength for, when the boatswain’s mate turned the hose 
 upon me once more. I happened to be standing rather 
 loosely, and my thoughts had flown home on the wings of 
 a wonder what Martha would think of this way of scrub- 
 bing a floor—all wedded as the domestic mind is to hairy 
 flannel and sticky soap and swollen knees,—when the 
 stream of sea-water came in full force against my- neck, » 
 and I and my squeegee went head-over-heels into the lee 
 scuppers. It was the boatswain himself who picked me 
 out, and who avenged me on his subordinate by a round 
 of abuse which it was barely possible to follow, so mixed 
 were the metaphors, and so cosmopolitan the slang. 
 
 On the whole I got on pretty well that day, and began 
 to get accustomed to the motion of the ship, in spite of 
 the fact that she rolled more thanon the day before. The 
 sky and sea were grey enough when we were swabbing 
 the decks in the early morning; as the day wore on, they 
 only took the deeper tints of gathering clouds which hid 
 the sun. 
 
 If the weather was dull, our course was not less so. 
 We only saw one ship from the deck, a mail-steamer, as 
 neat and trim as a yacht, which passed us at a tremendous 
 pace, with a knot of officers on the bridge. Some black 
 objects bobbing up and down in the distance were 
 pointed out to me as porpoises, and a good many seagulls 
 went by, flying landwards. Not only was the sky over- 
 cast, but the crew seemed to share the depression of the 
 barometer, which, as everybody told everybody else, was 
 falling rapidly. The captain’s voice rang out in brief but 
 frequent orders, and the officers clustered in knots on the 
 bridge, their gold cap-bands gleaming against the stormy 
 sky. 
 
 I worked hard through the day, and was sick off and 
 on as the ship rolled, and the great green waves hit her on . 
 
 at 
 
 ag r 
 
 7 
 
170 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 the bows, and ran away along her side, and the wind 
 blew and blew, and most of the sails were hauled in and 
 made fast, and one or two were reefed up close, and the 
 big chimney swayed, and the threatening clouds drifted 
 forwards at a different pace from our own, till my very 
 fingers felt giddy with unrest; but not another practical 
 joke did [ suffer from that day, for every man’s hand was 
 needed for the ship. 
 
 In the afternoon she had rolled so heavily in the trough 
 of the large waves, that no one made any pretence of 
 finding his sea-legs strong enough to keep him stead 
 without clutching here and there for help, and I had been 
 thankful, in a brief interval when nobody had ordered me 
 to do anything, to scramble into a quiet corner of the 
 forecastle and lie on the boards, rolling as the ship rolled, 
 and very much resigned to going down with her if she 
 chose to go. 
 
 Towards evening it was thick and foggy, but as the sun 
 set. it began to clear, and I heard the men saying that the 
 moon (which was nearly at the full) would make a clear 
 night of it. It was unquestionably clearer overhead, and 
 the waves ran smoother, as if the sea were recovering its 
 temper, and Alister and I went below at g P. mM. and 
 turned into our hammocks for a few hours’ sleep, before 
 taking our part in the night-watch that lasts from 12 mid- 
 night till 4 A. M. 
 
 Tt is astonishing what a prompt narcotic the knowledge 
 that you'll have to be up again in an hour or two is. 
 Alister and I wasted no time in conversation. He told 
 me the fall in the barometer was “ by-ordinar” (which I 
 knew as well as he); and I told him the wind was un- 
 doubtedly falling (which he knew as well as I): and 
 after this inevitable interchange of the uppermost news 
 and anxieties of the occasion, we bade Gop bless each 
 other, andI said the prayers of my babyhood because 
 they were shortest, and fell fast asleep. 
 
 The noises that woke us were new noises, but they 
 made up the whole of that peculiar sound which is the 
 sum of human excitement.. “ We are going down this 
 time,” was my thought, and I found myself less philo- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. hoy 0 
 
 sophical about it than I had imagined. Neither Alister 
 nor I were long in putting on our clothes, and we rushed 
 up on deck without exchanging a word. By the time we 
 got there, where the whole ship’s crew had gone before 
 us, we were as wildly excited as any one of them, though 
 we had not a notion what it was all about. I knew 
 enough now for the first glance to tell me that the ship 
 was in no special danger. EvenI could tell that the gale 
 had gone down, the night was clear, and between the 
 scudding of black clouds with silver linings, the moon 
 and stars shone very beautifully though it made one giddy 
 to look at them from the weird way in which the masts 
 and yards seemed to whip across the sky. , 
 
 We still rolled, and when the side of the ship went up, 
 it felt almost overhead, and I could see absolutely nothing 
 of the sea, which was vexatious, as that was obviously 
 the point of interest. The rigging on that side was as 
 full of men as a bare garden-tree might be of sparrows, 
 and all along the lee bulwarks they sat and crouched like 
 sea-birds on a line of rock. Suddenly we rolled, down 
 went the leeside, and I with it, but I caught hold of the 
 lowest step of the forecastle ladder and sat fast. Then 
 as we dipped I saw all that they were seeing from the 
 masts and rigging—the yet restless sea with fast-running 
 waves alternately inky biack, and of a strange bright 
 metallic lead-colour, on which the scud as it drove across 
 the moon made queer- racing shadows. Andit was on 
 this stormy sea that every eye from the captain’s to the 
 cook’s was strained. 
 
 Roll! down we went again to starboard and up went 
 the bulwarks and I could see nothing but the sky and the 
 stars, and the masts and yards whipping across them as 
 before, though the excitement grew till I could bear it no 
 longer, and scrambled up the ladder on to the forecastle, 
 and pushed my way to the edge and lay face downwards, 
 holding on for my life that I might not be blown away, 
 whilst I was trying to see what was to be seen. 
 
 I found myself by Alister once more, and he helped me 
 to hold on, and pointed where every one else was pointing. 
 There was a lull in the eager talking of the men, and the 
 
172 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 knot of captain and officers on the bridge stood still and 
 Alister roared through the wind into my ear—“ Bide a 
 wee, the moon’ll be out again.” . 
 
 I waited, and the cloud passed from her face or she 
 sailed from beneath it, and at the same instant I saw a 
 streak of light upon the water in which a black object 
 bobbed up and down as the porpoises had bobbed, and 
 all the men burst out again, and a crowd rushed up on to 
 the forecastle. 
 
 “It’s half a mile aft.”—‘ A bit of wreck.”—‘‘ An old 
 sugar hogshead.”—“ The emperor of the porpoises.”— 
 “Is it the sea sarpint ye’re maning? ”—“ Will hany 
 gentleman lend me ’is hopera-glass?”—I’m blessed if I 
 don’t think we’re going to go half-speed. I sailed seven 
 years in the ‘Amiable’ with old Savage, and I’m blessed if 
 he ever put her a point out of her course for anything. 
 ‘Every boat for herself, and the sea for us all,’ he used 
 to say, and allus kept his eyes forwards in foul weather.” 
 —‘‘ Aisy, Tom, aisy, ye’re out of it entirely. It’s the 
 Humane Society’s gold medal we’ll all be getting for 
 saving firewood.”—‘“ Stow your jaw, Pat, /¢hat’s not 
 wreck it’s ———” 
 
 At this moment the third mate’s voice rang through the 
 ship— 
 
 “A boat bottom up!” 
 
 The men passed from chaff to a silence whose eager- 
 ness could be felt, through which another voice came 
 through the wind from the poop—‘t¢here’s something on 
 her /” and I turned that way, and saw the captain put 
 down his glass, and put his hand to his mouth ; and when 
 he sang out “A Man’’! we all sprang to our feet, and 
 opened our lips, but the boatswain put up his hand, and 
 cried, “Silence, fore and aft! Steady, lads! Look to the 
 captain !” 
 
 The gold cap-bands glittered close together, and then, 
 clear to be seen in a sudden gleam of moonlight, the 
 captain leaned forward and shouted to the crew, ‘‘ Fo’cs’le 
 there!” And they sang out, ‘‘ Aye, aye, sir!” 
 
 ‘Volunteers for the whaleboat ! ” 
 
 My heart was beating fast enough, but I do not think I 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 173 
 
 could have counted a dozen throbs, before, with a wild 
 hurrah, every man had leaped from the forecastle, Alister 
 among them, and I was left alone. 
 
 I was just wondering if I could possibly be of use, when 
 I heard the captain’s voice again. (He had come down, 
 and was where the whaleboat was hanging, which, I 
 learned, was fitted like a lifeboat, and the crew were 
 crowding round him.) 
 
 “Steady, lads! Stand back. Come as you’re called. 
 Thunder and lightning, we want to man the boat, not sink 
 her. Mr. Johnson!” 
 
 iA ye pray eyisind 7 
 
 paket bale C1 Dale ete: , 
 
 morbetenait |. Gbiere-ssin la! Flere; sir |”? 
 
 “Fall back there! Thank you all, my lads, but she’s 
 manned.” 
 
 A loud cheer drowned every other sound, and I saw 
 men busy with the boat, and Alister coming back witha 
 dejected air, and the captain jumping up and down, and 
 roaring louder than the wind: ‘Steward! rum, and a 
 couple of blankets. Look sharp. Stand back; in you 
 go; steady! Now, mind what I say; I shall bear up 
 towards the boat. Hi, there! Stand by the lowering 
 tackle, and when I say, “Now!’ lower away handsomely 
 and steadily. Are you ready, Mr. Johnson? Keep 
 steady, all, and fend her off well when you touch the 
 water. Mr. Waters! let her go off a point or two to the 
 north’ard. Half speed; port a little—steady! All ready 
 in the boat?” 
 
 wAye-ayesir§:? 
 
 “Gop bless you. Steady—ready—Now!”’ 
 
 I hardly know which more roused my amazement and 
 admiration—the behaviour of the men or the behaviour of 
 the whaleboat. Were these alert and silent seamen, sitting 
 side by side, each with his oar held upright in his hand, 
 and his eyes upon his captain, the rowdy roughs of the 
 forecastle ? And were those their like companions who 
 crowded the bulwarks, and bent over to cheer, and bless, 
 and ezvy them ? 
 
 As to boats—the only one I had been accustomed to 
 
174 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 used to be launched on the canal with scraping and shoving, 
 and struggling and balancing, and we did occasionally 
 upset her—but when the captain gave the word, the ship’s 
 whaleboat and it’s crew were smoothly lowered by a 
 patent apparatus till it all but touched the big black waves 
 that ran and roared at it, Then came a few moments of 
 intense anxiety till the boat was fairly clear of the ship; 
 but even when it was quite free, and the men bending to 
 their oars, I thought more than once that it had gone 
 down for ever on the other sideof the hills and dales of 
 water which kept hiding it completely from all except 
 those who were high up upon the masts. It was a relief 
 when we could see it, miserable speck as it looked, 
 and we.all strained our eyes after it, through many difficul- 
 ties from the spiteful ways of the winds and waves and 
 clouds which blinded and buffeted and drenched us when 
 we tried to look, and sent black veils of shadow to hide 
 our comrades from oureyes. In the teeth of the elements, 
 however, the captain was bearing up towards the other 
 boat, andit was now and then quite possible to see with 
 the naked eye that she was upside down, and that a man 
 was Clinging to her keel. At such glimpses an inarticu- 
 late murmur ran through our midst, but for the most part 
 we, who were only watching, were silent till the whaleboat 
 was fairly alongside of the object of her gallant expedition. 
 Then by good luck the moon sailed forth and gave us a 
 fair view, but it was rather a disappointing one, for the 
 two boats seemed to do nothing but bob about like two 
 burnt corks in the moonlight, and we began to talk again, 
 
 ‘“‘What’s she doing?’’—‘‘ The Lorp knows ! ’—‘“‘ Some- 
 thing’s gone wrong.”’—“ Why doesn’t she go nearer ? ’— 
 “Cos she’d be stove in, ye fool!’’—‘‘Gude save us! 
 they’re both gone.’’—"' Not they, they’re to the left; but 
 what the winds and waves they’re after——”’—“ They’re 
 trying to make him hear, likely enough, and they might as 
 well callon my grandmother. He’s as dead as a herring.” 
 —‘‘ Whisht! whisht! He’s a living soul! Hech, sirs! 
 there’s naught but the grip o’ despair would haud a man 
 on the keel of’s boat in waves like yon.” —“ Silence, all!” 
 
 We turned our heads, for a voice rang from the look- 
 out=— 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. L7; 
 
 “¢ Man overboard from the whaleboat ! ” 
 
 The meri were so excited, and crowded so together, that 
 I could hardly find a peeping place. 
 
 “ He’s got him.’—“ Nay, they’re both gone.”—‘“‘ Man ! 
 I’m just thinking that it’s ill interfering with the designs 
 of Providence. We may lose Peter and not save Paul.” 
 —‘ Stow your discourses, Sandy !”—‘“ They’re hauling in 
 our man, and time they did.” ' 
 
 The captain’s voice now called to the first mate— 
 
 “Do you make it one or both, Mr. Waters?” 
 
 oF os EAT hy, 
 
 “Thank Gop!” 
 
 _We hurrahed again, and the whalcboat-men replied— 
 but their cheer only came faintly to us, like a wail upon the 
 wind. ; 
 
 Several men of our group were now called to work, and 
 I was ordered below to bring up a hammock, and swing 
 it in the steerage. I was vexed, as I would have given 
 anything to have helped to welcome the whaleboat back. 
 
 When the odd jobs I had been called to were done with, 
 and I returned to the deck, it was just too late to see her 
 hauled up. I could not see over the thick standing group 
 of men, and I did not, of course, dare to push through 
 them to catch sight of our heroes and the man they had 
 saved. Buta little apart from the rest, two Irish sailors 
 were standing and bandying the harshest of brogues with 
 such vehemence that I drew near, hoping at least to hear 
 something of what I could not see. It was a spirited, and 
 one would have guessed an angry dialogue, so like did it 
 sound to the yapping and snapping of two peppery 
 tempered terriers. Butit was only vehement, and this was 
 the sum of it. 
 
 ‘“‘Bedad! but it’s quare ye must have felt at the time.” 
 
 “JT did not, unless it would be when Tom stepped out 
 into the water, Gop bless him! with the rope aisy round 
 his waist, and the waves drowning him intirely, and the 
 corpse houlding on to the boat’s bottom for the dear 
 , Tees 
 
 “Pat!” said the other in mysterious tones, ‘‘ would 
 that that’s hanging round his neck be the presarving of 
 him, what?” 
 
176. WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “And why wouldn’t it? But isn’t he the big fool to be 
 having it dangling where the wash of a wave, or a pick- 
 pocket, or a worse timptation than either might be staling 
 it away from him?” 
 
 ‘And where else would he put it?” 
 
 “Did ye ever git the sight of mine?” 
 
 coledid mon 
 
 men the: back Ot mies. , 
 
 “ Whatt ?” 
 
 “Look here, now!” cried Pat, in the tones of one 
 whose patience was entirely exhausted. His friend drew 
 nearer, and I also ventured to accept an invitation not 
 intended for me, so greatly was my curiosity roused by 
 what the men said. 
 
 Pat turned his back to us as rapidly as he had spoken, and 
 stooping at about half-leap-frog-angle, whipped his wet 
 shirt upwards out of his loosely strapped trousers, baring 
 his back from his waist to his shoulder blades. The 
 moon was somewhat overcast, but there was light enough 
 for us to see a grotesque semblance of the Crucifixion 
 tattooed upon his flesh in more than one colour, and some 
 accompanying symbols and initials which we could hardly 
 distinguish. 
 
 ‘“Now am I safe for Christian burial or not, in the case 
 I’d be misfortunate enough to be washed up on the shores 
 of a haythen counthry ? ” 
 
 Ve are Some. 
 
 I never saw a funnier sight than Pat craning and twist- 
 ing his head in futile efforts to look at it under his own 
 arm. 
 
 “It’s a foine piece of work, I’m told,” said he. 
 
 “They tould ye no less than the truth that said that, 
 Pat. It’s a mighty foine piece of work.” 
 
 “They all say so that see it,’ sighed Pat, tucking his 
 shirt in again, “ and that’ll be ivery soul but meself, worse 
 luck!” 
 
 * SHaleHneesy! iE 
 
 (79 Sir ! 1”? 
 
 Pat ran off, and as I turned I saw that the crew of the 
 whaleboat were going below with a crowd of satellite, and 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. ys 
 
 that a space was cleared through which I could see the 
 man they had saved still lying on the deck, with the 
 captain kneeling at his head, and looking back as if he 
 were waiting for something. And at that moment the 
 moon shone out once more, and showed me a sight that 
 I’ll forget when I forget you—Dennis O’Moore ! 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 It was a lad that they had saved, not a full-grown man, 
 except in the sense of his height, which was nearly an 
 inch beyond Alister’s. He was insensible, and I thought 
 he was dead, so deathlike was the pallor of his face in 
 contrast with the dark curls of his head and the lashes of 
 his closed eyes. We were dipping to leeward, his head 
 rolled a little on the rough pillow that had been heaped to 
 raise him, and his white face against the inky waves 
 reminded me of the face of the young lord in Charlie’s 
 father’s church, who died abroad, and a marble figure of 
 him was sent home from Italy, with his dog lying at his 
 feet. His shoulders were raised as well as his head, and 
 his jacket and shirt had both been washed open by the 
 waves. 
 
 ' And that was how I got the key to the Irishman’s dia- 
 
 logue. For round the lad’s throat was a black ribbon 
 pendant from which a small cross of ebony was clear to 
 be seen upon his naked breast; and on this there glittered 
 in the moonlight a silver image of the Redeemer of the 
 World. 
 
 12 
 
 om a 
 
178 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 “Why, what’s that to you, if my eyes I’m a wiping? 
 A tear is a pleasure, d’ye see, in its way; 
 ’T is nonsense for trifles, I own, to be piping, 
 But they that ha’n’t pity, why I pities they. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 The heart and the eyes, you see, feel the same motion, 
 And if both shed their drops ’t is all the same end; 
 And thus ‘tis that every tight lad of the ocean 
 Sheds his blood for his country, his tears for his friend.” 
 ; Charles Dibdin. 
 
 IF one wants to find the value of all he has learned in 
 the way of righteousness, common sense, and real skill of 
 any sort; or to reap most quickly what he has sown to 
 obedience, industry, and endurance, let him go out and 
 rough it in the world. 
 
 There he shall find that a conscience early trained to 
 resist temptation and to feel shame will be to him the 
 instinctive clutch that may now and again—in an ungrace- 
 ful, anyhow fashion—keep him from slipping down to 
 perdition, and save his soul alive. There he shall find 
 that whatever he has really learned by labour or grasped 
 with inborn talent, will sooner or later, come to the surface 
 to his credit and for his good ; but that what he swaggers 
 will not even find fair play. There, in brief, he shall find 
 his level— a great matter for most men. ‘There, in fine, 
 he will discover that there being a great deal of human 
 nature in all men, and a great deal that is common to all 
 lives—if he has learned to learn, and is good natured 
 withal, he may live pretty comfortably anywhere— 
 
 “Asa rough rule, 
 The rough world’s a good school,”— 
 
 and if there are a few parlour-boarders it is very little ad- 
 vantage to them. 
 
 For my own part I was almost startled to find how 
 quickly I was beginning to learn something of the ways 
 of the ship and her crew; and though, when I asked for 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 179 
 
 information about all the various appliances which come 
 under the comprehensive sea-name of “tackle,” I was 
 again and again made the victim of a hoax, I soon learned 
 to correct one piece of information by another, and to feel 
 less of an April fool and more of a sailor, Reading sea- 
 novels had not really taught me much, for there was not 
 one in all that the Jew-clerk lent or sold me which 
 explained ship’s language and customs. But the school- 
 master had given me many useful hints, and experience 
 soon taught me how to apply them. 
 
 The watch in which Alister and I shared just after we 
 picked up Dennis O’Moore, was naturally very much 
 enlivened by news and surmises regarding our new 
 “hand.” Word soon came up from below that he was 
 alive and likely to recover, and for a brief period I found 
 .my society in great request, because I had been employed 
 in some fetching and carrying between the galley and the 
 steerage, and had “heard the drowned man groan.” We 
 should have gossiped more than we did if the vessel had 
 not exacted unusual attention, for the winds and the 
 waves had “plenty of mischief in ’em” yet, as I was well 
 able to testify when I was sent aft to help the man at the 
 wheel. 
 
 “That'll take the starch out o’ yer Sunday stick-ups!” 
 said the boatswain’s mate, on hearing where I was bound 
 for, when he met me clinging to the wet deck with my 
 stocking-feet, and catching with my hands at every bit of 
 tackle capable of giving support. And as I put. out all 
 my strength to help the steersman to force his wheel in 
 the direction he meant it to go, and the salt spray 
 smacked my face and soaked my slops, and every wind of 
 heaven seemed to blow down my neck and up my sleeves 
 and trousers—I heartily agreed with him. 
 
 The man I was helping never spoke, except to shout 
 some brief order into my ear or an occasional reply to the 
 -words of command which rang over our heads from the 
 
 captain on the bridge. Of course, I did not speak, I had 
 quite enough to do to keep my footing and take my small 
 part in this fierce bitting and bridling of the elements; 
 but uncomfortable as it was, I “‘ took a “pride and pleasure 
 
180 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 in it,’’ as we used to say at home, and I already felt that 
 strenuous something which blows in sea-breezes and gives 
 vigour to mind and body even when it chills you to the 
 bone. 
 
 That is, to some people; there are plenty of men, as I 
 have since discovered, who spend their hives at sea and 
 hate it tothe end. Boy and man, they do their hard 
 duty and live by its pitiful recompense. They know the 
 sea as well as other mariners, are used to her uncertain 
 ways, bear her rough usage, control her stormy humours, 
 learn all her moods, and never feel her charm. 
 
 I have seen two such cases, and I have heard of more, 
 yarned with all their melancholy details during those 
 night watches in which men will tell you the ins and outs 
 of many a queer story that they “ never talk about.” And 
 it has convinced me that there is no more cruel blunder . 
 than to send a boy to sea, if there is good reason to be- 
 lieve that he will never like it; unless it be that of with- 
 holding from its noble service those sailor lads born, in 
 whose ears the seashell will murmur till they die. 
 
 It had murmured in mine, and enticed me to my fate. 
 I thought so now that I knew the roughest of the other 
 side of the question, just as much as when I sat comfort- 
 ably on the frilled cushion of the round-backed armchair 
 and read the ‘Penny Numbers’ to the bee-master. Bare- 
 foot, bare-headed, cold, wet, seasick, hard-worked and 
 half-rested, would I even now exchange the life I had 
 chosen for the life I had left >—for the desk next to the 
 Jew-clerk, for the partnership, to be my uncle’s heir, to be 
 mayor, to be member? I asked myself the question as I 
 stood by the steersman, and with every drive of the wheel 
 I answered it— No, Moses! No! No!” 
 
 It is not wise to think hard when you are working 
 hard at mechanical work, in a blustering wind and a night 
 watch. Fatigue and open air make you sleepy, and 
 thinking makes you forget where you are, and if your work 
 is mechanical you do it unconsciously, and may fall asleep 
 over it. I dozed more than once, and woke with the 
 horrible idea that I had lost my hold, and was not doing 
 my work. That woke me effectually, ‘but even then Thad 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. I8t 
 
 to look at my hands to see that they were there. I 
 pushed, but*I could not feel, my fingers were so numb 
 with cold. 
 
 The second time I dozed and started again, I heard 
 the captain’s voice close beside us. He was bawling up- 
 wards now, to Mr. Waters on thebridge. ‘Then he pushed 
 me on one side and took my place at the wheel, shouting 
 to the steersman—‘I meant the Scotch lad, not that 
 boy.” 
 
 ‘““He’s strong enough, and steady too,’ was the 
 reply. 
 
 They both drove the wheel in silence, and I held on by 
 a coil of heavy rope, and sucked my fingers to warm 
 them, and very salt they tasted. Then the captain left 
 the wheel and turned to me again. 
 
 Are-you cold ?*? 
 
 IC ACHETS Sit. ” 
 
 “Vou may go below, and see if the cook can spare you 
 a cup of coffee.” 
 
 ‘Thank you, sir.’ 
 
 “.Dut first find Mr. Ayaan, and send him here.” 
 
 eS eSties 
 
 Whilst the captain was talking, I began to think of 
 Dennis O’Moore, and how he oroaned, and to wonder 
 whether it was true that he would get better, and whether 
 it would be improper to ask the captain, who would not be 
 likely to humbug me, if he answered at all. 
 
 “Well ?” said the captain sharply, “‘ what are you stand- 
 ing there like a stuck pig for?” 
 
 Dsalutedi= 2 Please, sir awi//-heipet better?” 
 
 ‘“‘ What the Oh, yes. And hi, you !” 
 
 Yesssir? 
 
 ““He’s in the steerage. You may goand seeif he wants 
 anything, and attend on him. You may remain below at 
 present.” 
 
 “Thank you, sir.” 
 
 I lost no time in finding Mr. Johnson, and I got a 
 delicious cup of coffee and half a biscuit from the cook, 
 who favaured me in consequence of the conscientious 
 scouring I had bestowed upon his pans. Then mightily 
 
 
 
182 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 warmed and refreshed, I made my way to the side of 
 the hammock I had swung for the rescued lad, and 
 by the light of a swinging lamp saw his dark head buried 
 in his arms. 
 
 When I said, “Do you want anything?” he lifted his 
 face with a jerk, and looked at me. 
 
 “ Not I—much obliged,” he said, smiling, and still 
 staring hard. He had teeth like the half-caste, but the 
 resemblance stopped there. 
 
 “The captain said I might come and look after you, 
 but if you want to go to sleep, do,” said I. 
 
 “Why would I, if you'll talk to me a bit?” was his 
 reply ; and resting his head on the edge of his hammock 
 and looking me well over, he added, “‘ Did they pick you 
 up as well?” 
 
 I laughed and wrung some salt water out of my 
 sleeve. 
 
 ‘“No. I’ve not been in the sea, but I’ve been on deck, 
 and it’s just as wet. It always zs wet at sea,’ I added in 
 a tone of experience. 
 
 His eyes twinkled as if I amused him, “That, indeed ? 
 And yourself, are ye—a midshipman ?” © 
 
 It had been taken for granted that our new hand was 
 ‘‘a gentleman.” I never doubted it, though he spoke 
 with an accent that certainly recalled old Biddy Macart- 
 ney ; a sort of soft ghost of a brogue with a turn up at 
 the end of it, as if every sentence came sliding and fin- 
 ished with a spring, and I did wish I could have intro- 
 duced myself as a midshipman—instead of having to 
 mutter, “‘ No, I’m a stowaway.” 
 
 He raised himself higher in his hammock. 
 
 “A stowaway? What fun! And what made ye go? 
 Were ye up to some kind of diversion at home, and had 
 to come out of it, eh? Or were ye bored to extinction, or 
 what? (Country lifein England is mighty dull, so they 
 tell me.) I suppose it was French leave that ye took, as 
 ye say you’re a stowaway? I’m asking ye a heap of im- 
 pertinent question, bad manners to me! ” 
 
 Which was true. But he asked them so kindly and 
 eagerly, I could only feel that sympathy is a very pleasant 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 183 
 
 thing, even when it takes the form of a catechism that is 
 all questions, and no room for the answers. Moreover, I 
 suspect that he rattled on partly to give me time to leave 
 off blushing and feel at ease with him. 
 
 “T ran away because of several things,” said I. “I 
 always did want to see the world’”——(“ And why 
 wouldn’t ye?” my new friend hastily interpolated), 
 “But even if I had stayed at home I don’t believe I 
 should ever have got to like being a lawyer”’ (“Small 
 chance of it, I should say, the quill-driving thievery !’’) 
 “Tt was my uncle’s office ’’——(“I ask his pardon and 
 yours.”) “Oh, you may say what you like. I never 
 could get on with him. I don’t mean that he was 
 cruel to me in the least, though I think he behaved 
 shabbily——” 
 
 “Faith, it’s a way they have! I’ve an uncle myself 
 that’s a sort of first cousin of my father’s, and six foot 
 three in his stockings, without a drop of good-nature in 
 the full length of him.” 
 
 ‘““Where is your home?” said I, for it certainly was my 
 turn to ask questions. 
 
 “Where would it be—but ould Ireland?” And after 
 a moment’s pause he added, “They call me- Dennis 
 O’Moore. What’s your name, ye enterprising little stow- 
 away?” 
 
 I told him. ‘And where were you going in your boat, 
 and how did you get upset ?”’ I asked. 
 
 He sighed. ‘It was the old hooker we started in, bad 
 luck to her !” 
 
 ‘“‘Ysthat the name of the boat you were holding on 
 to?” 
 
 “ That boat? No! We borrowed 4erv—and now ye 
 remind me, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tim Brady was 
 missing her by this, for I had no leisure to ask his leave 
 at the time, and, as a rule, we take our own coracle in the 
 hooker ‘ 
 
 “What zs a hooker?” I interrupted, for I was resolved 
 to know. 
 
 “What’s a hooker? A hooker—what a catechetical 
 little chatterbox ye are! A man can’t get a word in 
 
 
 
 
 
184 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 edgeways—a hooker’s a boat. Ours was a twenty-ton, 
 half-decked, cutter-rigged sort of thing, built for nothing 
 in particular, and always used for everything, It was 
 lucky for me we took Tim Brady’s boat instead of the 
 coracle, or I’d be now where—-where poor Barney is. 
 Oh, Barney, Barney! How’ll I ever get over it? Why 
 did ye never learn to swim, so fond of the water as ye 
 were? Why couldn’t ye hold on to me when I got a 
 good grip of ye! Barney, dear, I’ve a notion in my ‘heart 
 that ye left your hold on purpose, and threw away your 
 own life that ye mightn’t risk mine. And now I’ll never 
 know, for ye’ll never be able to tell me. Tim Brady’s 
 boat would have held two as easy as one, Barney, and 
 maybe the old hooker’d have weathered the storm with a 
 few more repairs about her, that the squire always in- 
 tended, as no one knows betterthan yourself! Oh, dear! 
 oh, dear! But—Heaven forgive us !—putting off’s been 
 the ruin of the O’Moores from time out of mind. And 
 now youre dead and gone—dead and gone! But oh, 
 Barney, Barney, if prayers can give your soul ease, you'll 
 not want them while Dennis O’Moore has breath to 
 pray!” 
 
 I was beginning to discover that one of the first 
 wonders of the world is that it contains a great many 
 very good people, who are quite different from oneself 
 and one’s near relations. For I really was not conceited 
 enough to disapprove of my new friend because he 
 astonished me, though he certainly did doso. From the 
 moment when Barney (whoever Barney might be) came 
 into his head, everything else apparently went out of it. 
 I am sure he quite forgot me. 
 
 For my own part I gazed at him in blank amazement. 
 I was not used to seeing a man give way to his feelings in 
 public, still less to seeing a man cry in company, and 
 least of all to see a man say his prayers when he was 
 neither getting up nor going to bed, nor at church, nor at > 
 family worship, and before a stranger too! For as he 
 finished his sentence he touched his curls, and then the 
 place where his crucifix lay, and then made a rapid move- 
 ment from shoulder to shoulder, and then buried his head 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 185 
 
 in his hands, and lay silent praying, I had no manner of 
 doubt, for ‘““Barney’s” soul. 
 
 His prayers did not take him very long, and he finished 
 with a big sigh, and lifted his head again. When his 
 eyes met mine he blushed and said, “ 1 ask your pardon, 
 Jack ; I'd forgotton ye. You’re akind-hearted little soul, 
 and I’m mighty dull company for ye.” 
 
 ‘““No, you’re not,” said I. “ But—I’m very sorry for 
 you. Was ‘ Barney’ your ?” and ‘I stopped because I 
 really did not know what relationship to suggest that 
 would account for the outburst I had witnesssed, 
 
 ‘“ Ah! ye may well say what was he—for what wasn’t 
 he—to me, anyhow? Jack! my mother died when I was 
 born, and never a soul: but Barney brought me up, for I 
 wouldn’t let °em. He’d come with her from her old home 
 when she married; and when she lay dead he was let 
 into the room to look at her pretty face once more. Times 
 out of mind has he told me how she lay, with the black 
 lashes on her white cheeks, and the black crucifix on her 
 breast, that they were going to bury with her; the women 
 howling, and me kicking up an indecent row ina cradle 
 in the next apartment, carrying on like a Turk if the nurse 
 came near me, and most outrageously disturbing the peace 
 of the chamber of death. And what does Barney do, 
 when he’s said a prayer by the side of the mistress, but 
 ask for the crucifix off her neck, that she’d worn all her 
 girlhood? If the women howled before, they double- 
 howled them, and would have turned him out neck and 
 crop, but my father lifted his head from where he was 
 lying speechless in a kind of a fit at the foot of the bed, 
 and says he, ‘ Barney Barton! ye knew the sweet lady 
 that lies there long before that too brief privilege was 
 mine. Ye served her well, and ye’ve served me well for 
 her sake; whatever ye ask for of hers in this hour ye’ll 
 get, Barney Barton. She trusted ye—and I may.’ ‘Gop 
 bless ye, squire,’ says Barney; and what does he do but 
 go up to her and unloose the ribbon from her throat with 
 his own hands. . And away he went with the crucifix, past 
 the women that couldn’t get a sound out of them now, and 
 past my father as silent as themselves, and into the room 
 
 
 
186 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 where I lay kicking up the devil’s own din in my cradle. 
 And when he held it up to me, with the light shining on 
 the silver, and the black ribbons hanging down, never 
 believe him if I didn’t stop squalling, and stretch out my 
 hands with a smile as sweet as sunshine. And Barney 
 tied it round my neck, and took me into his arms. And 
 they said he spoke never a word when they told him my 
 mother was dead, and shed never atear when he saw her 
 lie, but he sobbed his heart out over me.” 
 
 “You may well care for him! ”’ said I. 
 
 “Indeed Imay. He kept my mother’s memory green in 
 my heart, and he taught me all ever I knew but books. He 
 taught me to walk, and he taught me to ride, and shoot- 
 ing, and fishing, and such like country diversions; and 
 strange to say he taught me to swim, the way they learn 
 in my mother’s country, with a bundle of bullrushes—for 
 the old man couldn’t swim a stroke himself, or he might 
 be here now, alive and hearty, please Gop.” 
 
 ‘Were there only you and he in the hooker?” 
 
 “’That’s all. It was altogether sheer madness, for the 
 old boat was barely fit for a day’s fishing in fine weather, 
 and though Barney nearly killed himself overhauling her, 
 and patching her sails, I doubt if he knew very well what 
 he was after. I’ve been thinking, Jack, that his mind was 
 not what it was. He was always a bit obstinate, if he got 
 a notion into his head, but of late the squire himself 
 couldn’t turn him. When he wanted to do a thing about 
 the place that Barney didn’t approve, if he didn’t give in 
 (as he was apt to do, being easy-tempered) I can tell ye 
 he had to do it on the sly. That was how he ordered the 
 new ploughs that nearly broke Barney’s heart, both be- 
 cause of being new-fangled machines, and ready money - 
 having to be paid for them. ‘I'll see the ould place 
 ruined before ye come to your own, Master Dennis,’ he 
 told me. And—Jack! that’s another thing makes me 
 think what I tell ye. He was for ever talking as if the 
 place was coming to me, and I’ve two brothers older than 
 myself, let alone my sister. But ye might as well reason 
 with the rock of Croagh Patrick! Well, if he didn’t ask 
 my father to let him and me run round in the hooker with 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 137 
 
 a load of seaweed for Tim Brady’s farm, and of course we 
 got leave, and started as pleasant as could be, barring 
 that if Barney’d been a year or two younger, there’d have 
 been wigs on the green over the cold potatoes, before we 
 got off.” 
 
 “ Wigs on the green over cold potatoes?’ I repeated, 
 in bewilderment. 
 
 “Tst! tst! little Saxon! I mean we’d have had a row 
 overthe provisions. It wasn’t two hours’ run round to 
 Tim Brady's, and I found the old man stowing away half 
 a peck of cold boiled potatoes, and big bottles of tea, and 
 goodness knows what. ‘Is it for ballast ye’re using the 
 potatoes, Barney?’ says I. ‘Mind your own business. 
 Master Dennis ’"—(and I could see he was as cross as two 
 sticks),—‘ and leave the provisioning to them that under- 
 stands it,’ says he. ‘How many meals d’ye reckon to eat 
 between this and Tim Brady’s?’ I went on just poking 
 my fun at him, when—would ye believe it?—the old 
 fellow fired up like a sky-rocket, and asked me if I 
 grudged him the bit of food he ate, and Heaven knows 
 what besides. ‘Is it Dennis O’Moore you're speaking 
 to?’ says I, for I’ve not got the squire’s easy temper, Gop 
 forgive me! We were mighty near to a quarrel, Jack, I 
 can tell ye, but some shadow of a notion flitting across 
 my brain that the dearsoul was not responsible entirely, 
 stopped my tongue, and something else stopped his which 
 I didn’t know till we got to Tim Brady’s, and found that 
 all we wanted with him was to borrow his boat, and that 
 the seaweed business was no better than a blind; for 
 Barney had planned it all out that we were to go down to 
 Galway and fetch the new ploughs home in the hooker, to 
 save the cost of the land-carriage. ‘Sure it’s bad enough 
 for the squire to be soiling his hands with trumpery made 
 by them English thieves, that’s no more conscience over 
 bothering a gentleman for money nor if he was one of 
 themselves,’ said Barney; ‘sorra a halfpenny shall the 
 railway rogues rob him of.’ _ Ah, little stowaway, ye may 
 guess my delight! And hadn’t we glorious weather at 
 first, and wasn’t the dear old man happy and proud! I 
 can tell ye I yelled, and I sang, and I laughed, when I felt 
 
188 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 the old hooker begin to bound on the swell when we got 
 out into the open, but not a look would Barney turn on 
 me for minding the boat; but I could hear him chuckling 
 to himself and muttering about the railway rogues. It 
 wasn’t much time we either of us had for talking, by-and- 
 bye. I steered and saw to the main sheet, and Barney 
 did look-out and minded the foresail, Tim Brady’s boat 
 towing astern, getting such a dance as it never had before, 
 and at last dragging upside down. We’d one thing in our 
 favour, anyhow. ‘There was no disputing or disturbing of 
 our minds as to whether we’d turn back or not, for the 
 gale was at our backs; and the old hooker was like my 
 father’s black mare—you might guide her, but she was 
 neither to stop nor turn. How the gallant old boat held 
 out as she did, Heaven knows! It was not till the main- 
 sail had split into ribbons with a noise like a gun going 
 off, and every seam was Strained to leaking, and the sea 
 came in faster than we could bale it out, that we righted 
 Tim Brady’s tub and got into her, and bade the old 
 hooker good-by. The boat was weather-tight enough— 
 it was a false move of Barney’s capsized her,—and I’d a 
 good hold of her with one hand when I gripped him with 
 the other. Oh! Barney dear! Why would ye always 
 have your own way? Oh, why—why did ye loose your 
 hold? Ye thought all hope was over, darling, didn’t ye? 
 Ah, if ye had but known the brave hearts that 2 
 
 I suppose it was because I was crying as well as Dennis 
 that I did not see Mr. Johnson till he was standing by the 
 Irish boy’s hammock. I know I got a sound scolding for 
 the state of his pulse (which the third mate seemed to 
 understand, as he understood most other things), and was 
 dismissed with some pithy hints about cultivating common- 
 sense and not making a fool of myself. I sneaked off, 
 and was thankful to meet Alister and pour out my tale to 
 him, and ask if he thought that our new friend would have 
 brain-fever, because I had let him talk about his ship- 
 wreck. 
 
 Alister was not quite so sympathetic as I had expected. 
 
 He was so much shocked about the crucifix and about 
 Dennis praying for Barney’s soul, that he could think of 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 189 
 
 nothing else. He didn’t seem to think that he would have 
 fever, but he said he feared we had small reason to réckon 
 on the prayers of the idolatrous ascending to the throne 
 of grace. He told me along story about the Protestant 
 martyrs who were shut up in a dungeon under the sea, on 
 the coast of Aberdeenshire, and it would have been very 
 interesting if I hadn’t been thinking of Dennis, 
 
 We had turned in for some sleep, and I was rolling my- 
 self in my blanket, when Alister called me: 
 
 ‘Jack! did ye ever read Fox’s ‘ Book of Martyrs’ ?” 
 
 NOAe 
 
 ““Tt’s a gran’ work, and it has some aweful tales in it. 
 When we’ve a bit of holiday leesure I’ll tell ye some.” 
 
 “Thank you, Alister.” 
 
 CHAPTER CX, 
 
 ‘“‘ A very wise man believed that, if a man were permitted to make 
 all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a 
 nation.” —Fletcher of Saltoun tn a letter to the Marquis of Montrose. 
 
 THE weather was fair enough, and we went along very 
 steadily and pleasantly that afternoon. [was undoubtedly 
 getting my sea-legs, which was well for me, as they were 
 put to the test unexpectedly. I happened to be standing 
 near Alister (we were tarring ropes), when some orders 
 rang out in Mr. Waters’ voice, which I found had refer- 
 ence to something to be done to some of the sails. At 
 last came the words “ Away aloft !”’ which were responded 
 to by a rush of several sailors, who ran and leaped and 
 caught ropes and began climbing the rigging with a 
 nimbleness and dexterity which my own small powers in 
 that line enabled me to appreciate, as I gazed upwards 
 after them. ‘The next order bore unexpected and far from 
 flattering reference to me. 
 
 Pl mtheresaserancis | 7 
 
 caye, ayessirt”’ 
 
I90 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “Take that gaping booby up with you. I hear he’s 
 ‘good at athletics,’ ” 
 
 The sailors who were rope-tarring sniggered audibly, and 
 Alister lifted his face with a look of anxiety, that did as 
 much as the sniggering to stimulate me not to disgrace 
 myself. 
 
 “Kick off your shoes, and come along,” said Francis. 
 “ Jump on the bulwarks and then follow me. Look aloft 
 —that’s up, ye know-—never mind your feet, but keep 
 tight hold of the ratlins—so, with your hands, and when 
 you are up aloft, don’t let one hand go till you’re sure of 
 your hold with the other.” 
 
 Up we went, gripping the swaying ropes with toes and 
 fingers, till we reached the main top, where I was allowed 
 to creep through the “ Lubber’s Hole,” and Francis swung 
 himself neatly over the outside edge of the top, and there 
 he and I stood for a few moments to rest. 
 
 I cannot say I derived much comfort from his favour- 
 able comments on my first attempt. I was painfully ab- 
 sorbed by realising that to climb what is steady, and to 
 climb what is swaying with every wave, are quite different 
 things. Then, in spite of warnings, I was fascinated by 
 the desire to look down; and when I looked I felt more 
 uncomfortable than ever; the ship’s deck was like a danc- 
 ing teatray far below; my legs and arms began to feel 
 very light, and my head heavy, and I did not hear what 
 Francis was saying to me, so he pinched my arm and then 
 repeated it. 4 
 
 ‘‘Come along—and if the other chaps put any larks on 
 you, keep your eyes open, and never lose a grip by one 
 hand somewhere. So long as you hold onto some of 
 the ship’s ropes you’re bound to find your way back some- 
 how.” , 
 
 SP) try; lssaid. ‘ 
 
 Then through the confusion in my head I hearda 
 screaming whistle, and a voice from beneath, and Francis 
 pricked his ears, and then suddenly swung himself back 
 on to the ladder of ropes by which we had climbed. 
 
 ‘““Lucky for you, young shaver,” said he. ‘Come 
 along!” 
 
aS 
 
 : a 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 D 
 
 9 
 
 AND THEN FOLLOW ME 
 
 JUMP ON THE BULWARKS, 
 
 66 
 
 Page 190. 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS — 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. IQI 
 
 I desired no more definite explanation. Francis was 
 going down, and I willingly did the same, but when my 
 foot touched the deck I staggered and fell. It was Mr. 
 Johnson who picked me up by the neck of my slops, say- 
 ing, as he did so, “‘ Boatswain! The Captain will give an 
 extra lot of grog to drink Mr. O’Moore’s good health. 
 
 This announcement was received with a cheer, and I 
 heard the boatswain calling to “stow your cleaning-tackle, 
 my lads, and for’ards to the break of the foc’sle. Them 
 that has white ties and kid gloves can wear ’em; and them 
 that’s hout of sech articles must come as they can. Pick 
 up that tar-pot, ye fool! Noware ye all coming and 
 bringing your voices along with ye? Hany gentleman as 
 ’as ’ad the misfortin’ to leave his music behind, will 
 oblige the ship’s company with an ex-tem-por.” 
 
 “ Long life to ye, bo’sun; it’s a neat hand at a speech 
 ye are, upon my conscience!” cried Dennis, over my 
 shoulder, and then his arm was around it, shaking with 
 laughter, as we were hurried along by the eager crowd. 
 
 e He’s a wag, that old fellow, too. Come along, little 
 Jack! You're mighty shaky on your feet, considering 
 the festivities that we Te bound for. Step it out, ne boy, 
 or I'll have to carry ye.” 
 
 “Are you coming to the foc’sle?” said I, being well 
 aware that this was equivalent toa drawing-room visitor 
 taking tea in the kitchen. ‘You know it’s where the 
 common sailors, and Alister and I have our meals?” I 
 added, for his private ear. 
 
 “Thank ye for the hint. I know it’s where I hope to 
 meet the men that offered their lives for mine.” 
 
 “'That’s true, Dennis, I know; but don’t be cross. 
 They'll be awfully pleased to see you.” 
 
 “And not without reason, I can tell ye! Didn’t I 
 beard the lion in his den, the Captain in his cabin to beg 
 for the grog? And talking of beards, of all the fiery 
 , upon my soul he’s not safe to be near gunpowder. 
 Jack, is he Scotch ?” 
 
 Aes. 
 
 “They’re bad to blarney, and I did my best, I can tell 
 you, for my own sake as well as for the men. I’m as shy 
 
 
 
 
 
 ; 
 Oe eR eee, en en ee 
 
 aie a wey 
 
 - 
 Oe Oe ee, a ee 
 
192 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 with strangers as an owl by daylight, and I’ll never get a 
 thank ye out of my throat, unless we’ve the chance of a 
 bit of sociability. However, at last he called to that nice 
 fellow—third mate, isn’t he?—and gave orders for the 
 rum. ‘Two water grog, Mr. Johnson,’ says he. ‘Ah, 
 Captain,’ I said, ‘don’t be throwing cold water on the 
 entertainment; they got their share of that last night. 
 It’s only the rum that’s required to complete us now. 
 But he’s as deaf to fun as he is to blarney. Is he good 
 to you, little stowaway?” 
 
 ‘Oh, very,” said I. ‘And you should hear what the 
 men tell about other captains. They all like this one.” 
 
 “He has an air of uprightness about him;and so has 
 that brother-in-adversity of yours, more polish to him! 
 He must be a noble fellow, though. I can’t get over “zs 
 volunteering, without the most distant obligation to risk 
 his life for me—not even a sailor. And yet he won’t be 
 friendly, do what I will.. As formal as you please—that’s 
 pride, I suppose—he’s Scotch too, isn’t he? Blarney’s no 
 go with him. Faith, it’s like trying to butter short-bread 
 with the thermometer at zero. By Jove, there he is ahead 
 of us. Alister, man! Not the ghost of a look will he 
 give me. He’s fine-looking, too, if his hair wasn’t so 
 insanely distracted, and his brow ridged and furrowed 
 deep enough to plant potatoes in. What in the name of 
 fortune’s he doing to his hands?” 
 
 “He’s washing them with a lump of grease,” said I. 
 ‘I saw Francis give it him. It’s to get the tar off.” 
 
 “That indeed? Alister! Alster! Have ye no eyes 
 in the back of ye? Here’s Jack and myself.” 
 
 “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Alister stiffly. 
 
 “Oh, confound your szzliness!”? muttered Dermot, and 
 added aloud, ‘‘ Is that pomatum for your hair?” 
 
 Alister laughed in spite of himself. 
 
 “More like hair-dye, sir,” said he, and rubbing desper- 
 ately at his fingers, he added, ‘‘I can’t get them decent.” 
 
 “Ah, let them rest!”’ said Dermot. “It’s painting the 
 lily to adorn them. On ye go; and mind ye keep near to 
 us, and we’ll make a land-lubber’s parliament in a corner 
 to ourselves.” 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 193 
 
 My first friend had thawed, and went cheerfully ahead 
 of us, as I was very glad to see. Dermot saw it too, but 
 only to relapse into mischief. He held me back, as 
 Alister strode in front, and putting out his thumb and 
 finger, so close to a tuft of hay-coloured hair that stood 
 cocked defiantly up on the Scotchman’s crown that I was 
 in all the agony he meant me to be for fear of detection, 
 he chattered in my ear, ‘‘ Jack, did ye ever study physiog- 
 nomy, or any of the science of externals? Look at this 
 independent tuft. Isn’t the whole character of the man 
 init? Could mortal man force it down? Could the 
 fingers of woman coax it? Would ye appeal to it with 
 argument? Would hair’s grease, bear’s grease is 
 
 But his peroration was suddenly cut short by a rush . 
 from behind, one man tumbling over another on the road 
 to the forecastle. Dennis himself was thrown against 
 Alister, and his hand came heavily down on the stubborn 
 lock of hair. 
 
 “It’s these fellows, bad manners to them,” he ex- 
 plained, but I think Alister suspected a joke at his 
 expense, and putting his arms suddenly behind him, he 
 seized Dennis by the legs and hoisted him on to his back 
 as if he had been a child. In this fashion the hero of the 
 occasion was carried to a place of honour, and deposited 
 (not too gently) on the top of an inverted deck tub, amid 
 the cheers and laughter of all concerned. 
 
 Round another tuba shallow oak one, tidily hooped 
 with copper—which served as spittoon, a solemn circle of 
 smokers was already assembled. ‘They disturbed them- 
 selves to salute Dennis, and to make room for others to 
 join them, and then the enlarged circle puffed and kept 
 silence as before. I was watching the colour come and 
 go on the Irish boy’s face, and he was making comical 
 signs to me to show his embarrassment, when Mr. John- 
 son shouted for the grog-tub to be sent aft, and the 
 boatswain summoned me to get it and follow him. 
 
 The smokers were not more silent than we, as the third 
 mate slowly measured the rum—half a gill a head—into 
 the grog-tub. . But when this solemnity was over and he 
 began to add the water, a very spirited dialogue ensued; 
 
 I3 
 
 
 
194 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 Mr, Johnson (so far as I could understand it) maintaining 
 that “‘two water grog” was the rule of the ships on their 
 line, and the boatswain pleading that this being a “ special 
 issue” was apart from general rules, and that it would be 
 more complimentary to ‘‘ the young gentleman” to have 
 the grog a little stronger. How it ended I do not know; 
 I know I thought my “tot” very nasty, and not improved 
 by the reek of strong tobacco in the midst of which we 
 drank it, to Dennis O’Moore’s very good health. 
 
 When the boatswain and I got back to the forecastle, 
 carrying the grog-tub, we found the company as we had 
 left it, except that there was a peculiarly bland expression 
 on every man’s face as he listened to a song that the cook 
 was singing. It was a very lovelorn, lamentable, and 
 lengthy song, three qualities which alone would recom- 
 mend it to any audience of Jack Tars, as I have since had 
 many occasions to observe. The intense dolefulness of 
 the ditty was not diminished by the fact that the cook 
 had no musical ear, and having started ona note that 
 was no note in particular, he flattened with every long- 
 drawn lamentation till the ballad became more of a groan 
 than a song. When the grog-tub was deposited, Dennis 
 beckoned to the boatswain, and we made our way to his 
 side. 
 
 “Your cook’s a vocal genius, anyhow, bo’sun,” said he. 
 “ But don’t ye think we’d do more justice to our accom- 
 plishments, and keep in tune, if we’d an accompaniment? 
 Have ye such a thing as a fiddle about ye?” 
 
 The boatswain was delighted. Of course there was a 
 fiddle, and I was despatched for it. I should find it 
 hanging on a hook at the end of the plate-rack, and if the 
 bow was ‘not beside it it would be upon the shelf, and 
 there used to be a lump of resin and a spare string or two 
 in an empty division of the spice-box. The whole kit had 
 belonged to a former cook, a very musical nigger, who 
 had died at sea, and bequeathed his violin to his ship. 
 Sambo had been well liked, and there were some old 
 hands would be well pleased to hear his fiddle once 
 more. 
 
 It took me some little time to find everything, and 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 195 
 
 when I got back to Dennis another song had begun. A 
 young Sailor I did not know was singing it, and the less 
 said about it the better, except that it very nearly led to 
 a row. It was by way of being a comic song, but except 
 for one line which was rather witty as well as very nasty, 
 there was nothing humourous about it, unless that it was 
 funny that any one could have been indecent enough to 
 write it, and any one else unblushing enough to sing it. 
 I am ashamed to say I had heard some compositions of a 
 similar type at Snuffy’s, and it filled me with no particular 
 amazement to hear a good deal of sniggering in the circle 
 round the spittoon, though I felt ‘miserably uncomfortable, 
 and wondered what Mr. O’Moore would think. I had 
 forgotten Alister. 
 
 I was not likely soon to forget his face as I saw it, the 
 blood swelling his forehead, and the white wrath round 
 his lips, when he gripped me by the shoul der, saying, in 
 broader Scotch than usual, “ Come awa’ wi’ ye, laddie ! 
 ’lino.let ye stay. :. Come awa’ oot of this accurst hole. 
 I wonder he doesna think black burning shame of himsel, 
 to stand up before greyheided men and fill a callant’s 
 ears with filth like yon.” 
 
 Happily just indignation had choked Alister’s voice as 
 well as his veins, and I don’t think many of the company 
 heard this too accurate summary of the situation. The 
 boatswain did, but before he could speak, Dennis 
 O’Moore had sprung to the ground between them, and 
 laying the fiddle over his shoulder played a wild sort of 
 jig that most effectually and unceremoniously drowned the 
 rest of the song, and diverted the attention of the men. 
 
 “The fiddle’s an old friend, so the bo’sun tells me,” he 
 said, nodding towards the faces that turned to him. 
 
 Ve. ave, Silty” 
 
 “Why, I’m blessed if it isn’t Sambo’s old thing.” 
 
 ‘It’s your honour knows how to bring the heart out of 
 it, anyhow.” 
 
 “My eyes, Pat! You should ha’ heerd it at the 
 dignity ball we went ashore for at Barbadoes. Did you 
 ever foot the floor with a black washerwoman of eighteen 
 stun, dressed out in muslin the colour o’ orange marma- 
 lade, and white kid shoes ?” 
 
196 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ““Tdid not, the darlin®!”’ 
 
 As the circle gossiped, Dennis tuned the fiddle, talking 
 vehemently to the boatswain between whiles. 
 
 ‘“‘Bo’sun ! ye’re not to say a word to the boy (sit down, 
 Alister, I tell ye!). I ask it as. favour. He didn’t 
 mince matters, I’ll allow, but it was Gop’s truth, and no 
 less that he spoke. Come, bo’sun, who’s a better judge 
 of manners than yourself? We’d had enough and to 
 spare of that. (Will ye keep quiet, ye cantankerous 
 Scotchman! Who’s harming ye now? Jack, if ye move 
 an inch, I’ll break this fiddle over your head.) Bo’sun! 
 we’re perishing for our grog, are ye aware ?” 
 
 The diversion was successful. The boatswain with a 
 few indignant mutterings, devoted himself to doling out 
 the tots of grog, and then proposed Dennis O’Moore’s 
 health in a speech full of his own style of humour, which 
 raised loud applause ; Dennis commenting freely on the 
 text, and filling up awkward pauses with flourishes on 
 Sambo’s fiddle. The boatswain’s final suggestion that 
 the ship’s guest should return thanks by song, instead 
 of a sentiment, was received with acclamations, during 
 which he sat down, after casting a mischievous glance at 
 Dennis, who was once more blushing and fidgeting with 
 shyness. 
 
 “ Ye’ve taken your revenge, bo’sun,” said he. 
 
 “Them that blames should do better, sir,” replied the 
 boatswain, folding his arms. 
 
 “A song! -a*song! “Mr/-O’Moore!” ‘shouted {the 
 men. 
 
 ““T only know a few old Irish songs,” pleaded Dennis. 
 
 “Ould Ireland for ever!” cried Pat Shaughnessy. 
 uv  Hearf-heario “Encore; Pat! »roared themen. > Lhey 
 
 were still laughing. Then one or two of those nearest to 
 us put up their hands to get silence. Sambo’s fiddle was 
 singing (as only voices and fiddles can sing) a melody to 
 which the heads and toes of the company soon began to 
 nod and beat- 
 
 “(La lela lala, lata dasa lela, 1a 
 La, le 1a la la, la la la, l4—1é la 14,”’ 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 1Q7 
 
 hummed the boatswain. “ Lor’ bless me, Mr. O’Moore, I 
 heard that afore you were born, though I’m blest if I 
 know where. But it’s a genteel pretty thing! 
 
 “Tt’s all about roses and nightingales!” shouted 
 Dennis, with comical grimaces. 
 
 “Hear! hear!” answered the oldest and _ hairiest- 
 looking of the sailors, and the echoes of his approbation 
 only died away to let the song begin. Then the notes of 
 Sambo’s fiddle also dropped off, and I heard Dennis 
 O’Moore’s beautiful voice for the first time as he gave his 
 head one desperate toss and began : 
 
 ‘* There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream, 
 And the nightingale sings round it all the night long. 
 In the time of my childhood ’twas like a sweet dream 
 To sit in the roses and hear the bird’s song.” 
 
 One by one the pipes were rested on the smoker’s 
 knees ; they wanted their mouths to hear with. I don’t 
 think the assembled company can have looked much like 
 exiles from flowery haunts of the nightingale; but we all 
 shook our heads, not only in time but in sympathy, as the 
 clear voice rose to a more passionate strain: 
 
 ‘* That bower and its music I never forget; 
 But oft when alone in the bloom of the year, 
 I think—is the nightingale singing there yet? 
 Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer ? 
 
 I and the oldest and hairiest sailor were sighing like 
 furnaces as the melody recommenced with the second 
 verse : 
 
 “No, the roses soon withered that hung o’er the wave, 
 But some blossoms were gathered while freshly they shone, 
 And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave 
 All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.” 
 
 If making pot-pourri after my mother’s old family 
 recipe had been the chief duty of able-bodied seamen, 
 this could not have elicited more nods of approbation. 
 But we listened spell-bound and immovable to the 
 
198 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 passion and pathos with which the singer poured forth 
 the conclusion of his song: 
 
 “Thus memory draws from delight, ere-it dies, 
 An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 
 Thus bright to my soul—as ‘twas then to my eyes— 
 Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer.” 
 
 And then (as somebody said) the noise we made was 
 enough to’ scare.” the) seagullsjcot] the tops, of ihe 
 waves. 
 
 “You scored that time, Mr. O’Moore,” said the 
 boatswain. ‘ You’d make your fortune in a music-hall, 
 sir.” 
 
 “Thank ye, bo’sun. Glad I didn’t give ye your revenge 
 anyhow.” 
 
 But the boatswain meant to strike nearer home. A 
 ship’s favourite might have hesitated to sing after Dennis, 
 so Alister’s feelings may be guessed on hearing the 
 following speech: 
 
 ‘“‘Mr. O’Moore, and comrades all. I believe I speak 
 for all hands on this vessel, when I say that we ain’t likely 
 to forget sech an agreeable addition to a ship’s company 
 as the gentleman who has just given us a taste of the 
 nightingale’s quality” (loud cheers). ‘“‘ But we’ve been 
 out-o’--way favoured as I may say, ihis voyage. We 
 mustn’t forget that there’s two other little strangers 
 aboard” (roars of laughter). ‘They ’olds their ’eads 
 rather ‘igh p’raps, for stowaways’? (Hear! hear!”’), 
 “put no doubt their talents ‘bears ’em 7 out)> -C Hear, 
 hear!” from Dennis, which found a few friendly echoes). 
 “Anyway, as they’ve paid us a visit without waiting to 
 ask if we was at ’ome to callers, we may look to ’em to 
 contribute to the general entertainment. Alister Auch- 
 terlay will now favour the company with a song.” 
 
 The boatswain stood back and folded his arms, and 
 fixed his eyes on the sealine, from which attitude no 
 appeals could-‘move him. I was very sorry for Alister, 
 and so was Dennis, I am sure, for he did his best to 
 encourage him. 
 
 “Sing ‘ Gop save the Queen,’ and I’ll keep well after 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. I99 
 
 ye with the fiddle,” he suggested. But Alister shook his 
 head. ‘I know one or two Scotch tunes,” Dennis added, 
 and he began to sketch out an air or two with his fingers 
 on the:strings. 
 
 Presently Alister stopped him. ‘“Yon’s the Land o’ 
 the-Leal 27 
 
 “It is,” said Dennis. 
 
 “Play it a bit quicker, man, and I’ll try ‘Scots, wha 
 Dare 
 
 Dennis quickened at once, and Alister stood forward. 
 He neither fidgeted nor complained of feeling shy, but as 
 my eyes (I was squatted cross-legged on the deck) were 
 at the level of his knees, I could see them shaking, and 
 pitied him none the less, that I was doubtful as to what 
 might not be before me. Dennis had to make two or 
 three false starts before poor Alister could get a note out 
 of his throat, but when he had fairly broken the ice with 
 the word “ Scots!” he faltered no more. 
 
 The boatswain was cheated a second time of his malice. 
 Alister could not sing in the least like Dennis, but he had 
 a strong manly voice, and it had a ring that stirred one’s 
 blood, as he clenched his hands, and rolled his Rs to the 
 rugged appeal : 
 
 “Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 
 Or to victory !” 
 
 Applause didn’t seem to steady his legs in the least, 
 and he never moved his eyes from the sea, and his. face 
 only grew whiter by the time he drove all the blood to 
 my heart with— 
 
 ‘Wha will be a traitor knave? 
 Wha can fill a coward’s grave? 
 Wha sae base as be aslave? 
 
 Let him turn and flee!” 
 
 “Gop forbid!” cried Dennis impetuously. ‘‘ Sing that 
 verse again, me boy, and give us a chance to sing with 
 
200 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ye!” which we did accordingly; but as Alister and 
 Dennis were rolling Rs like the rattle of musketry 
 on the word ¢urn, Alister did turn, and stopped suddenly 
 short. The Captain had come up unobserved. 
 
 “Go on!” said he, waving us back to our places. 
 
 By this time the solo had become a chorus. Beauti- 
 fully unconscious, for the most part, that the song was by 
 way of stirring Scot against Saxon, its deeper patriotism 
 had seized upon us all. Englishmen, Scotchmen, and 
 sons of Erin, we all shouted at the top of our voices, 
 Sambo’s fiddle not being silent. And I maintain that 
 we all felt the sentiment with our whole hearts, though I 
 doubt if any but Alister and the Captain knew and sang 
 the precise words : 
 
 ** Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom’s sword will strongly draw 
 Freemen stand, or freeman fa’? 
 
 Let him on wi’ me!”’ 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 “?T is strange—but true; for truth is always strange— 
 Stranger than fiction.” 
 Byron. 
 
 ‘* Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows.” 
 Gray. 
 
 THE least agreeable part of our voyage came near the 
 end. It was when we were in the fogs off the coast of 
 Newfoundland. The work that tired one to death was 
 not sufficient to keep one warm; the cold mist seemed to 
 soak through one’s flesh as well as one’s slops, and cling 
 to one’s bones as it clung to the ship’s gear. The deck 
 was slippery and cold, everything, except the funnel, was . 
 sticky and cold, and the foghorn made day and night 
 hideous with noises like some unmusical giant trying in 
 vain to hit thenote Fa. The density of the fog varied. 
 Sometimes we could not see each other a few feet off, at 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 201 
 
 others we could see pretty well what we were about on 
 the vessel, but could see nothing beyond. 
 
 We went very slowly, and the fog lasted unusually long. 
 It included a Sunday, which is a blessed day to Jack at 
 sea. No tarring, greasing, oiling, painting, scraping or 
 scrubbing, but what is positively necessary, and no yarn- 
 spinning but that of telling travellers’ tales, which seamen 
 aptly describe as spinning yarns. I heard a great many 
 that day which recalled the schoolmaster’s stories, and 
 filled my head and heart with indefinable longings and 
 impatience. More and more did it seem impossible that 
 one could live content in one little corner of this interest- 
 . ing world when one has eyes to see and ears to hear, and 
 hands for work, and legs to run away with. 
 
 Not that the tales that were told on this occasion were 
 of an encouraging nature, for they were all about fogs 
 and ice; but they were very interesting. One man had 
 made this very voyage in a ship that got out of her course 
 as it might be where we were then. She was too far to 
 the north’ard when a fog came on, as it might be the very 
 fog we were in at that moment, and it lasted, lifting a bit 
 and falling again worse than ever, just the very same as it 
 was a-doing now. Cold? He believed you this fog was 
 cold, and you might believe him that fog was cold, but the 
 cold of both together would not be a patch upon what it 
 was when, your bones chattered in your skin and you 
 heard the ship’s keel grinding, and said “Ice!” ‘He'd 
 seen some queer faces—dead and living—in his time, but 
 when ¢hat fog lifted- and the sun shone upon walls 
 of green ice on both sides above our head, and the Cap- 
 tain’s face as cold and as green as them with knowing all 
 was up és 
 
 At this point the narrator was called away, and some- 
 body asked, : 
 
 “Has any one heard him tell how it ended?” 
 
 “T did,” said Pat Shaughnessy,” and it spoilt me din- 
 ner that time.” 
 
 “Go on, Pat! What happened to them?” 
 
 “The lowest depths of misfortune. Sorra a soul but 
 himself and a boy escaped by climbing to a ledge on the 
 
 
 
202 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 topmost peak of one of the icebergs just in the nick of 
 time to see the ship cracked like a walnut between your 
 fingers. And the worst was to come, bad luck !” 
 
 “What? Goon, Paddy! What did he and the boy 
 do?” 
 
 “They «just ate each other,’ vialtered™ Pato) Dur, 
 Heaven be praised! a whaler fetched off the survivor. 
 Tt was then that he got the bad fever though, so maybe he 
 dreamt the worst.” 
 
 I felt great sympathy with Pat’s evident disrelish for 
 this tale, but the oldest and hairiest sailor seemed hardly 
 to regard it worth calling an adventure. If you wanted to 
 see ice that was ice, you should try the coast of Greenland, 
 he said. ‘ Hartic Hexploration for choice, but seals or 
 blubber took you pretty far up. He remembered the 
 Christmas he lost them two. (And cocking one leg over 
 the other, he drew a worsted sock from his foot, and 
 displayed the fact that his great toe and the one next to it 
 were gone). They lost more than toes that time too. 
 You might believe it gave you a lonelyish kind of feeling 
 when their was no more to be done for the ship but get 
 as much firewood out of her timber as you could, and 
 all you had in the way of a home was huts on an dce- 
 floe, and a white fox, with a black tip to its tail, for a pet. 
 It wouldn’t have lasted long, except for discipline,” we 
 young ’uns might take notice. ‘ Pleasure’s all very well 
 ashore, where a man may go his cwn way a long time, 
 and show his nasty temper at home, and there’s other 
 folks about him doing double duty to make up for it and 
 keep things together; but when you come to a handful 
 of men cast adrift to make a world for themselves, as one 
 may say, Lord bless you! there’s nothing’s any good then 
 but making every man do as he’s bid and be content with 
 what he gets—and clearing him out if he won’t. It was 
 a hard winter at that. But regularity pulled us through. 
 Reg’lar work, reg’lar ways, reg’lar rations and reg’lar lime- 
 juice, as long as it lasted. And not half a bad Christmas 
 we didn’t have neither, and poor Sal’s Christmas-tree was 
 the best part of it. ‘What sort of a Christmas-tree, and 
 why Sal’s?’ Well, the carpenter put it up, and an un- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 203 
 
 common neat thing he made too, of pinewood and _ birch- 
 broom, and some of the men hung it over with paper 
 chains. And then the carpenter opened the bundle Sal 
 made hirh take his oath he wouldn’t open till Christmas, 
 whatever came, and I|’m blessed if there wasn’t a pair of 
 brand-new socks for every soul of the ship’s crew. Not 
 that we were so badly off for socks, but washing ’em 
 reg’lar, and never being able to get ’em really dry, and 
 putting em on again like stones, was a mighty different 
 thing to getting all our feet into something dry and warm. 
 ‘Who was Sal?’ Well poor Sal was a rum ’un, but she’s 
 dead. It’s a queer thing, we only lost one hand, and that 
 was the carpenter, and he died the same day poor Sal 
 was murdered down Bermondsey way. It’s a queer world, 
 _ this, no matter where you’re cruising!» But there’s one 
 thing you'll learn if you live as long as me; a woman’s 
 heart and the ocean deep’s much about the same. You 
 can’t reckon on’em, and Gop A’mighty as made ’em, 
 alone knows the depth’s of em; but as our doctor used 
 to say (and he was always fetching things out and put- 
 ting ’em into bottles) it’s the rough weather brings the 
 best of it up.” 
 
 This was not a cheerful story, but it was soon driven 
 out of our heads by others. Fog was the prevailing topic; 
 yarns of the fogs of the northern seas being varied by “red 
 fogs” off the Cape de Verd Islands; and not the least 
 dismal of the narratives was told by Alister Auchterlay, 
 of a fog on Ben Nevis, in which his own grandmother’s 
 uncle perished, chiefly,.as it appeared, in consequence of 
 a constitutional objection to taking advice, or to “ going 
 back upon his word,” when he had made up his mind to 
 do something or to go somewhere. And this drew from 
 the boatswain the sad fate of a comrade of his, who had 
 sailed twice round the world, been shipwrecked four 
 times, in three collisions, and twice aboard ships that took 
 fire, had Yellow Jack in the West Indies, and sunstroke 
 at the Cape, lost a middle finger from frost-bite in the 
 north of China, and one eye ina bit of a row at San 
 Francisco, and came safe home after it all, and married a 
 snug widow ina pork-shop at Wapping Old Stairs, and 
 
204. WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 got out of his course steering home through a London fog 
 on Guy Fawkes Day, and walked straight into the river, 
 and was found at low tide next morning witha quid of 
 tobacco in his cheek, and nothing missing about him but 
 his glass eye, which shows, as the boatswain said, that 
 “Fogs is fogs anywhere, and a nasty thing too.” 
 
 It was towards dark when we had been fourteen days 
 at sea, that our own fog suddenly lifted, and the good 
 news flew from mouth to mouth that we might be “in 
 about midnight.” But the fog came down again, and I 
 do not think that the whole fourteen days put together 
 had felt so long as the hours of that one night through 
 which the foghorn blew, and we longed for day. 
 
 I was leaning against the bulwarks at eight o’clock the 
 next morning. White mist was all around us, a sea with 
 no horizon. Suddenly, like the curtain of a theatre, the 
 mist rose. Gradually the horizon-line appeared, then a 
 line of low coast, which, muddy-looking as it was, made 
 one’s heart beat thick and fast. Then lines of dark 
 wood; then the shore was dotted with grey huts; then 
 the sun came out, the breeze was soft and mild, and the 
 air became strangely scented, and redolent of pine forests. 
 Nearer the coast took more shape, though it was still low, 
 rather bare and dotted with brushwood and grey stones 
 low down, and always crowned with pines. Then _ habita- 
 tions began to sparkle along the shore. Red roofs, card- 
 board-looking churches, little white wooden houses, and 
 stiffish trees mixed everywhere. And the pine odour on 
 the breeze was sweeter and sweeter with every breath one 
 drew. 
 
 Suddenly I found Alister’s arm round my shoulder. 
 
 “TIsn’t it glorious?” I exclaimed. 
 
 “ Aye, aye,” he said, andthen asif afraid he had not said 
 enough, he added with an effort: “The toun’s built 
 almost entirely of wood, I’m told, with a population of 
 close on 30,000 inhabitants.” 
 
 “What a fellow you are!” I groaned; ‘ Alister, aren’t 
 you glad we’re safe here? Are you ever pleased about 
 anything ?” 
 
 He didn’t speak, and I turned in his arm to look up at 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 205 
 
 his face. His eyes, which always remind me of the sea, 
 were looking away over it, but he brought them back to 
 meet mine, and pressed my shoulder. 
 
 “Tt isybonnie, ” he said, “ verra bonnie. But eh, man! 
 If strange land shines like yon, hoo’ll oor ain shores look 
 whenever we win Home?” 
 
 CHAPER Re Xi 
 
 “ One, two, three, and away!” 
 
 WE three were fast friends when our voyage ended, and 
 in planning our future we planned to stick together, 
 Blake thethreesleavesof the Shamrock, ” as Dennis 
 O’Moore said. 
 
 The Captain would have kept Alister as one of his 
 crew, but the Scotch lad had definite plans for looking up 
 a cousin on this side of the Atlantic, and pushing his 
 fortunes by the help of his relative, so he did not care to 
 make the return voyage. ‘The Captain did not offer the 
 berth to me, but he was very kind, and returned my 
 money, and gave us a written paper testifying to our good 
 conduct and capabilities. He also gave Alister his ad- 
 dress, and he and the other officers collected a small sum 
 of money for him as a parting gift. 
 
 That afternoon we three crossed the harbour, and went 
 for a walk in the pinewoods. How I longed for Charlie! 
 I would have given anything if he could have been there, 
 warmed through by the hot sun, refreshed by the smell 
 of pines, resting his poor back in the deep moss, and 
 getting excited over the strange flowers that grew wild all 
 round our feet. One never forgets the first time one sees 
 unknown flowers growing wild; and though we were not 
 botanical, like Charlie, we had made ourselves very hot 
 with gathering nosegays by the time that Dennis sum- 
 moned us to sit down and talk seriously over our 
 affairs. Our place of council was by the side of a lake, 
 which reflected a sky more blue than I had ever seen. 
 
206 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 It stretched out of sight, and all about it were pines— 
 pines. It was very lovely, and very hot, and very /sweet, 
 and the little black flies which swarmed about took tiny 
 bits out of our cheeks, and left the blood trickling down, 
 so cleverly, that one did not feel it—till afterwards. We 
 did feel the mosquitos, and fought with them as well as 
 we could, whilst Dennis O’Moore, defending his own 
 face with a big bunch of jack-in-pulpits striped like tabby 
 cats, explained his plans as follows: 
 
 Of course we had no notion of going hone awhile. 
 Alister and I had come away on purpose; and for his 
 own part it had always been the longing of his soul to see 
 the world. Times out of mind when he and Barney were 
 on board one of these emigrant ships, that had put into 
 the bay, Gop-speeding an old tenant or acquaintance 
 with good wishes» and) whisky and what not, he had been 
 more than half-inclined to give old Barney and the 
 hooker the slip, and take his luck with the outward bound. 
 And now he was here, and no blame for it, why would he 
 hurry home? The race of the O’Moores was not likely to 
 become extinct for the loss of him at the worst; and the 
 Squire wouldn’t grudge him a few months’ diversion and 
 a peep at the wide world. Far from it; he’d send him 
 some money, and why not? He (Dennis) was a bit of a 
 favourite for his mother’s sake, and the Squire had a fine 
 heart. The real difficulty was that it would be at least a 
 month before the Squire could get a letter and Dennis 
 could get his money; but if we couldn’t keep our heads 
 above water for a month we’d small chance of pushing 
 our way in the world, 
 
 It is needless to say that I was willing to fall in with 
 Dennis O’Moore’s plans, being only too thankful for such 
 companions in my wanderings. I said so, and added 
 that what little money I had was to be regarded as a 
 common purse so long as it lasted. 
 
 When Alister was appealed to, he cast in his lot with 
 no less willingness, but it seemed that he must first look 
 up a relation of his mother’s who lived in Halifax, and to 
 whom his mother had given him a letter of introduction. 
 Alister had never told us his history, and of course we 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 207 
 
 had not asked for it; but on this occasion some of it crept 
 out, His father had been the minister of a country 
 parish in Scotland, but he had died young, and Alister 
 had been reared in poverty. Dennis and I gathered that 
 he had well-to-do relatives on his father’s side, but, as 
 Dennis said, ‘‘ more kinship than kindness about them.” 
 “Though I wouldn’t wonder if the widow herself had a 
 touch of stiff-neckedness in her,” he added. 
 
 However that might be, Alister held with his mother, 
 of course, and he said little enough about his paternal 
 relations, except one, whom he described as “‘a guid man, 
 and verra canny, but hard on the failings of the young.” 
 What youthful failings in our comrade had helped to snap 
 the ties of home, we did not know, but we knew enough 
 _of Alister by this time to feel sure they could not have 
 been very unpardonable. : 
 
 It was not difficult to see that it was under the sting of 
 this man’s reproaches that the lad had taken his fate into 
 his own hands. 
 
 “T’m not blaming him,” said Alister in impartial tones ; 
 and then he added, with a flash of his eyes, “but I’]] no 
 be indebted to him!” 
 
 We had returned to the town and were strolling up the 
 shady side of one of the clean wooden streets when a 
 strange figure came down it with a swinging gait, at a 
 leisurely pace. She (for, after a moment’s hesitation, we 
 decided that it was a woman) was of gipsy colotring, but 
 not of gipsy beauty. Her black hair was in a loose knot 
 on her back, she wore acurious skull cap of black cloth 
 embroidered with beads, a short cloth skirt, a pair of old 
 trousers tucked into leather socks, a small blanket with 
 striped ends tolded cunningly over her shoulders, and on 
 her breast a gold cross about twice as large as the one 
 concealed beneath the Irish boy’s shirt. And I looked at 
 her with a curious feeling that my dreams were coming 
 true. Dark—high-cheeked—a blanket—and (unless the 
 eyes with which I gazed almost reverentially at the dirty 
 leather socks deceived me) moccasins—she was, she must 
 be, a sguaw ! 
 
 Probably Dennis had come to the same conclusion, 
 
208 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 when, waving the tabby-coloured arums, he said, “ I'll ask 
 her what these are,” and gaily advanced to carry out his 
 purpose. | 
 
 ‘“Ve’re daft,” said Alister, getting red. 
 
 ‘It’s a North American Indian! ” said I. 
 
 “Tt’s a woman, anyhow!” retorted Dennis over his 
 shoulder, with a twinkle of his eyelashes that drew from 
 Alister in his broadest accent, “The lad’s a pairrfect lb- 
 berrteen !”’ an expression which he afterwards retracted 
 and apologised for at considerable length. 
 
 Within a few feet of the squaw Dennis lifted the broad- 
 brimmed hat which I had bought for him directly we 
 landed, and then advancing with a winning smile, he asked 
 the name of the flowers in very good Irish. The squaw 
 smiled too, she touched the flowers, and nodded and said 
 something in a soft;rapid and unknown tongue, which 
 only made Dennis shake his head and smile again, on 
 which she spoke in a language still dark to Alister and 
 me, but not so to Dennis, who, to our amazement, replied 
 in the same, and a dialogue so spirited ensued, that they 
 both seemed to be talking at once. Alister’s face was a 
 study when Dennis put out his hand towards the squaw’s 
 gold cross, and all but touched it, and then (both chatter- 
 ing faster than ever) unbuttoned his throat and drew out 
 his crucifix to show her. His last act was to give her 
 half the tabby-striped arums as they parted. ‘Then he 
 lifted the broad hat once more and stood bareheaded, 
 as the squaw came slowly down the wooden causeway, not 
 without one glance at us as she passed. But at the bottom 
 of the street she turned round to look at Dennis. His 
 hat was still in his hand, and he swung it round his head 
 crying, “A Dieu, Madame!” 
 
 “A Dieu!” said the squaw, and she held up the tabby- 
 striped arums. Very mingled feelings seemed to have 
 been working in Alister’s mind, but his respect for the 
 fruits of education was stronger even than his sense of 
 propriety. He forgot to scold Dennis for his unseemly 
 familiarity with a stranger, he was so anxious to know in 
 what language he had been speaking. 
 
 “French,” said Dennis. ‘ There seems to bea French 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 209 
 
 mission somewhere near here. She’s a good Catholic 
 too, but she has a mighty queer accent, and awful feet!” 
 
 “It’s a grand thing to speak with other tongues!” 
 said Alister. 
 
 “If ye want to learn French, I’ll teach ye all I can,” 
 said Dennis. ‘‘Sh—sh! No kindness whatever. I wish 
 we mayn’t have idle time for any amount of philology!” 
 
 At-the top of the hill we parted for a time, and went 
 our ways. Alister to look up his relation, I to buy 
 stationery and stamps for our letters home, and Dennis 
 to convert his gold ring into the currency of the colony. 
 We would not let him pawn his watch, which he was 
 most anxious to do, though Alister and I pointed out how 
 invaluable it might prove to us (it was a good hunting- 
 watch and had been little damaged by the sea), because, 
 as he said, “ he would feel as if he was doing something, 
 anyhow.” 
 
 Alister and I were the last to part, and as we did so, 
 having been talking about Dennis O’Moore, I said, eT 
 knew it was French when I got nearer, but I never learnt 
 French, though my mother began to teach me once. You 
 don’t really think you'll learn it from him, do you?” 
 
 “‘With perseverance,” replied Alister, simply. 
 
 “What good will French be to you?” Iasked. 
 
 “Knowledge is a light burden, and it may carry ye 
 yet,” was Alister’s reply. 
 
 When we met again, Dennis was jingling some money 
 in his pocket, which was added to the common. fund of 
 which the miser’s legacy had formed the base. I had 
 got paper and stamps, and information as to mails, and 
 some more information which was postponed till we 
 found out what was amiss with the Scotch leaf of our 
 Shamrock. For there were deep furrows on Alister’s 
 brow, but far deeper was the despondency of his soul. 
 He was in the lowest possible spirits, and with a Scotch- 
 man that is low indeed. He had made out his way to 
 his. cousin’s place of business, and had heard a very 
 satisfactory report of the commercial success, but—the 
 cousin had gone “ to the States.”’ 
 
 Alister felt himself very much ill-used By fate, and I 
 
 14 
 
210 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 believe Dennis felt himself very much ill-used by Alister, 
 that evening, but I maintain that I alone was the person 
 really to be pitied, because I had to keep matters smooth 
 between the two. The gloom into which Alister relapsed, 
 his prophecies, prognostications, warnings, raven-like 
 croakings, parallel instances, general reflections and per- 
 sonal applications, as well as his obstinate notion that he 
 would be “a burden and a curse” to “the two of us,” 
 and that it would have been small wonder had the sailors 
 cast him forth into the Atlantic, like the Prophet Jonah, 
 as being certain to draw ill-luck on his companions, were 
 trying enough; but it was no joke that misfortune had 
 precisely the opposite effect upon Dennis. If there wasa 
 bit of chaff left unchaffed in all Ireland, from Malin Head 
 to Barley Cove, I believe it came into Dennis’s head on 
 this inappropriate occasion, and he forthwith discharged 
 it at Alister’s. To put some natures into a desperate 
 situation seems like putting tartaric acid into soda and 
 water—they sparkle up and froth. It certainly was so 
 with Dennis O’Moore; and if Alister could hardly have 
 been more raven-like upon the crack of doom, the levity 
 of Dennis would, in our present circumstances, have been 
 discreditable to a paroquet. 
 
 For it was no light matter to have lost our one hope of 
 a friend in this strange land; and yet this was practically 
 what it meant, when we knew that Alister Auchterlay’s 
 cousin had gone to the States. But the idea of kinship 
 at last suggested something more sensible than jokes to 
 Dennis O’ Moore. 
 
 “Why, I’ve a cousin of my own in Demerara, and I’d 
 forgotten him entirely !”’ he suddenly announced. 
 
 “You haven’t a cousin in New York, have you?” I 
 asked, and I proceeded to explain, that having done my 
 business, I had been drawn back to the harbour by all 
 the attractions shipping has for me, and had there been 
 accosted by the mate of a coasting-vessel bound for New 
 York with salt fish, who was in want of hands both to load 
 and man her. The Water-Lily had been pointed out to 
 me from a distance, and we might go and see her to- 
 morrow morning if we liked. With the prospect of living 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 2I1 
 
 for at least a month on our slender stocking, the idea 
 of immediate employment was very welcome, to say 
 nothing of the attraction of further adventures. Alister 
 began to ‘cheer up, and Dennis to sober down. We 
 wrote home, and posted our letters, after which we 
 secured a decent sleeping-room and a good meal of broiled 
 salmon, saffron-coloured cakes, and hot coffee, for a very 
 reasonable sum; but, moderate as it was, it confirmed 
 us in the conviction that we could not afford to eat the 
 bread of idleness. 
 
 Next day we were early at the wharf. The Water-Lily 
 was by no means so white as she was named, and the 
 smell of the salt fish was abominable. But we knew we 
 could not pick and choose when we wanted employment, ° 
 and wanted to be together; and to this latter point we 
 had nailed our colours. With Alister and me the mate 
 came to terms at once, but for a time he made difficulties 
 about Dennis. We “stowaways” had had so much dirty 
 work to do in all weathers for the past fortnight, that we 
 looked sailor-like enough, I dare say; and as it had 
 honestly been our endeavour to learn all we could, and 
 shirk nothing, and as the Captain’s paper spoke well of us, 
 I think the mate got a very good bargain—for we were 
 green enough to take lower wages than the customary 
 rate on the strength of a long string of special reasons 
 which he made us swallow. This probably helped towards 
 his giving in about Dennis. The matter about Dennis 
 was that he looked too much of the fine gentleman still, 
 though his homespun suit had seen salt water, and was 
 far from innocent of tar and grease, for he had turned his 
 hand to plenty of rough work during the voyage, partly 
 out of good-nature, and partly to learn all he could get 
 the sailors to teach him. However, his coaxing tongue 
 clinched the bargain at last; indeed the mate seemed a 
 good deal struck by the idea that he would find it ‘‘ mighty 
 convenient” to have a man on board who was a good 
 scholar and could help him to keep the log. So we signed 
 articles, and went to our duty. 
 
 The Water-Lily was loaded, and we sailed in her, and 
 we got to New York. But of all the ill-found tubs that 
 
212 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ever put to sea, I should think she might have taken the 
 first prize. We were overhauling her rotten rigging, tak- 
 ing off, putting on, and mending chafing gear every bit of 
 our time, Sunday included. ‘The carpenter used horrible 
 language, but for his vexation I could have forgiven him 
 if he had expressed it more decently, for he never had a 
 moment’s rest by day; and though a ship’s carpenter is 
 exempt from watches and allowed to sleep at night as a 
 rule, I doubt if he had two nights’ rest between Halifax 
 and New York. 
 
 As Dennis put it, there was “ any amount of chicanery 
 about the whole affair.” Some of our pay was “set 
 against” supplying ‘‘ duds” for Dennis to do dirty work 
 in; Alister was employed as sailmaker, and then, like the 
 carpenter, was cheated of his rest. As to food, we were 
 nearly starved, and should have fared even worse than we 
 did, but that the black cook was friendly towards us. 
 
 “Dis Water-Lily ob ours a leetle ober-blown, Dennis, 
 I’m tinking,” said Alfonso, showing all his white teeth, 
 “Hope she not fall to pieces dis voyage.” 
 
 “Hope not, Alfonso. She hasn’t lost her scent any- 
 how!” At which allusion to our unsavoury cargo Alfonso 
 yelled with laughter, 
 
 For our favour with the cook (and it means hot coffee, 
 dry socks, and other little comforts being in favour with 
 the cook) we had chiefly to thank Dennis. Our coal- 
 black comrade loved jokes much, but his own dignity just 
 a little more; and the instinctive courtesy which was as 
 natural to Dennis as the flow of his fun, made him partic- 
 ularly acceptable to Alfonso. 
 
 And for the rest, we came to feel that if we could keep 
 the Water-Lily afloat to the end of her voyage, most other 
 considerations were minor ones. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 213 
 
 GHAPI ER XXII, 
 
 “ May it please Gop not to make our friends so happy as to forget 
 us !”—Old Proverb. 
 
 Tue Water-Lily was re-christened by Dennis, with many 
 flourishes of speech and a deck-tub of salt water long be- 
 fore we reached our journey’s end. The ‘Slut,’ as we 
 now privately called her, defied all our efforts to make 
 her look creditable for New York harbour, but we were 
 glad enough to get her there at all. 
 
 We made the lights of Barnegat at about six o’clock 
 one. fine morning, took a pilot on board at Sandy Hook, 
 and the ‘Slut’ being by this time as ship-shape as we 
 could get her, we cleaned ourselves to somewhat better 
 purpose, put on our shore-togs, and were at leisure to 
 enjoy one of the most charming sensations in the world, 
 that of making one’s way into a beautiful harbour on a_ 
 beautiful morning. The fresh breeze that favoured us, 
 the sunshine that—helped by the enchantment of distance 
 —made warehouses look like public buildings, and stone 
 houses like marble palaces, a softening hue of morning 
 mist still clinging about the heights of Brooklyn and over 
 the distant stretch of the Hudson River Islands, the 
 sparkling waves and dancing craft in the bay, and all the 
 dear familiar maze of spars and rigging in the docks; it is 
 wonderful how such sights, and the knowledge that you 
 are close to the haven where you would be, charm away 
 the sore memories of the voyage past, and incline you to 
 feel that it hasn’t been such a bad cruise after all. 
 
 “Poor ole Water-Lily !” sighed Alfonso, under the in- 
 fluence of this feeling, “you and me’s called her a heap 
 o’ bad names, Dennis; I ’spects we has to have our 
 grumbles, Dennis. Dat’s ’bout whar ’t is.” 
 
 “‘She’s weathered the storm and got into port, any- 
 how,” said Dennis, ‘‘and I suppose you think the, best 
 candonomore. Eh?” 
 
  Jéseao.Wennis:” 
 
 Alfonso was not far wrong on the subject of grumbling. 
 
214 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 It is one of a sailor’s few luxuries and privileges, and acts 
 as safety-valve for heats of just and unjust indignation, 
 which might otherwise come to dangerous explosion. 
 We three had really learned no mean amount of rough- 
 and-ready seamanship by this time, and we had certainly 
 practised the art of grumbling as well. That ‘of all the 
 dirty ill-found tubs,” the ‘ Slut’ was the worst we had ever 
 known, our limited experience had made us safe in declar- 
 ing, and we had also been voluble about the undue length 
 of time during which we had been “ humbugging about” 
 between Halifax and New York. But these bygones we 
 now willingly allowed to be bygones, especially as we had 
 had duff-pudding the day before, though it was not Sunday 
 —(Oh, Crayshaw’s! that I should have lived to find duff- 
 pudding a treat—but it zs a pleasant change from salt 
 meat),—and as the captain had promised some repairs to 
 the ship before we returned to Halifax. 
 
 We were not long in discovering that the promise was 
 a safe one, for he did not mean to return to Halifax at 
 ‘all. Gradually it leaked out, that when the salt-fish was 
 disposed of, we were not going to take in ballast and go 
 back, as we had thought, but to stow away a “ general 
 cargo” of cheap manufactured articles (chiefly hardware, 
 toys, trumpery pictures, and looking-glasses) and proceed 
 with them on a trading voyage “ down south ”—“ West 
 Indies,” said the carpenter. “‘ Bermuda for certain,” 
 was another opinion; but Alfonso smiled and said, 
 ‘“¢ Demerara.” 
 
 ‘“‘Cap’n berry poor sailor, but berry good trader,” he in- 
 formed us in confidence. ‘Sell ’m stinking fish and 
 buy gimcracks cheap; sell gimcracks dear to Portugee 
 store in Georgetown, take in sugar—berry good sugar, 
 Demerara sugar—and come back to New York.” 
 
 _ Alfonso had made the voyage before on these prin- 
 
 ciples, and was all the more willing to believe that this 
 was to be the programme, because he was—at such un- 
 certain intervals as his fate ordained—courting a young 
 lady of colour in Georgetown, Demerara. I don’t think 
 Dennis O’Moore could help sympathising with people, 
 and as a result of this good-natured weakness, he heard a 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 215 
 
 great deal about that young lady of colour, and her 
 genteel clothes, and how she played the piano, and be- 
 longed to the Baptist congregation. 
 
 “I’ve ascousin myself in Demerara, Alfonso, 
 Dennis. 
 
 “Hope she’m kind to you, Dennis. Hope you can 
 trust her, specially if the members walks home with her 
 after meeting.” And Alfonso sighcd. 
 
 But jokes were far too precious on board the ‘ Slut’ for 
 Dennis to spoil this one by explaining that his cousin was 
 a middle-aged gentleman in partnership with the owner of 
 a sugar estate. 
 
 As we had sailed on the understanding that the Water- 
 Lily was bound for New York and back again to Halifax 
 of course we made a fuss and protested at the change. But 
 we had not really much practical choice in the matter, 
 whatever our strict rights were, and on the whole we found 
 it would be to our advantage to go through with it, espe- 
 cially as we did secure a better understanding about our 
 wages, and the captain promised us more rest on Sundays. 
 On one point we still felt anxious—our home letters ; so 
 Dennis wrote to the postmaster at Halifax, and arranged 
 for them to be forwarded to us at the post-office, George- 
 town, Demerara. For Alfonso was right, we were bound 
 for British Guiana, it being however understood that we 
 three were not under obligation to make the return voyage 
 in the Water-Lily. 
 
 An odd incident occurred during our brief stay in New 
 York. It was after the interview in which we came to 
 terms with the captain, and he had given us leave for three 
 hours ashore. You can’t see very much of a city when 
 you have no money to spend in it; but we had walked 
 about till we were very hungry, and yet more thirsty, for 
 it was hot, when we all three caught sight of a small shop 
 (or Store, as Americans would call it), and we all spoke at 
 once, 
 
 “Cooling drinks !” exclaimed Dennis. 
 
 “There’s cakes yonder,” said Alister. 
 
 ‘Michael Macartney,” muttered I, for that was the 
 name over the door. 
 
 ” 
 
 said 
 
216 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 We went in as acustomer came out, followed by Michael 
 Macartney’s parting words in a rich brogue that might 
 have been old Biddy’s own. I took a good look at him, 
 which he returned with a civil comment on the heat, and 
 an inquiry as to what I would take, which Dennis, in the 
 thirstiness of his throat, answered for me, leaving me a few 
 moments more of observation. I made a mental calculation, 
 and decided that the man’s age would fit Micky, and in 
 the indescribableness of the colour of his clothes and his 
 complexion he was undoubtedly like Biddy, but if they 
 had been born in different worlds the expression of his eyes 
 could not have been more different. I had the clearest 
 remembrance of hers. One does not so often look into 
 the eyes of a stranger and see genuine feeling that one 
 should forget it. For the rest of him, I was glad that Biddy 
 had allowed that there was no similarity “‘ betwixt us.” He 
 had a low forehead, a broad nose, a very wide mouth, full 
 of very large teeth, and. the humorous twinkle in his eye 
 did not atone for the complete absence of that steady light 
 of honest tenderness which shone from Biddy’s as freely 
 and fearlessly as the sun shines. He served Dennis and 
 Alister and turned to me. 
 
 “Have youamother in Liverpool?” I asked, before he 
 had time to ask me which “ pop” I wanted. 
 
 As I have said, his mouth was big, but I was almost 
 aghast at the size to which it opened, before he was able 
 to say, ‘‘Murther and ages! Was ye there lately? Did 
 ye know her?” 
 
 “Yes; I know her.” 
 
 * And why would ye be standing out there with the cold 
 pop, when there’s something better within? Come in, me 
 boy. So you’re acquainted with my mother? And how 
 was she?”’ 
 
 “No, thank you, I don’t drink spirits. Yes; your 
 mother was well when I saw her.” 
 
 ‘“‘Gop be praised! It’s a mighty long time since I 
 seen the ould craythur,”’ . 
 
 “Fifteen years,” said I. 
 
 I looked at Mr? Macartney as I said it, but he had 
 evasive eyes, and they wandered to the doorway. No 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 217 
 
 customers appeared, however, and he looked back to 
 Dennis and Alister, but they had both folded their arms, 
 and were watching us in silence. 
 
 ‘““Murther and ages!” he repeated, “‘ it doesn’t feel the 
 half of it.” 
 
 ‘“‘T fancy it seems longer, if anything to her. But she 
 has been on the look-out for you every day, you see. 
 You’ve a good business, Mr. Macartney, so I dare say 
 you're areadyreckoner. Fifteen times three hundred and 
 sixty-five ? Five thousand four hundred and seventy-five, 
 Tai tg ities 
 _ “It’s afine scholar for a sailor boy that ye are!”’ said 
 Micky; and there was a touch of mischief in his eye and 
 voice which showed that he was losing his temper. I 
 suppose Dennis heard it, too, for he took one bound to 
 my side in a way that almost made me laugh ‘to feel how 
 ready he was for a row. But I knew that, after all, I had 
 no right over the man’s private affairs, warm as was my 
 zeal for old Biddy. 
 
 “And you think I might mind my business and leave 
 you to yours, Mr. Macartney?” I said. ‘ But you see 
 your mother was very kind to me, very kind indeed ; and 
 when I left Liverpool I promised her if ever I came across 
 you, you should hear of her, and she should hear of you.” 
 
 “And why not?” he answered in mollified tones. “It’s 
 mighty good-natured in ye, too. But come in, all the 
 three of ye, and have something to eat and to drink for 
 the sake of the old country.” 
 
 We followed him into a back parlour where there were 
 several wooden rocking-chairs, and a strong smell of stale 
 tobacco. Here he busied himself in producing cold meat, 
 a squash pie, and a bottle of whisky, and was as voluble 
 as civil about every subject except the one I wished to 
 talk of. But the memory of his mother was strong upon 
 me, andI had no intention of letting it slide. 
 
 “T’m so glad to have found you,” I said. “Iam sure 
 you can’t have known what a trouble it has been to 
 your mother never to have heard from you all these 
 years,” 
 
 “ Arrah! And why should she bother herself over me?” 
 
218 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 he answered impatiently. ‘Sure I never was anything 
 but a trouble to her, worse luck!” And before I could 
 speak again he went on, “ But make your mind aisy, I’ll 
 be writing to her. Many’s the time that I’ve all but in- 
 dited the letter, but ldo it now. Upon me conscience, 
 ye may dipind upon me.” 
 
 Could I depend upon his shambling conscience? Every 
 instinct of an honest man about me answered, No. As he 
 had done for fifteen years past, so he would do for fifteen 
 years to come. As long as he was comfortable himself, 
 his mother would never get a line out of him. Perhaps 
 his voice recalled hers, but I almost fancied I could hear 
 her as I sat there—‘“‘I ax your pardon, darlin’, It was 
 my own Micky that was on my mind.” 
 
 “Look here, Mr. Macartney,” said 1; ‘“‘I want you to 
 do me a favour. I owe your mother a good turn, and it’ll 
 ease my mind to repay it. Sit down whilst we’re enjoying 
 your hospitality, and just write her a line, and let me have 
 the pleasure of finding a stamp and putting it in the post 
 with my own hands.” 
 
 We argued the point for some time, but Micky found 
 the writing materials at last, and sat down to write. As 
 he proceeded he seemed to become more reconciled to 
 the task; though he was obviously no great scribe, and 
 followed the sentiments he was expressing with curious 
 contortions of his countenance which it was most funny to 
 behold. By-and-by I was glad to see a tear or two drop 
 on the paper, though I was sorry that he wiped them 
 up with his third finger, and wrote over the place before it 
 had time to dry. 
 
 “Murther and ages! But it’s mighty pleased that 
 she’ll be,” said Mr. Macartney when he had finished. He 
 looked mighty pleased with himself, and he held the 
 letter out to me. 
 
 ‘Do you mean me to read it?” I asked. 
 
 “T did. And ye can let your friends hear too.” 
 
 I read it aloud, wondering as I read. If pen and ink 
 spoke the truth, Biddy’s own Micky’s heart was broke 
 entirely with the parting from his mother. Sorra a bit of 
 taste had there been in his food, or a drop of natural rest 
 
MWEOANIT LAF WORLD. 219 
 
 had he enjoyed for the last fifteen years. ‘“‘ Five thousand 
 four hundred and seventy-five days—no less.” (When I 
 reached this skilful adoption of my calculations, I in- 
 voluntarily.looked up. There sat Mr. Macartney in his 
 rocking-chair. He was just lighting a short pipe, but 
 he paused in the operation to acknowledge what he evi- 
 dently believed to be my look of admiration with a nod 
 and awink. Jreadon.) Times were cruel bad out there 
 for a poor boy that lived by his industry, but thank Gop 
 he’d been spared the worst pangs of starvation. (1 
 ‘glanced round the pop-shop, but as Micky himself would 
 have said, No matther!) and didn’t it lighten his heart 
 that day to hear of his dear mother sitting content and 
 comfortable at her own coffee-stall. It was murderously 
 hot in these parts, and New York—bad luck to it—was a 
 mighty different place from the dear old ‘Ballywhack 
 where he was born. Would they ever see old Ireland 
 again? (Here a big blot betrayed how much > Mr. 
 Macartney had been moved by his own eloquence.) ‘The 
 rest of the letter was rich with phrases both of piety and 
 affection. How much of the whole composition was con- 
 scious humbug, and whether any of it was genuine feeling, 
 I have as littleidea nowas Thadthen, ‘The shallows of the 
 human heart are at least as difficult to sound as its depths, 
 and Micky Macartney’s was quite beyond me. One 
 thing about the letter was true enough. As he said, it 
 would ‘ plaze the ould craythur intirely.” 
 
 By the time I had addressed it ‘ Mrs. Biddy Macartney, 
 coffee-seller,” to the care of the Dockgate-keeper, we had 
 not much spare time left in which to stamp and post it, 
 so we took leave of the owner of the pop-shop. He was 
 now very unwilling to let us go. He did not ask another 
 question about his mother, but he was consumed with 
 trivial curiosity about us. Once again he alluded to 
 Biddy. We were standing outside, and his eye fell upon 
 the row of shining pop-taps— 
 
 ““Wouldn’t she be the proud woman now, av she could 
 see me!” he cried. 
 
 ‘Why don’t you get her out to live with you?” I 
 asked. 
 
220 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 
 
 He shook his head. “I’m a married man, Mr. 
 bad luck to me, I’ve forgotten your name now?” 
 
 “T didn’t trouble you with it. Well, I hope you'll go 
 and see her before she dies.” 
 
 But when I came to think of it, I did not feel sure if 
 that was what I wished. Not being a woman, how could 
 I balance the choice of pain? How could I tell if it were 
 better for her to be disappointed with every ship and 
 every tide, still having faith in her own Micky, and hope 
 of his coming, or for the tide and the ship to bring him 
 with all his meanness upon the head she loved, a huge 
 disappointment, once for all! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. | 
 
 “ Roose the fair day at e’en.” 
 Scotch Proverb. 
 
 AFTER leaving New York, we no longer hugged the 
 coast. We stood right off, and to my great delight, I 
 found we were going to put in at Bermuda for repairs. 
 I never knew, but I always fancy that these were done 
 cheaper there than at New York. Or it may merely have 
 been because when we had been at sea two days the 
 wretched ‘ Slut’ leaked so that, though we were pumping 
 day and night, till we were nearly worn out, we couldn’t 
 keep the wet from our gimcrack cargo, 
 
 Fortunately for us the weather was absolutely lovely, 
 and though it was hot by day, we wore uncommonly little 
 clothing and “carried our change of air with us,” as 
 Dennis said. As to the nights, I never can forget the 
 ideal beauty of the last three before we reached Bermuda. 
 I had had no conception of what starlight can be and 
 what stars can look like. These hanging lamps of the vast 
 heavens seemed so strangely different from the stars that 
 “twinkle, twinkle,’’ as the nursery book has it, through 
 our misty skies at home. We were, in short, approaching 
 .the tropics. Very beautiful were the strange constella- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 22l 
 
 tions of the midnight sky, the magic loveliness of the 
 moonlight, and the phosphorescence of the warm waves, 
 whilst the last exquisite touch of delight was given by the 
 balmy airs By day the heat (especially as we had to 
 work so hard in it) made one’s enjoyment less luxurious, 
 but if my love for the sea had known no touch of disap- 
 pointment on the cold swell of the northern Atlantic, it 
 would have needed very dire discomfort to spoil the 
 pleasure of living on these ever-varying blue waters, 
 flecked with white foam and foam-like birds through the 
 clearness of which we now and then got a peep of a pea- 
 cock-green dolphin, changing his colour-with every leap 
 and gambol, as if he were himself a wave. 
 
 Of living things (and, for that matter, of ships) we saw 
 far less than I expected, though it was more than a fort- 
 night from the time of our leaving Sandy Hook to the 
 night we lay off to the east of the Bermudas—the warm 
 lights from human habitations twinkling among the 
 islands, and the cold light of the moon making the surf 
 and coral reefs doubly clear against the dark waters—wait- 
 ing, but scarcely wishing, for the day. 
 
 As I have said, Alfonso was very black, and Alfonso 
 was very dignified. But his blackness, compared with the 
 blackness of the pilot who came off at St. George’s Island 
 and piloted us through the Narrows, was as that of a kid- 
 shoe to a boot that has been polished by blacking. As to 
 dignity, no comparison can be made. ‘The dignity of that 
 nigger pilot exceeded anything, regal, municipal, or even 
 parochial, that I have ever seen. As he came up the 
 ship’s side, Dennis was looking over it, and when the 
 pilot stood on deck Dennis fled abruptly, and Alister de- 
 clares it took two buckets of water to recover him from 
 the fit of hysterics in which he found him rolling in the 
 forecastle. 
 
 The pilot’s costume bore even more reference to his 
 dignity than to the weather. He wore a pea-coat, a tall 
 and very shiny black hat, white trousers, and neither shoes 
 nor socks. His feet were like flat-irons turned the wrong 
 way, and his legs seemed to be slipped into the middle 
 of them, like the handles of two queer-shaped hoes. His 
 
222 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 intense, magnificent importance, and the bombastic way 
 he swaggered about the deck, were so perfectly absurd, 
 that we three youngsters should probably have never had 
 any feeling towards him but that of contempt, if it had not 
 been that we were now quite enough of seamen to appre- 
 ciate the skill with which he took us safely on our danger- 
 ous and intricate passage into harbour. How we ever 
 got through the Narrows, how he picked our way amongst 
 the reefs and islands, was a marvel. Wecame in so close 
 to shore that I thought we must strike every instant, and 
 so we should have done had there been any blundering on 
 his part. 
 
 We went very slowly that day, as became the atmos- 
 phere and the scene, the dangers of our way, and the 
 dignity of our guide. 
 
 “Tt’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” said Dennis, 
 as we hung over the side. “If it’s for repairs we’ve: put 
 into Paradise, long life to the old tub and her rotten tim- 
 bers! I would’nt have missed /Azs for a lady’s berth in 
 the West Indian Mail, and my passage paid!” 
 
 PONOt as 
 
 eINOT 
 
 This was indeed worth having gone through a good deal 
 to see. The channel through which we picked our way 
 was marked out by little buoys, half white and half black, 
 and on either side the coral was just a-wash. Close at 
 hand the water was emerald green or rosy purple, accord- 
 ing to its depth and the growths below; half a mile away 
 it was deep blue against lines of dazzling surf and coral 
 sand; and the reefs and rocks amongst whose deadly 
 edges our hideous pilot steered for our lives, were like 
 beds of flowers blooming under water. Red, purple, yel- 
 low, orange, pale green, dark green, in patches quite 
 milky, and in patches a mass of all sorts of seaweed, a 
 
 ay garden on a white ground, shimmering through crys- 
 tal! And down below the crabs crawled about, and the 
 fishes shot hither and thither; and over the surface of the 
 water, from reef to reef and island to island, the tern and 
 seagulls skimmed and swooped about. 
 
 We anchored that evening, and the pilot went ashore. 
 
 oO? 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 228 
 
 Lovely as the day had been, we were (for some myste- 
 rious reason) more tired at the end of it, than on days 
 when we had been working three times as hard. This, 
 with Dennis, invariably led to mischief, and with Alister 
 to intolerance. The phase was quite familiar to me now, 
 and I knew it was coming on when they would talk about 
 the pilot. That the pilot was admirably skilful in his 
 trade, and that he was a most comical-looking specimen 
 of humanity, were obvious facts. I quite agreed with both 
 Alister and Dennis, but that, unfortunately, did not make 
 them agree with each other. Not that Dennis contra- 
 dicted Alister (he pretended to be afraid to do so), but he 
 made comments that were highly aggravating. He did 
 not attempt to deny that it was “a gran sight to see ony 
 man do his wark weel,” or that the African negro shared 
 with us “our common humanity and our immortal hopes,” 
 but he introduced the quite irrelevant question of whether 
 it was not a loss to the Presbyterian Ministry that Alister 
 had gone to sea. He warmly allowed that the pilot prob- 
 ably had his feelings, and added that even he had his; 
 that the Hat‘ tried them, but that the Feet were ‘alto- 
 gether too many for them intirely.”” He received the in- 
 formation that the pilot’s feet were ‘as his Creator made 
 them,” in respectful silence, and a few minutes afterwards 
 asked me if I was aware of the “curious fact in physi- 
 ology,” that it took a surgical operation to get a joke 
 through a Scotchman’s brain-pan, 
 
 I was feeling all-overish and rather cross myself towards 
 evening, and found Alister’s cantankerousness and Dennis 
 O’Moore’s chaff almost equally tiresome. ‘To make mat- 
 ters worse, I perceived that Dennis was now so on edge, 
 that to catch sight of the black pilot made him really 
 hysterical, and the distracting thing was, that either be- 
 cause I was done up, or because such folly is far more 
 contagious than any amount of wisdom, I began to get 
 quite as bad, and Alister’s disgust only made me worse. 
 I unfeignedly dreaded the approach of that black hat and 
 those triangular feet, for they made me giggle in spite of 
 -myself, and I knew a ship’s rules far too well not to know 
 how fearful would be the result of any public exhibition of 
 disrespect. 
 
224: WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 However, we three were not always together, and we 
 had been apart a good bit when we met (as ill-luck would 
 have it) at the moment when the pilot’s boat was just 
 alongside, ready for his departure. 
 
 ‘“What’s the boat for?’”’ asked Alister, who had been 
 below. 
 
 ‘“‘ And who would it be for,” replied Dennis, “but the 
 gentleman in the black hat? Alister, dear! What’s the 
 reason I can’t tread on a nigger’s heels without treading 
 on your toes?” 
 
 “Tush! <*cned Jo im torment," he’s comme. * 
 
 We stood at attention, but never can I forget the agony 
 of the next few minutes. That hat, that face, those flat 
 black feet, that strut, that smile. I felt a sob of laughter 
 beginning somewhere about my waist-belt, and yet my 
 heart ached with fear for Dennis. Oh, if only His Mag- 
 nificence would move a little quicker, and let us have it 
 over! 
 
 There’s a fish at Bermuda that is known as the toad-fish 
 (so Alfonso told me), and when you tickle it it blows it- 
 self out after the manner of the frog who tried to be as big 
 as an ox. It becomes as round as a football, and if you 
 throw it on the water it floats. If you touch it it sounds 
 (according to Alfonso) “all same as a banjo.” It will live 
 some time out of water; and if it shows any signs of sub- 
 siding, another tickle will blow it out again. ‘Too 
 muchee tickle him burst,” said Alfonso. I had heard this 
 decidedly nasty story just before the pilot’s departure, and 
 it was now the culmination of all the foolish thoughts that 
 gibbered in my head. I couldn’t help thinking of it as I 
 held my breath to suppress my laughter, and quaked for 
 the yet more volatile Dennis. Oh, dear! Why wouldn’t 
 that mass of absurdity walk quicker? His feet were big 
 enough. Meanwhile we stood like mutes—eyes front! 
 To have looked at each other would have been fatal. 
 “Too muchee tickle him burst.” I hoped we looked 
 grave (I have little doubt now that we looked as if we were 
 having our photographs taken). The sob had mounted 
 from my waist to my throat. My teeth were set, my 
 eyes watered, but the pilot was here now. Ina moment he 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 225 
 
 would be down the side. With an excess of zeal I found 
 strength to raise my hand for a salute. 
 
 I fear it was this that pleased him, and made him stop ; 
 and we couldn’t help looking at him. His hat was a little 
 set back for the heat, his black triangular feet were in 
 the third position of dancing. He smiled. 
 
 There was an explosive sound to my right. I knew 
 what it meant. Dennis had “ burst.” 
 
 And then I never felt less like laughing in my life. Vis- 
 ions of insubordination, disrespect, mutiny, flogging, and 
 black-hole, rushed through my head, and I had serious 
 thoughts of falling on my knees before the insulted pilot. 
 With unfeigned gratitude I record that he was as mag- 
 nanimous as he was magnificent. He took no revenge, 
 except in words. What he said was: 
 
 _ “Me one coloured gentleman. You one dam mean 
 white trash ob common sailor. YAH!” 
 
 And with unimpaired dignity he descended the ladder 
 and was rowed away over the prismatic waters. And 
 Alister and I turned round to look for Dennis and found 
 him sitting in the scuppers, wiping the laughter-tears out 
 of his thick eyelashes. 
 
 There was something fateful about that evening, which 
 was perhaps what made the air so heavy. If I had been 
 keeping the log, I should have made the following entry : 
 “Captain got drunk. A ring round the moon. Alister 
 and Dennis quarrelsome.”’ 
 
 I saw the ring round the moon when I was rowing the 
 captain and the mate back from one of the islands, where 
 they had been ashore. Alfonso afterwards pointed it out 
 to me and said, “ Tell you, Jack, I’m glad dis ole tub in 
 harbour now!” From which I concluded that it was an 
 omen of bad weather. 
 
 Alister and Dennis were still sparring. I began to 
 think we’d better stretch a rope and let them have it out 
 with their fists, but I could not make out that there was 
 anything to fight about except that Alister had accused 
 Dennis of playing the fool, and Dennis had said _ that 
 
 Alister was about as good company as a grave-digger. I 
 on 
 
 15 
 
226 . WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 felt very feverish and said so, on which they both began 
 to apologise, and we all turned in for some sleep. 
 
 Next day we were the best of friends, and we got leave 
 to go ashore for a few hours. We were anchored in 
 Grassy Bay, off Ireland Island—that is, off the island 
 where the hulks are, and where the schoolmaster spent 
 those ten long years. Alister and Dennis wanted to take 
 a boat and make for Harrington Sound, a very beautiful 
 land-locked sheet of water, with one narrow entrance 
 through which the tide rushes like a mill-race, but when 
 they heard my reason for wanting to have a look at my 
 friend’s old place of labour and imprisonment, they de- 
 cided to stay with me, which, as it happened, was very 
 lucky for us all. 
 
 We were all three so languid, that though there was 
 much to see and little time in which to see it, when we 
 found three firm and comfortable resting-places among 
 the blocks of white stone in the dockyard, we sat down 
 on them, and contented ourselves with enjoying the 
 beautiful prospect before us. And it so happened that 
 as Dennis said, if we’d “‘ taken a box for the Opera” we 
 could not have placed ourselves better for the marvellous 
 spectacle that it was our good luck to witness. I must try 
 and tell it in order, 
 
 The first thing we noticed was a change among the 
 seabirds. They left their careless, graceful skimming and 
 swooping and got into groups, wheeling about like starlings, 
 and uttering curious cries. And scarcely had we become 
 conscious of this change among the birds than a simul- 
 taneous flutter ran through the Bermudian “ rig-boats ” 
 which had been skimming with equal carelessness about 
 the bay. Now they were hurriedly thrown up into the 
 wind, their wide mainsails lowered and reefed, whilst the 
 impulse spread as if by magic to the men-of-war and 
 ships in the anchorage. Downcame the sails like falling 
 leaves, the rigging swarmed with men bracing yards, 
 lowering top-gallant masts, and preparing—we could not 
 conceive for what. 
 
 . . : © oe ee 
 “What, in the name of fortune ” said Dennisa % 
 
 
 
 manic 
 
 
 
 But at this moment Alister @ried, “Look behind ye, 
 
 > 
 

 
 
 WE AND THE WORLD. 227 
 
 We turned round, and this was what we saw— 
 
 The sky out to seaward was one great half-circle of 
 blue black, but in what sailors call the eye of the storm, 
 was another very regular patch, with true curved outlines of 
 the arc and the horizon. Under this the sea was dazzlingly 
 white, and then in front of that it was a curious green 
 black, and it was tossing and flopping about as if it did 
 not know what to be at. ‘The wind was scarcely to be 
 felt as wind, but we could hear it moaning in a dull way 
 that was indescribably terrifying. Gradually the black- 
 ness seemed to come down over us as if it would swallow 
 us up, and when I looked back to the bay not a bird was 
 to be seen, and every boat was flying into shelter. 
 
 And as they fled, there arose from the empty sea and 
 sky a strange hissing sound, which gradually grew so 
 ‘intense that it became almost a roar; and, ‘as the noise 
 increased, the white line. on the horizon widened and 
 widened. . 
 
 Suddenly there came a lull. It quite startled us. But 
 about half a mile away, I could see over Alister’s shoulders 
 thatethe clouds were blacker, and the sea took up the 
 colour and seemed to heave and rock more sulkily than 
 before. ‘There was no white water here, only a greenish 
 ink. And at the same moment Dennis and Alister each 
 laid a hand upon my arm, but we none of us spoke. We 
 lost ourselves in intense watching. 
 
 For by degrees the black water, leaving its natural 
 motion, seemed to pile up under the black cloud, and then, 
 very suddenly, before one could see how it happened, 
 either the cloud stretched out a trunk to the sea, or the 
 sea to the cloud, and two funnel-shaped masses were 
 joined together by a long, twisting, whirling column of 
 water that neither sea nor sky seemed able to break away 
 from. It was a weird sight to see this dark shape writhe 
 and spin before the storm, and at last the base of it struck 
 a coral reef, and it disappeared, leaving nothing but a 
 blinding squall of rain anda tumult of white waves break- 
 1gon the reef, And then the water whirled and tossed, 
 g its white arms whole sea, which 
 n_ink IMashed itself into 
 
 
 
 
 
 = ee Sires of foam. 
 
 
 
228 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 We relaxed our grip of each other, and drew breath, 
 and Alister stretching his arms seawards after a fashion 
 peculiar to him in moments of extreme excitement, gave 
 vent to his feelings in the following words : 
 
 “Sirs ! yon’s a water-spout.” 
 
 But before we had time to reply, a convict warder, 
 whom we had not noticed, called sharply to us, “ Lie down, 
 or you'll be blown down!” and the gale was upon us. 
 We had quite enough to do to hold on to the ground, and 
 keep the stone-dust out of our eyes by shutting them. 
 Further observations were impossible, though it felt as if 
 everything in the world was breaking up, and tumbling 
 about one’s ears. 
 
 Luckily nothing did strike us, though not more than 
 a hundred yards away, a row of fine trees went down like 
 a pack of cards, each one parallel with its neighbour. 
 House-tiles flew in every direction, shutters were whipped 
 off and whirled away; palm-trees snapped like fishing- 
 rods, and when the wind squall had passed, and we sat 
 up, and tried to get the sand out of our ears, we found the 
 whole place a mass of débris. . 
 
 But when we looked seaward we saw the black arch 
 going as fastas it came. All sense of fever and lassitude 
 had left us. The air was fresh, and calm, and bright, 
 and within half an hour, the tern and seagulls were fishing 
 over the reef and skimming and swooping above the 
 - prismatic waters as before. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 4 Be SAH as the time ; be fire with fire; 
 * * so shall inferior eyes, 
 That porren their behaviours from the great, 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 The dauntless spirit of resolution. ”’ 
 King John, V. i. 
 
 ““CREAKY doors” are said to “hang long” and leaky 
 ships may enjoy a similar longevity. It certainly wasa 
 
 May 
 
 
 
WE -AND THE WORLD. 229 
 
 curious tact that the Water-Lily hardly suffer in that 
 storm, though the damage done to shipping was very 
 great. Big and little men-of-war and merchantmen, very 
 few escaped scot-free, and some dragged their anchors 
 and were either on the reef in the harbour, or ran foul of 
 one another. 
 
 Repairs were the order of the day, but we managed to 
 get ours done and to proceed on our voyage, with very 
 little extra delay. 
 
 I cannot say it was a pleasant cruise, though it brought 
 unexpected promotion to one of the Shamrock three. In 
 this wise: 
 
 The mate was a wicked brute, neither more nor less. I 
 do not want to get into the sailor fashion of using strong 
 terms about trifles, but to call him less than wicked would 
 be to insult goodness, and if brutality makes a brute, he 
 was brute enough in all conscience! Being short-handed 
 at Bermuda, we had shipped a wretched little cabin boy 
 of Portuguese extraction, who was a native of Demerara, 
 and glad to work his passage there, and the mate’s 
 systematic ill-treatment of this poor lad was not less 
 of a torture to us than to Pedro himself, so agonising was 
 it to see, and not dare to interfere ; all we could do was 
 to aid him to the best of our power on the sly. 
 
 The captain, though a sneaking, unprincipled kind of 
 man, was neither so brutal nor, unfortunately, so good a 
 seaman as the mate; and the consequence of this was, 
 that the mate was practically the master, and indulged 
 his Snuffy-like passion for cruelty with impunity, and 
 with a double edge. For, as he was well aware, in ill- 
 treating Pedro, he made us suffer, and we were all helpless 
 alike. 
 
 His hold over the captain was not from superior 
 seamanship alone. ‘The Water-Lily was nominally a 
 “temperance” vessel, but in our case this only meant that 
 no rum was issued to the crew. In the captain’s cabin 
 there was plenty of ‘ liquor,’”’ and the captain occasionally 
 got drunk, and each time that he did so, the influence of 
 the mate seemed riveted firmer than before. Crews are 
 often divided in their allegiance, but the crew of the 
 
230 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 Water-Lily were of one mind. From the oldest to the 
 youngest we all detested the mate, and a natural manli- 
 ness of feeling made us like the captain better than we 
 ought otherwise have done, because (especially as regards 
 the drinking) we considered his relations with the mate 
 to be characterised by anything but “‘fair play.” No love 
 was really lost between them, and if the captain came on 
 ae and took the lead, they were almost certain to quar- 
 
 ; (and none the less so, that we rushed with alacrity 
 ic ies the captain’s orders, whereas with the mate’s it 
 was all “dragging work,” as nearly as we dare show 
 unwillingness). 
 
 What led to the extraordinary scene I am about to 
 relate, I do not quite know. I suppose a mixture of 
 things. Alister’s minute, unbroken study of what was now 
 his profession, the “almost monotonous ” (so Dennis said) 
 perseverance with which he improved every opportunity, 
 and absorbed all experience and information on the 
 subject of seamanship, could hardly escape the notice of 
 any intelligent captain. Our captain was not much of a 
 seaman, but he wasa’cute trader, and knew “a good 
 article”? in any line. The Scotch boy was soon a better 
 sailor than the mate, which will be the less surprising, 
 when one remembers how few men in any trade give more 
 than about a third of their real powers to their work—and 
 Alister gave all his. This, and the knowledge that he was 
 supported by the public opinion of a small but able-bodied 
 crew, may have screwed the captain’s courage to the 
 sticking-point, or the mate may have pushed matters just 
 too far; what happened was this: 
 
 The captain and the mate had a worse quarrel than 
 usual, after which the mate rope’s-ended poor Pedro till 
 the lad lost consciousness, and whilst I was comforting 
 him below, the brute fumed up and down deck like a 
 hyena (“sight 0’ blood all same as drink to the likes of 
 him,” said Alfonso, “make he drunk for more’’)—and 
 vented some of his rage in abuse of the captain, such as 
 we had often heard, but which no one had ever ventured 
 to report, On this occasion Alfonso did report it. As I 
 have said, I only knew results. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 231 
 
 At eight o’clock next morning all hands were called 
 aft. 
 
 The captain was quite sober, and he made very short 
 work of it. He told us briefly and plainly that the mate 
 was mate no longer, and asked if we had any wish as to 
 his successor, who would be chosen from the crew. We 
 left the matter in his hands, as he probably expected, on 
 which, beckoning to Alister, he said, ‘‘Then I select 
 Alister Auchterlay. He has proved himself a good and 
 careful seaman, and I believe you all like and trust him. 
 I beg you to show this now by obeying him. And _ for 
 the rest of the voyage remember that he is Afzster Auch- 
 terlay.” 
 
 “Mr. Auchterlay”’ more than justified the captain’s 
 choice. His elevation made no change in our friendship, 
 though the etiquette of the vessel kept us.a good deal 
 apart and Dennis and I were all the “thicker” in con- 
 sequence. Alister was not only absolutely loyal to his 
 trust, but his gratitude never wearied of displaying 
 itself in zeal. I often wondered how much of this the 
 captain had foreseen. As Alfonso said, he was “ good 
 trader.” 
 
 The latter part of the voyage was, in these altered 
 circumstances, a holiday to what had gone before. The 
 captain was never actually drunk again, and the Water- 
 Lily got to look clean, thanks largely to the way Pedro 
 slaved at scraping, sweeping, swabbing, rubbing, and 
 polishing, to please his new master. She was really in 
 something like respectable harbour trim when we ap- 
 proached the coast of British Guiana. 
 
 Georgetown, so Alfonso told me, looks very odd from 
 the sea. The first thing that strikes you being the tops of 
 the trees which seem to be growing out of the water, but 
 as you get nearer you discover that this effect is produced 
 by the low level of the land which is protected frogn the 
 sea by a sea-wall and embankment. I have no doubt 
 Alfonso was right, but when the time came I forgot all 
 about it, for it was not in ordinary circumstances that I 
 first saw Georgetown. 
 
 It was one of those balmy, moonlit tropical nights of 
 
232 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 which I have spoken; but when we were within about an 
 hour’s sail of the mouth of the Demerara river, the sky 
 ahead of us began to redden as if the evening had forgotten 
 itself and was going back to sunset. We made numberless 
 suggestions, including: that of a display of fireworks in our 
 honour, but as the crimson spread and palpitated, like an 
 Aurora Borealis, and then shot up higher and flooded a 
 large area of sky, Alister sang out “ Fire!” and we all 
 crowded forward in anxious curiosity. 
 
 As might be expected, Alfonso and Pedro were ina 
 state of the wildest excitement. Alfonso, of course, 
 thought of his lady-love, and would probably have 
 collapsed into complete despair, but for the necessity of 
 keeping up his spirits sufficiently to snub every suggestion 
 made by the cabin-boy, whose rival familiarity with the 
 topography of Georgetown he could by no means tolerate; 
 whilst Pedro, though docile as a spaniel to us, despised - 
 Alfonso, as only a half-caste can despise a negro some- 
 what blacker than himself, and burned for safe opportu- 
 nities of displaying his superiority. But when Pedro 
 expressed a somewhat contemptuous conviction that this 
 glowing sky was the result of rubbish burning on planta- 
 tions up the country, and skilfully introduced an allusion 
 to relatives of his own who had some property in cane- 
 fields, Alfonso’s wrath became sublime. 
 
 “You no listen to dat trash ob cabin-boy,” said he. 
 “Wait a bit, and I’se find him dirty work below dat’s fit 
 for he. Keep him from troubling gentlemen like us wid 
 him lies. Plantation? Yah! He make me sick. Tell 
 you, me know Demarary well ’nuff. De town is in flames. 
 Oh, my Georgiana!” 
 
 So much, indeed, was beyond aaabe before long, and as 
 
 the fire seemed perilously close to the wharves and ship- 
 ping, the captain decided to lie off for the night. The 
 thermometer in his cabin stood at ninety degrees, which 
 perhaps accounted for his having no anxiety to go ashore, 
 but, in spite of the heat, Dennis and I were wild to see 
 what was going on, and when Alister called to us to help 
 to lower the jolly-boat, and we found we were to accom- 
 pany him, we were not dilatory with the necessary prepa- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 233 
 
 rations, and were soon rapidly approaching the burning 
 town. 
 
 It was a strange sight as we drew nearer and nearer. 
 Before us, on the sea, there was a line where the cold silver 
 of the moonshine met the lurid reflections of the fiery 
 sky, and the same cool light and hot glow changed places 
 over our cheeks as we turned our heads, and contrasted on 
 the two sides of the sail of the jolly-boat. And then we 
 got within ear-shot. A great fire is terrible to see, but it 
 is almost more terrible to hear, and it is curious how like 
 it is to the sound of great waters or a great wind. The 
 roar, the hiss, the crackle, the pitiless approach—as 
 Dennis said 
 , “T’ll tell ye what it is, Jack. These elemental giants, 
 wher they do break loose from our service, have one note 
 ‘of defiance amongst them; and it’s that awe-ful roar!” 
 
 When we stood in the street where the fire was, it was 
 deafening, and it kept its own distinctness above all other 
 noises ; and with the fire-bells, the saving and losing of 
 household goods, and the trampling and talking of the 
 crowd, there were noises not afew. Dennis and I were 
 together, for Alister had business to do, but he had given 
 us leave to gratify our curiosity, adding a kindly warning 
 tome to take care of myself, and keep “‘that feather- 
 brained laddie,” Dennis, out of danger’s way. We had 
 no difficulty in reaching the point of interest, for, ludi- 
 crous to say, the fire was in Water Street; that is it was 
 in the street rnnning parallel with the river and the 
 wharves; the main business street of Georgetown. We 
 were soon in the thick of the crowd, protecting our eyes 
 from the falling fragments of burning wood, and acquir- 
 ing information. That heap of smoking embers—so we 
 were told—was the big store where it first broke out, the 
 house yonder, where the engines were squirting away, 
 and the fire putting tongues of flame out of the windows 
 at them, as if in derision, cost two thousand dollars 
 “Ah! there goes the roof!” 
 
 It fell in accordingly, and, in the sudden blaze of its 
 destruction, I saw a man come riding along, before whom 
 the people made way, and then someone pulled me back 
 and said: 
 
 
 
 
 
234 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “The Governor.” 
 
 He stopped near us, and beckoned some one to his 
 side. 
 
 Seishe- comiug 7.” 
 
 ‘“¢ FHe’s here, sir;” and then into the vivid glare stepped 
 a tall, graceful, and rather fantastic-looking young gentle- 
 man ina white jacket, and with a long fair moustache, 
 who raised his hand with a quick salute, and then stood 
 at the governor’s Stirrup. 
 
 ‘““T know that fellow, I’m sure,” said Dennis. 
 
 ‘“ Royal Engineers officer,” said my neighbour. ‘ Mark 
 my words, that means gunpowder,” and the good man, 
 who was stout and steaming with perspiration, seemed to 
 feel like one who has asked for a remedy for toothache 
 and been answered by the dentist—‘‘ Gunpowder is what 
 it means! And if our governor had sent for a cobbler, 
 he'd have said, ‘ Nothing like leather,’ and mended the 
 hose of the steam-pump. And that store of mine, sir, 
 didn’t cost a cent less than ta 
 
 But I was watching the engineer officer, and catching 
 fragments of the rapid consultation. 
 
 ‘“‘ Quite inevitable, sir, in my opinion.” 
 
 “Very good. You have full powers—instruct—colonel 
 —magazine—do your best.” 
 
 The engineer officer had very long white hands, which 
 I noticed as one went rapidly to his forehead, whilst with 
 the other he caressed the dark nose of the governor’s 
 horse, which had been rubbing its head against his 
 shoulder. And then the governor rode away and left 
 him. 
 
 The word “gunpowder” seemed to have brought 
 soldiers to the spot in a sort of natural sequence. There 
 was more quick saluting and short orders, and then all 
 disappeared but one bronzed-looking sergeant, who fol- 
 lowed the engineer stripling up and down as he jerked 
 his head, and pulled his moustache, and seemed to have 
 some design upon the gutters of the house-eaves, which 
 took a good deal of explaining and saluting. Then we 
 heard wheels and running footsteps, and I became sensi- 
 ble of great relief from the pressure of the crowd. The 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 235 
 
 soldiers had come back again, running a hand-cart with 
 four barrels of gunpowder, and the public made way for 
 them even more respecttully than for the governor. As 
 they set it down and wiped their faces, the sergeant 
 began to give orders rather more authoritatively than his 
 superior, and he also pointed to the gutters. On which 
 the soldiers vanished as before. 
 
 ‘““Can’t we help, I wonder?” said I. 
 
 “That’s just what I’m thinking,” said Dennis, and he 
 strode up to the officer. But he was busy with his subor- 
 dinate. 
 
 “Well, sergeant ?” 
 
 ‘“‘ Not a fuse in the place, sir.” 
 
 “Pretty state of things! Get a hatchet.” 
 
 “They sent one, sir.” 
 
 “ All right. This is the house.” 
 
 “ The roof ’as caught, you know, sir?” 
 
 “The less time to waste,’ was the reply, and the 
 young man took up a barrel in his hands and walked in 
 with it, kicking the door open with his foot. The ser- 
 geant must almost have trodden on his officer’s heels, as 
 he followed with the second, and before I could speak 
 Dennis had shouldered the third. 
 
 ‘“‘ Here’s diversion!” said he, and away he went. 
 
 There was the fourth barre] and there was I. I con- 
 fess that I felt a twinge, but I followed the rest, and my 
 barrel behaved as well as if it had been a cask of mo- 
 lasses, though the burning wood fell thickly over us all. 
 As I groped my way in, the sergeant and Dennis came 
 out, and by the time that they and some soldiers returned, 
 dragging pieces of house-gutters after them, the fantastic 
 young officer was pouring the gunpowder into a heap in 
 the middle of the floor, by the light of a corner of the 
 ceiling which was now on fire, and I was holding up a 
 shutter, under his orders, to protect it from premature 
 sparks. When he set down the barrel he shook some 
 dirt from his fingers, and then pushing back his white 
 shirt-sleeves from his wrists, he filled his joined hands as 
 full with gunpowder as they would hold, and separating 
 
 ee very slightly let a tiny stream run out on to the floor 
 
236 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 as he walked backwards; and as fast as this train was 
 laid, the thin line was covered from falling embers by the 
 gutters, turned over it upside down. Through the room, 
 down along a passage between two houses, and so into 
 the street, where the crowd had more or less assembled 
 again. ‘Then the officer emptied his hands, dusted them 
 together, and said, “ Clear everybody out.” 
 
 The sergeant saluted—“ May I fire it, sir?” 
 
 ‘““No, thank you, sergeant, clear everybody out.” The 
 sergeant was evidently disappointed, and vented this on 
 the civilian public.— Zzaz,” said he, turning a blackened 
 thumb over his shoulder, “is a’eap of gunpowder. It’s 
 just a going to be hexploded.” There was no need to 
 ‘clear everybody out.” Zhey went. And we found our- 
 selves alone with the soldiers, who were laughing, and 
 saying that the crowd had taken a big cast-iron tank for 
 the heap of gunpowder. We stood a little aside in obedi- 
 ence to a wave of the young officer’s arm. Then he 
 crossed the street to pick up a long piece of burning 
 ~ wood, and came back, the moonlight and the firelight 
 playing by turns upon him. 
 
 I honestly confess that, fierce as the heat was, I turned 
 cold. The experiences of the next few minutes were as 
 follows: I saw the young engineer fire the train, and I 
 heard a puff, and then I saw him fall, face downwards, 
 behind the tank. I gave acry and started forward, and 
 was brought up short by a back-hander on my chest from 
 the sergeant. Then came a scrambling, rushing sound, 
 which widened into a deep roar, shaking the ground 
 beneath our feet, and then the big building at which we 
 were gaping seemed to breathe out a monstrous sigh, and 
 then it fell in, and tumbled to pieces, quietly, swiftly, and 
 utterly, like a house of cards. 
 
 And the fantastic-looking young officer got up and 
 shook himself, and worried the bits of charred wood out 
 of his long yellow moustache. 
 
 a 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 “Die Welt kann dir nichts darbieten, was sie von dir nicht emp- 
 fienge.” 
 SCHILLER.—Ler Menschenfeind. 
 
 AFTER Alister had done the captain’s business, he made 
 his way to the post-office and got our letters, thinking, as 
 he cannily observed, that in widespread misfortunes the 
 big are implicated with the little, that fire spares public 
 buildings no more than private residences, and that if the 
 post-office was overtaken by the flames, we might lose not 
 only words of affection, but perhaps enclosures of value. 
 In short, he had brought our letters, and dearly welcome 
 
 they were. 
 
 I had three ; one from my father, one from my mother 
 (with a postscript by Jem), and a long one from Charlie. 
 I read my father’s first ; the others were sure to be tender 
 and chatty, and I could enjoy them at leisure. 
 
 My father’s letter was, for him, a wonderful effort of 
 composition, and it was far kinder than I had expected 
 or deserved. He blamed me; but he took some blame 
 to himself for our misunderstandings, which he hoped 
 would never recur. He said (very justly) that if he had 
 spoken harshly, he had acted as he believed to be best 
 for me. Uncle Henry’s office was an opening many 
 parents envied for their sons, and he had not really 
 believed that my fancy for the sea was more than a boy- 
 ish whim. He was the last man in the world to thwart a 
 real vocation, and no doubt (as my Uncle Henry and he 
 had agreed, and, thank Gop, they had had a very pleas- 
 ant brotherly bit of a chat over old times, and a glass of 
 my grandfather’s 1815 port) every Briton had a natural 
 tendency to rule the waves, and it was stronger in some 
 lads than others, as ‘Robinson Crusoe’ alone would 
 prove, a book which my uncle remembered had nearly 
 cost him his life on a badly-made raft on the mill-dam, 
 when he was a lad, and which would be read by boys with 
 the real stuff in them, when half these modern books the 
 
238 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 Woods littered the farm parlour with were lighting thé 
 fire. My Uncle Henry had come forward in a very grati- 
 fying way. He had mentioned that Benson, an exceed- 
 ingly intelligent clerk of his, had spoken of me in the 
 highest terms, and seemed to think that there was hardly 
 anything in the way of distinction in an adventurous 
 career which might not be open to me. Iwas not to be 
 made vain by this, as Benson appeared to be an affection- 
 ate fellow, with a respect for the family of his employer 
 very rare in these days. It had been a great comfort to 
 my father, this visit from Uncle Henry, They were both 
 greyheaded now, and Jem and I were all they had to 
 come after them. Blood was thicker than water. As to 
 my poor mother 
 
 For a few minutes the letter danced up and down as if 
 writ in water; then I dried my eyes, and found that she 
 bore up pretty well in hopes of my return, and that Uncle 
 Henry was communicating by this mail with a man of 
 business in Halifax, N. S., who was instructed to take a 
 passage home for me in a good vessel, and to defray any 
 expenses of a reasonable nature in connection with my 
 affairs. When I was safe home, my father added, he 
 would take the best advice as to sending me to sea ina 
 proper and suitable way. Dr. Brown had some relatives 
 who were large ship-owners, and he seemed to be much 
 interested in my career, out of regard to the family. I 
 was to let nothing hinder me from coming home at once, 
 as I valued the love and blessing of my affectionate 
 father. 
 
 My mother’s letter was infinitely tender, and it was 
 curiously strong. Not a reproach or a lamentation, but 
 some good counsel, shrewd as well as noble, and plenty 
 of home news. Only at the end did she even speak of 
 herself: ‘‘ You see, my son, I have never had men belong- 
 ing to me who earned their livelihood in foreign countries 
 and by dangerous ways, but you may trust your old 
 mother to learn to do and bear what other mothers go 
 through with. She will learn to love the sea because you 
 are a sailor, but, Jack, you must always give her a 
 
 
 
 woman’s bitter-sweet privilege of saying good-bye, and of 
 
 / 
 
 
 

 
 WE AND THE WORLD. 2308" 
 packing up your things. I am getting the time over till 
 you come back with socks. I am afraid they will blister 
 your feet. Martha does not like them because they are 
 like what*the boys wear in the coal-pits, but Dr. Brown 
 declares they are just right. He chose the worsted when 
 we went to see Miss Bennet’s mother at the Berlin shop, 
 and left it himself as he drove home, with a bottle of red 
 lavender for my palpitations. I shall never forget his 
 kindness. He sat here for an hour and a half on Sun- 
 day, and spoke of you to your father as if you had been 
 his own son; and he said himself he walked up and down 
 Miss Bennet’s, right through the shop and into the back 
 parlour and out again, talking about you, till the place 
 was quite full, and Mrs. Simpson could not remember. 
 what she had dropped in for, which, as Dr. Brown said, 
 was not to be wondered at, considering Miss Bennet 
 completely forgot to take him upstairs to see her mother, 
 and it never crossed his own mind till he stopped at our 
 door and found the old lady’s sleeping draught with my 
 red drops. He says he called at your Uncle Henry’s 
 office, and congratulated him on having a nephew of 
 spirit, and it was market day, so the office was full. Jem 
 says Iam to leave room for him, as he can’t think of 
 enough to say to fill a letter of his own, so I will only say 
 Gop bless you! my darling boy, and bring you safe home 
 to your poor mother. 
 
 *“P. S.—If you love me, come as quick as you can. 
 You shall go off again.”’ 
 
 This was Charlie’s letter : 
 
 ‘““My DEAR JAcK—I was. so glad to get your letter. I 
 knew you had gone off at, last. It did not surprise me, 
 for I was sure you would go some day. I believe I have 
 ‘a very mean spirit, for I felt rather hurt at first that you 
 did not tell me ; but Mr. Wood gave me a good scolding, 
 and said I was not fit to have a friend if I could not trust 
 him out of sight or out of hearing. And that’s quite true. 
 Besides, I think I knew more about it after Jem had been 
 down. He has been so jolly to me since you left. It 
 must be a splendid life on board-ship, and I am glad you 
 have been in the rigging, and didn’t fall off. I wish you 
 
240 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 had seen an iceberg or a water-spout, but perhaps you 
 will. For two days and two nights I was very miserable, 
 and then Jenny rode down on Shag, and brought me a 
 book that did me a great deal of good, and I’ll tell you 
 why. It’s about a man whose friend is going to travel 
 round the world, like you, and he has to be left behind, 
 like me. Well, what does he do but make up his mind to 
 travel round his own garden, and write a history of his 
 adventures, just as if he had been abroad. And that’s the 
 book ; and you can’t tell what a jolly one it is. I mean to 
 do the same, only as you are at sea I shall call it a Log. 
 ‘Log of a voyage round the Garden, the Croft, and the 
 Orchard, by the Friend he left behind him.’ That’s good, 
 isn’t it? I’ve been rather bothered about whether I should 
 have separate books for each, or mix them all up; and 
 then, besides, I’ve got to consider how to manage about 
 the different times of year, for you know, of course, the 
 plants and the beasts and everything are different at 
 different times ; but if I have a log of each place for each 
 month, it would not be done by the time you come home. 
 I think perhaps I shall have note-books for the four 
 seasons, and that’ll take a good while. Twg of the best 
 chapters in Jenny’s book are called ‘on my face’ and ‘on 
 my back,’ and they are about what he sees lying on his 
 face and then on his back. I’m going to do the same, 
 and put down everything, just as it comes; beetles, 
 chrysalises, flowers, funguses, mosses, earth-nuts, and 
 land-snails, all just as I find them. If one began with 
 different note-books, for the creatures, and the plants, and 
 the shells, it would be quite endless. I think I shall start 
 at that place in the hedge in the croft where we found the 
 humble-bee’s nest. I should like to find a mole-cricket, 
 
 but I don’t know if they live about here. Perhaps our’ 
 
 soil isn’t ight enough for them to make their tunnels in, 
 but one ought to find no end of curious burrowing creat- 
 ures when one is on one’s face, besides grubs of moths to 
 hatch afterwards. When I am on my back, I fancy what 
 I shall see most of are spiders. You can’t conceive what 
 a lot of spiders there are in the world, all sorts and sizes. 
 They are divided into hunters, wanderers, weavers, and 
 
 | 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 241 
 
 swimmers. I expect you'll see some queer ones, if you 
 go to hot places. And oh, Jack! talking of burrows, of 
 course you’re in Nova Scotia, and that’s where Cape 
 Sable is, where the stormy petrels make their houses in 
 the sand. They are what sailors call Mother Carey’s 
 Chickens, you know. I’m sure we’ve read about them 
 in adventure books; they always come with storms, and 
 sailors think they build their nests on the wave. But 
 they don’t, Jack, so you mustn’t think so. They make 
 burrows in the sand, and all day they are out on the wing, 
 picking up what the storms toss to the top, and what the 
 cooks throw overboard, and then they go home, miles and 
 miles and miles at night, and feed their young. They 
 don’t take the trouble to make houses if they can find any 
 old rabbit-burrows ‘near enough to the sea, Mr. Wood 
 says; like the puffins. Do you know, one evening when 
 old Isaac came to see me, I made him laugh about the 
 puffins till the tears ran down his face. It was with 
 showing him that old stuffed puffin, and telling him how. 
 the puffin gets into a rabbit-burrow, and when the rabbit 
 comes back they set to and fight, and the puffin generally 
 gets the best of it with having such a great hooked nose. 
 Isaac was so funny. He said he’d seen the rabbits out 
 on the spree many and many a moonlight night when 
 sober folks were in bed; and then he smacked his knees 
 and said, ‘But I’d give owt to see one on ’em just nip 
 home and find a Pooffin upon t’ hearthstun.’ And, my 
 dear Jack, who else has been to see me, do you think? 
 Fancy! Lorraine! You remember our hearing the poor 
 colonel was dead, and had left Lorraine all that he had? 
 Well, do you know it is a great deal more than we thought. 
 I mean he’s got a regular estate and a big house with old 
 pictures inside, and old trees outside. Quite a swell. 
 Poor Lorraine! I don’t mean poor because of the estate, 
 because he’s rich, of course; but do you know, I think 
 he’s sadder than ever. He’s very much cut up that the 
 colonel died, of course, but he seems desperate about 
 everything, and talks more about suicide than he did at 
 ' Snuffy’s, Jem says. One thing he is quite changed about; 
 he’s so clean! and quite a dandy. He looked awfully 
 16 
 
2A2 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 handsome, and Jenny said he was beautifully dressed, 
 She says his pocket-handkerchief and his tie matched, and 
 that his clothes fitted him so splendidly, though they were 
 rough. Well, he’s got a straight back, Jack; like you! 
 It’s hard he can’t be happy. But I’m so sorry for him. 
 He went on dreadfully because you’d gone, and said that 
 was just his luck, and then he wished to Heaven he were 
 with you, and said you were a lucky dog, to be leading a 
 devil-me-care life in the open air, with nothing to bother 
 you. He didn’t tell me what he’d got to bother him. 
 Lots of things, he said. And he said life was a wretched 
 affair, all round, and the only comfort was none of his 
 family lived to be old. 
 
 ‘“ Wednesday. J had to stop on Monday, my head and 
 back were so bad, and all yesterday too. Dr. Brown 
 came to see me, and talked a lot about you. I am better 
 to-day. I think I had rather wound up my head with 
 note-books. You know I do lke having lists of every- 
 thing, and my sisters have been very good. They got a 
 lot of ruled paper very cheap, and have made me no end 
 of books with brown paper backs, and Dr. Brown has 
 given me a packet of bottle labels. You’ve only got to 
 lick them and stick them on, and write the titles. He 
 gave me some before, you remember, to cut into strips 
 to fasten the specimens in my fern collection. I’ve got a 
 dozen and a half books, but there will not be one too 
 many. You see eight will go at once, with the four 
 seasons ‘on my face,’ and the four ‘on my back.’ Then 
 I want two or three for the garden. For one thing I must 
 have a list of our perennials. JI am collecting a good lot. 
 Old Isaac has brought me no end of new ones out of 
 different gardens in the village, and now the villagers 
 know I want them, they bring me plants from all kinds 
 of out-of-the-way places, when they go to see their friends. 
 I’ve taken to it a good deal the last few weeks, and I'll 
 tell you why. It was the week before you ran away that 
 Bob Furniss came up one evening, and for a long time 
 I could not think what he was after. He brought me a 
 Jack-in-the-green polyanthus and a crimson bergamot 
 from his mother, and he set them and watered them, and 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 243 
 
 said he ‘reckoned flowers was a nice pastime for any one 
 that was afflicted,’ but I felt sure he’d got something 
 more to say, and at last it came out. He is vexed that 
 he used td play truant so at school and never learned 
 anything. He can’t read a newspaper, and he can’t write 
 or reckon, and he said he was ‘shamed’ to go to school 
 and learn among little boys, and he. knew I was a good 
 scholar, and he’d come to ask if I would teach him now 
 and then in the evening, and he would work in the garden 
 for mein return. I told him I’d teach him without that, 
 but he said he ‘liked things square and fair,’ and Mr. 
 Wood said I was to let him; so he comes up after work- 
 hours one night and I teach him, and then he comes up 
 the next evening and works in the garden. It’s very jolly 
 because now I can plot things out my own way, and do 
 them without hurting my back. I’m going to clear all 
 the old rose-bushes out of the shady border. - The trees 
 are so big now, it’s so shady that the roses never come 
 to anything but blight, and I mean to make a fernery 
 there instead. Bob says there’s a little wood belonging 
 to Lord Beckwith that the trustees have cut down com- 
 pletely, and it’s going to be ploughed up. They’re stub- 
 bing up the stumps now, and we can have as many as we 
 like for the carting away. Nothing makes such good 
 ferneries, you get so many crannies and corners. Bob 
 says it’s not far from the canal and he thinks he could 
 borrow a hand-cart from the man that keeps the post- 
 office up there, and get a load or two down to the canal- 
 bank, and then fetch them down to our place in the 
 ‘Adela.’ Oh, how I wish you were here to help! Jem’s 
 going to. He’s awfully kind to me now youw’re gone. 
 Talking of the ‘ Adela,’ if you are very long away (and 
 some voyages last two or three years), I think I shall 
 finish the garden, and the croft and the orchard, or at any 
 rate one journey round them; and | think for another of 
 your voyages, I will do the log of the ‘Adela’ on the 
 canal, for with water-plants, and shells, and larvee, and 
 beasts that live in the banks, it would be splendid. Do 
 you know one might give a whole book up easily to a list 
 of nothing but willows and osiers, and the different kinds 
 
244 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 of birds and insects that live in them? But the number 
 of kinds there are of some things is quite wonderful. 
 What do you think of more than a hundred species of 
 iris, and I’ve only got five in the garden, but one of them 
 is white. I don’t suppose you’ll have much time to col. 
 lect things, but I keep hoping that some day, if I live, 
 you’ll command a ship of your own, and take me with 
 you, as they do take scientific men some voyages. I 
 hope [ shall live. I don’t think I get any worse. Crip- 
 ples do sometimes live a long time. I asked Dr. Brown 
 if he believed any cripple had ever lived to be a hundred, 
 and he said he didn’t know of one, nor yet ninety nor 
 eighty, for I asked him. But he’s sure cripples have 
 lived to be seventy. IfI do, I’ve got fifty-four years yet. 
 That sounds pretty well, but it soon goes, if one has a lot 
 to do. Mr. Wood doesn’t think it likely you could com- 
 mand a vessel for twenty years at least, That only leaves 
 thirty-four for scientific research, and all the arranging 
 at home besides. I’ve given up one of my books to 
 plotting this out in the rough, and I see that there’s 
 plenty of English work for twenty years, even if I could 
 count on all my time, which (that’s the worst of having a 
 bad back and head!) I can’t. There’s one thing I should 
 like to find out, if ever you think of going to Japan, and 
 that’s how they dwarf big plants like white lilacs, and get 
 them to flower in tiny pots. Isaac says he thinks it must 
 be continual shifting that does it—shifting and forcing. 
 But I fancy they must have some dodge of taking very 
 small cuttings from particular growths of the wood. I 
 mean to try some experiments. JI am marking your jour- 
 neys on a map, and where anything happens to you I put 
 A, for adventure, in red ink. I have put A, where you 
 picked up Dennis O’Moore. He must be very nice. 
 Tell him I hope I shall see him some day, and your 
 Scotch friend too; I hope they won’t make you quite for- 
 get your poor friend Charlie. 
 
 ““P, S.—Since I finished, a parcel came. What do 
 you think Lorraine has done? He has paid for me to be 
 a life member of a great London library and sent me 
 the catalogue. I can have out fifteen books ata time. 
 
 $. 
 Wy 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 245 
 
 There are hundreds of volumes. I can’t write any more, 
 my back aches so with putting crosses against the books 
 I want to read. ‘The catalogue is rather heavy. I think 
 I shall use: one of my books to make a list in of what I 
 want to read during this year. Isn’t it good of Lorraine? 
 Poor Lorraine !”’ 
 
 Having devoured my own letters, I looked up to see 
 how my comrades were enjoying their share of the budget 
 which the Halifax postmaster had faithfully forwarded. 
 
 The expression on Dennis O’Moore’s face was so mixed 
 that it puzzled me, but he did not look satisfied with 
 his letter, for he kept drawing it out again, and shaking 
 it, and peeping into the envelope as if he had lost some- 
 thing. At last he put the whole thing into his pocket with 
 a resigned air, and drove his hands through his black 
 curls saying— 
 
 “The Squire all over, Gop help him !”’ 
 
 ‘What has he done now?” I asked. 
 
 “Sent me twenty pounds, and forgotten to enclose 
 itl” 
 
 CHA Pr Ra a Vel. 
 
 “ Thus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis 
 Danced his Beggar’s Dance to please them, 
 And returning sat down laughing.” 
 fliawatha. 
 
 ** Gop be thanked, the meanest of His creatures 
 Boasts two soul-sides ; one to face the world with, 
 One to show a woman when he loves ker.’’ 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 Tue fact that when we got back to the Water-Lily, 
 Alister found the captain dead drunk in his cabin, sealed 
 our resolution to have nothing more to do with her when 
 we were paid off, and our engagement ended (as had been 
 agreed upon), in the Georgetown harbour. ‘There was no 
 fear that we should fail to get berths as common seamen 
 now, if we wanted them; and there was not a thing to 
 
240 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 regret about the ‘ Slut,’ except perhaps Alfonso, of whom 
 we were really fond. As it turned out, we had not even to 
 mourn for him, for he cut cable from the Water-Lily too, 
 having plans of his own, about which he made a great deal 
 of mystery and displayed his wonted importance, but 
 whether they were matrimonial or professional, I doubt if 
 ~ even Dennis knew at the time. 
 
 Alister Aad something tolose. It was not a small con- 
 sideration to give up his mate’s berth, but he said the 
 whole conduct of the ship was ‘ against his conscience,” 
 and that settled the matter, to him. 
 
 When we were our own masters once more, we held 
 anotner big council about our future. If I went home at 
 once, I must, somehow or other, get back to Halifax before 
 I could profit by Uncle Henry’s arrangement. If Dennis 
 went home, he must equally depend on himself, for there 
 was no saying when the Squire would, or would not, find 
 out and rectify his omission. Alister’s mother had sent 
 him some stamps for postage, and his paternal relative 
 
 had sent him a message to the effect that having had 
 
 neither word nor wittens of him for a considerable period, 
 and having feared the worst, he was thankful to learn of 
 his safe arrival in Halifax, Nova Scotia; and trusted that 
 the step he had taken, if a thought presumptuous at his 
 years yet betokened a spirit of self-reliance, and might 
 prove not otherwise than conducive to his welfare in the 
 outcome. 
 
 Altogether, we were, practically, as much dependent on 
 ourselves as when we sat under the pine-trees in Nova 
 Scotia. 
 
 “We'll look up my cousin, to begin with,” said Dennis. 
 
 ‘Are ye pairfectly convinced that he’s here?” asked 
 Alister, warned by his own experience. 
 
 “ Certainly,” said Dennis. 
 
 ‘““Have ye corresponded with him of late?” pursued 
 Alister. 
 
 “Not I indeed. ‘The O’Moore’s are by no means good 
 letter-writers at the best of times, but he’d have let us 
 know if he was deaa, anyhow, and if he’s alive, we’ll be 
 as welcome as the flowers.” 
 
 a 
 
< 
 
 WE AND THE WORLD 247 
 
 Before Alister could reply, he was interrupted bya 
 message from our late captain. The Water-Lily was 
 still in harbour, and the captain wanted the ex-mate to 
 help him on some matters connected with the ship or her 
 cargo. Alister would not refuse, and he was to be paid 
 for the job, so we hastily arranged that he should go, and 
 that Dennis and I should devote the evening to looking 
 up the Irish cousin, and we appointed to meet on the — 
 “stelling ” or wharf, alongside of which the Water-Lily 
 lay, at eleven o'clock on the following morning. * 
 
 ‘“‘ T was.a fool not to speak to that engineer fellow the . 
 other night,” said Dennis, as we strolled on the shady side 
 of a wide street, down the middle of which ran a wide 
 water-dyke fringed with oleanders. “‘ He would be certain 
 to know where my cousin’s place is.” 
 
 “Do you know him?” I asked, with some eagerness, 
 for the young officer was no small hero in my eyes. 
 
 POneryves @culenswellae> Leis as iieuténant in’ ~the 
 Engineers. He has often stayed at my father’s for shoot- 
 ing. But he has been abroad the last two or three 
 years, and I suppose I’ve grown. He didn’t know 
 
 Brenete; hers 1) -saidil. 
 
 He was coming out of a garden-gate on the other side 
 of the street. But he crossed the road saying, ‘“ Hi, 
 
 my lads!” and putting his hand into his pocket as he 
 
 came. 
 
 Sei erers diversion, Jack!” chuckled Dennis; “he’s 
 going to tip us for our assistance in the eunpowder plot. 
 Look at him now! Faith he’s as short of change as my- 
 self. How that half-crown’s eluding him in the corner of 
 his pocket! It’ll be no less, I assure ye. He’s a liberal 
 soul. Now for it!” 
 
 And as the young lieutenant drew near, Dennis _ per- 
 formed an elaborate salute. But his eyes were brimming 
 with roguishness, and in another moment he burst out 
 laughing, and after one rapid glance, and a twist of his 
 moustache that I thought must have torn it up by the 
 roots, the young officer exploded in the same fashion. 
 
 “DENNIS !—What in the name of the mother of mis- 
 chief (and I’m sure she was an O’Moore) are you masquer- 
 
 
 
 & 
 
248 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ading in that dress for, out here?” But before Dennis 
 could reply, the lieutenant became quite grave, and turn- 
 ing him round by the arm, said, “but this isn’t mas- 
 querading, I see. Dennis, my dear fellow, what does it 
 mean?” 
 
 “It means that I was a stowaway, and my friend here 
 a castaway—I mean that I was a castaway, and Jack was 
 a stowaway. Willie, do you remember Barney Barton? ” 
 
 ‘‘Old Barney? Of course I do. How did he come 
 to let you out of his sight?” 
 
 Dennis did not speak. I saw that he could not, so I 
 took upon me to explain. 
 
 “‘'They were out in the hooker, off the Irish coast, and 
 she went to pieces in a gale. Old Barney was lost, and 
 we picked Dennis up,” 
 
 He nodded to me, and with his hand through Dennis 
 O’Moore’s arm, said kindly, ‘‘ We’ll go to my quarters, and 
 talk it all over. Where are you putting up?” 
 
 “We're only just paid off,” said I. 
 
 “Then you’ll rough it with me, of course, both of you.” 
 
 I thanked him, and Dennis said, ‘“ Wiilie, the one thing 
 I’ve been wanting to ask you is, if you know where that 
 cousin of my father’s lives, who is in business out here. 
 Do you know him ?” 
 
 “Certainly. I’m going there to-night, for a dance, and 
 you shall come with me, I can rig you out.” 
 
 They went ahead, arm-in-arm, and I followed at just 
 sufficient distance behind to catch the backward looks of 
 amazement which the young officer’s passing friends were 
 too polite to indulge when exactly on a level with him. 
 He capped first one and then another with an air of 
 apparent unconsciousness, but the contrast between his 
 smart appearance and spotless white uniform, and the 
 patched remains of Dennis’s homespun suit (to say nothing 
 of the big bundle in which he carried his “ duds’’), 
 justified a good deal of staring, of which I experienced 
 an humble share myself. 
 
 Very good and pleasant are the comforts of civilisation, 
 as we felt when we were fairly established in our new 
 friend’s quarters. Not that the first object of life is to 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 249 
 
 be comfortable, or that I was moved by a hairsbreadth 
 from my aims and ambitions, but I certainly enjoyed it; 
 and, as Dennis said, “Oh, the luxury of a fresh-water 
 wash ! ’’—for salt-water realiy will not clean one, and the 
 only way to get a fresh-water wash at sea is to save out 
 of one’s limited allowance. We had done this, to the 
 extent of two-thirds ofa pailful, as we approached Guiana, 
 and had been glad enough all to soap in the same bucket 
 (tossing for turns) and rinse off with clean sea-water, but 
 real “tubs” were a treat indeed! 
 
 I had had mine, and clothed in a white suit, nearly as 
 much too big for me as the old miser’s funeral gloves, 
 was reposing in a very easy chair, when Dennis and his 
 friend began to dress for the dance. The lieutenant was 
 in his bedroom, which opened to the left out of the sitting: 
 room where I sat, and Dennis was tubbing in another 
 room similarly placed on the right. Every. door and 
 window was open to catch what air was stirring, and they 
 shouted to each other, over my head, so to speak, while 
 the lieutenant’s body-servant ran backwards and forwards 
 from one to the other. He was, like so many soldiers, 
 an Irishman, and having been with his master when he 
 visited the O’Moores, he treated Dennis with the utmost 
 respect, and me with civility for Dennis’ sake. He was 
 waiting on his master when the lieutenant shouted, 
 
 ‘Dennis! what’s your length, you lanky fellow ? ” 
 
 “Six foot two by the last notch on the front door. I 
 stood in my socks, and the Squire measured it with his 
 tape.” 
 
 “Well, there’s half an inch between us if he’s right; but 
 that tape’s been. measuring the O’Moores from the days 
 of St. Patrick, and I’ve a notion it has shrunk with age. 
 I think my clothes will do for you.” 
 
 “Thank you, thank you, Willie! You’re very good.” 
 
 In a few minutes O’Brien came out with his arms full 
 of clothes, and pursued by his master’s voice. 
 
 ‘‘Q’Brien’s bringing you the things; can he goin? Be 
 quick and finish off that fresh water business, old fellow, 
 and get into them. I promised not to be late.” 
 
 I tried to read a newspaper, but the cross-fire of talk 
 forbade anything like attention. 
 
250 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ‘Was ye wanting me, sorr?”’ 
 
 ‘‘No, no. Never mind me, O’Brien. Attend to Mr. 
 O’Moore. Can he manage with those things ? ” 
 
 “He can, sorr. He looks illigant,” replied O’Brien 
 from the right-hand chamber. We all laughed, and Den- 
 nis began to sing: 
 
 “ Oh, once we were illigant people, 
 Though we now live in cabins of mud ; 
 And the land that ye see from the steeple, 
 Belonged to us all from the flood. 
 My father was then king of Connaught——” 
 
 “And mislaid his crown, I’ll be bound!” shouted the 
 lieutenant. ‘‘Look here, Dennis, you'll get no good 
 partners if we’re late, and if you don’t get a dance with 
 your cousin’s daughter, you'll miss a treat, I can tell you. 
 But dancing out here isn’t trifled with as it is in temper- 
 ate climates, and cards are made up early.” — 
 
 By-and-by he shouted again, 
 
 ‘OP Brien !;”? 
 
 “Coming, your honour.” 
 
 “I don’t want you. Butzs Mr. O’Moore ready?” 
 
 ‘“‘ He is, sorr, barring the waistcoat. TZakea fresh tie, 
 Master Dennis, The master'll not be pleased to take ye out 
 with one like that. Sure it’s haste that’s the ruin of the 
 white ties all along. Wid ye find the young gentleman a 
 pair of shoes, sorr ?”’ 
 
 ““Won't those I threw in fit you ?”’ asked our host. 
 
 “T’ve got them. The least bit toolarge. A thousand 
 thanks.” 
 
 “Can you dance in them?” 
 
 “ Tl try,” replied Dennis, and judging by the sound, he 
 did try then and there, singing as he twirled, 
 
 “ Bad luck to this marching, 
 Pipe-claying and starching, 
 How neat one must be to be killed by the French!” 
 
 But O’Brien’s audible delight and the progress of the 
 song were checked by the lieutenant, who had dressed 
 himself, and was now in the sitting-room. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 251 
 
 {Oc bens 2 
 
 Orn 
 
 “Tf Mr. O’Moore is not ready, I must go without 
 him.” 
 
 “He’s ready and waiting, sorr,” replied O’Brien. 
 “ Have ye got a pocket-handkerchief, Master Dennis, dear ? 
 There's the flower for your coat. Yell beaptto give it away, 
 maybe; letmeuseasmall pin. Did the master not find ye 
 any gloves? Now av the squire saw ye, its a proud man 
 he'd be! Will give the young gentleman one of your 
 hats, sorr?” 
 
 ““ Yes, of course. Be quick! So there you are at last, 
 you young puppy. Bless me! how like the squire you 
 are. 
 
 _ The squire must have been amazingly handsome, I 
 
 thought, as I gazed admiringly at my comrade. Our star- 
 ing made him shy, and as he blushed and touched up the 
 stephanotis in his buttonhole, the engineer changed the 
 subject by saying, ‘‘ Talking of the squire, is it true, Den- 
 nis, what Jack tells me about the twenty pounds? Did 
 he really forget to put itin?” 
 
 “ Astrue as gospel,” said Dennis, and taking up the 
 tails of his coat he waltzed round the room to the tune of 
 
 “They say some disaster 
 Befell the paymaster, 
 On my conscience, I think that the money’s not there! ”’ 
 
 I stood out on the verandah to see them off, Dennis 
 singing, and chaffing and chattering to the last. He 
 waved his hat to me as his friend gathered the reins, a 
 groom sprang up behind, and they were whirled away, 
 The only part of the business I envied them was the 
 drive. 
 
 It was a glorious night, despite the oppressive heat and 
 the almost intolerable biting of mosquitos and sand-flies, 
 In the wake of the departing trap flew a solitary beetle, 
 making a noise exactly like a scissor-grinder at work. 
 Soft and silent moths—some as big as small birds—went 
 past my face, I fear to the hanging lamp behind me. 
 Passing footfalls echoed bluntly from the wooden pave- 
 
252 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 ment, and in the far-away distance the bullfrogs croaked 
 monotonously. And down below, as I looked upon the 
 trees, I could see fire-flies coming and going, like pulsa- 
 tions of light, amongst the leaves. 
 
 O’Brien waited on me with the utmost care and civility ; 
 served me an excellent supper, with plenty of ice and 
 cooling drinks, and taught me the use of the “swizzle 
 stick” for mixing them. I am sure he did not omita 
 thing he could think of for my comfort. He had been 
 gone for some time, and I had _ been writing letters, turn- 
 ing over the engineer’s books, finally dozing in his chair, 
 when I was startled by sounds from his bedroom, as_ if 
 O’Brien were engaged, first in high argument, and then 
 in deadly struggle with some intruder. I rushed to his 
 assistance, and found him alone, stamping vehemently on 
 the floor. 
 
 ‘‘What’s the matter?” said I. 
 
 ‘“‘Mattheris it? Murther’s the matter,” and he gave 
 another vicious stamp, and then took a stride that nearly 
 cost him his balance, and gave another. “I beg yor 
 pardon,...sorr; but (itsy thes cockroachesmecihe) fpiace 
 swarms wid’em. Av they’d keep peaceably below, now, 
 but invading the master’s bedroom—that’s for ye, ye 
 thief!” and he stamped again. 
 
 “The creatures here are a great plague, ’ 
 ping a mosquito upon my forehead. 
 
 “And that as true a word as your honour ever spoke, 
 They’re murderous no less! Many’s the time I’m wishing 
 myself back in old Ireland, where there’s no venomous 
 beasts at all, at all. Arrah! Would ye, ye skulking: e 
 
 I left him stamping, and streaming with perspiration, 
 but labouring loyally on in a temperature where labour 
 was little short of heroism. 
 
 I went back to my chair, and began to think over my 
 prospects. It is a disadvantage of idleness that one 
 weariles oneself with thinking, though one cannot act. I 
 wondered how the prosperous sugar-planter was receiv- 
 ing Dennis, and whether he would do more for him than 
 one’s rich relations are apt todo. The stars began to 
 pale in the dawn without my being any the wiser for my 
 
 ’ 
 
 said I, slap- 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 253 
 
 speculations, and then my friends came home. The 
 young officer was full of hopes that I had been comfort- 
 able, and Dennis of regrets that I had not gone with 
 them. His hair was tossed, his cheeks were crimson, and 
 he had lost the flower from his buttonhole. 
 
 “How did you get on with your cousin?” I asked. 
 The reply confounded me. 
 
 “Oh, charmingly! Dances like a fairy. I say, Willie, 
 as a mere matter of natural history, d’ye believe any other 
 human being ever had such feet?” 
 
 A vague wonder crept into my brain whether the cousin 
 could possibly have become half a nigger, from the 
 climate, which really felt capable of anything, and have 
 developed feet like our friend the pilot; but I was 
 diverted from this speculation by seeing that Dennis was 
 clapping his pockets and hunting for something. 
 
 ‘““What have you lost now?” asked his friend. 
 
 “My pocket-handkerchief. Ah, there it is!” and he 
 drew it from within his waistcoat, and with it came his 
 gloves, and a third one, and they fell onthe floor. As he 
 picked the odd one up the lieutenant laughed. 
 
 ‘‘What size does she wear, Dennis—sixes? ”’ 
 
 “Five and three quarters—long fingers; so she tells 
 me.’ He sighed, and then wandered to the window. 
 whistling ‘Robin Adair.’ 
 
 ““Now, Dennis, you promised me to go straight to bed. 
 Turn in we must, for I have to be on an early parade. ” 
 
 “ All right, Willie. Good-night, and a thousand thanks 
 to you. It’s been a great evening—I never was so happy 
 in my life. Come along, Jack.” 
 
 And off he went, tossing his head and singing to the 
 air he had been whistling : 
 
 “* Who in the song so sweet ? 
 
 Eileen aroon! 
 
 Who in the dance so fleet! 
 Elieen aroon ! 
 
 Dear were her charms to me, 
 
 Dearer her laughter free, 
 
 Dearest her constancy, 
 Eileen .aroon!’”’ 
 
254 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “She'll be married to a sugar planter before you’ve cut 
 your wisdom teeth!” bawled the engineer from his bed- 
 room. 
 
 “ Will she?” retorted Dennis, and half-laughing, half- 
 sentimentally, he sang on louder than before, 
 
 “Were she no longer true, 
 
 Eileen aroon! 
 
 What should her lover do? 
 Eileen aroon ! 
 
 Fly with his broken chain, 
 
 Far o’er the bounding main, 
 
 Never to love again, 
 Eileen aroon! ”’ 
 
 Willie made no reply. He evidently meant to secure 
 what sleep there was to be had, and as Dennis did not 
 seem in the mood for discussing our prospects as seamen, 
 I turned into my hammock and pulled i well round my 
 ears to keep out bats, night-moths, and the hke. 
 
 It was thus that I failed at first to hear when Dennis 
 began to talk to somebody out of the window. But when 
 I lifted my head I could hear what he said, and from the 
 context I gathered that the other speaker was no less 
 than Alister, who, having taken his sleep early in the 
 night, was now refreshing himself by a stroll atdawn. That 
 they were squabbling with unusual vehemence was too 
 patent, andI was at once inclined to lay the blame on 
 Dennis, who ought, I felt, to have been brimming over 
 with generous sympathy, considering how comfortable we 
 had been, and poor Alister had not. But I soon discov- 
 ered that the matter was no personal one, being neither 
 more nor less than an indignant discussion as_ to whether 
 the air which Dennis was singing was “Scotch” or 
 “Trish.” As I only caught the Irish side of the argu- 
 ment, I am not qualified to pronounce my opinion. 
 
 “Ofcourse facts are facts, no one denies that. And 
 it’s likely enough your grandmother sang ‘Robin Adair’ 
 to it, and your great-grandmother too, rest her soul! But 
 it would take an uncommonly gvreat-.grandmother of mine 
 to have sung it when it was new, for it’s one of the oldest 
 
 of old Irish airs.” ' 
 * % * * as * 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 208 
 
 * Stole it of course! as they did plenty more in those 
 times—cattle and what not. I’d forgive them the theft, if 
 they hadn’t spoilt the tune with a nasty jerk or two that 
 murders the tender grace of it intirely.” 
 
 * * * 2 
 
 “Alister, me boy! “Youresnot, going? Vere not 
 cross, are ye? Faith, I’d give my life for ye, but I can’t 
 give ye Eileen aroon. Come in and have some swizzle ! 
 We're in the height of luxury here, and hospitality as 
 well, and ye’ll be as welcome as daylight.” 
 
 * * * * 
 
 “Up so late? Upso early, ye mean! Ah, don’t put 
 on that air of incorruptible morality. Wait now ull I get 
 in on the one side of my hammock and out at the other, 
 
 -and [ll look as early-rising-proud as yourself. Alister! 
 
 Alister, dear !——” 
 
 Through all this the engineer made no sign, and it 
 struck me how wise he was, so I pulled the hammock 
 round me again and fell asleep; not for long, I fancy, 
 for those intolerable sand-flies woke me once more before 
 Dennis had turned in. 
 
 I looked out and saw him still at the window, his eyes 
 on a waning planet, his check resting on the little glove 
 laid in his right hand, and singing more sweetly than any 
 nightingale : 
 
 ‘** Youth must with time decay, 
 
 Eileen aroon! 
 
 Beauty must fade away, 
 Eileen aroon! 
 
 Castles are sacked in war, 
 
 Chieftains are scattered far, 
 
 Truth is a fixed star, 
 Eileen aroon!” 
 
256 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 * Which is why I remark, 
 And my language is plain, 
 That for ways that are dark, 
 And for tricks that are vain, 
 The heathen Chinee is peculiar.” 
 Bret Harte. 
 
 ALISTER did more than pick pink-pale oleanders by the 
 dyke side that morning. His business with the captain 
 was soon despatched, and in the course of it he “ fore- 
 gathered,” as he called it, with the man of business who 
 had spoken to us on the night of the great fire, and whose 
 own warehouse was in ruins. He proved to be a Scotch- 
 man by birth, and a man of energy (not a common qual- 
 ity in the tropics), and he was already busy about retriev- 
 ing his fortune. ‘The hasty repair of part of the building, 
 in which to secure some salvage, and other similar mat- 
 ters, was his first object; and he complained bitterly of 
 the difficulty of inducing any of the coloured gentlemen 
 to doa “fair day’s work for a fair day’s wage,” except 
 when immediate need pressed them. They would then 
 work, he said, but they would not go on working till the 
 job was done, only till they had earned enough wages to 
 take another idle “spell” upon. 
 
 Several Chinaman were already busy among the ruins 
 of the burnt houses, as we saw, and it was Chinese 
 labour that Alister’s friend had resolved to employ; but 
 he seemed to think that, though industrious, those smiling, 
 smooth-faced individuals, who looked as if they had come 
 to life off one of my mother’s old tea-cups, were not to be 
 trusted alone among the salvage. 
 
 “Every thief among ’em ’s as good as a conjurer,” he 
 declared, “‘and can conceal just anything up his sleeve.” 
 
 Thus it came about that when Dennis and I went 
 down to the stelling to meet Alister, as we had agreed, 
 and delivered the messages of hospitality with which the 
 young engineer and Dennis’s cousin had charged us, we 
 found that he had made an engagement to help the burnt- 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 257 
 
 out store-owner for such time as we should be out of sea- 
 men’s work, on terms which were to include his board and 
 lodging,. 
 
 ‘Alister, dear! I admire ye with all me heart,” said 
 Dennis impetuously. ‘I never saw such an industrious, 
 persevering fellow. If all Scotch lads take the tide of 
 life at the flood as you do, small blame to ye for making 
 your fortunes; and well ye deserve it.” 
 
 ‘“There’s not a doubt about it,’ replied Alister compla- 
 cently. ‘And I'll tell ye more. Find me any grand 
 work, if it’s at the other end of the airth, whether it’s dig- 
 ging a dyke in the desert, or bigging a mountain up to the 
 moon, and I'll find ye an Aberdeenshire man not far from 
 the head of it.” 
 
 Dennis’s face seemed to twitch with a dozen quick 
 thoughts and smiles, as Alister turned away to meet his 
 new employer, who had just appeared on the stelling. 
 
 “They have wonderful qualities,” he said gently. “I 
 envy them, I can tell ye, Jack. What’s an idle lout like 
 me good for? Will I ever be able to make a home for 
 myself, or for any one else? Zhey do!” He spoke ear- 
 nestly, and then suddenly relapsing into an imitation of 
 Alister’s accent, which was his latest joke, he added with 
 twinkling eyes, “‘and they save a wee in wages to their 
 ain trumpeters—z/zles /”” 
 
 And having drawled out the word “ whiles” to the ut- 
 termost possible length, he suddenly began to snap his 
 fingers and dance an Irish jig upon the wooden planks of 
 the stelling. This performance completely demoralised 
 the Chinaman who caught sight of it. “ Eyah!” they 
 cried, they stopped work, fhey chuckled, they yelled, they 
 doubled themselves up, some of their pig-tails came down, 
 and one and all they laughed so frankly and immoderately, 
 it was hard to believe that anything like deception 
 could be amongst the faults of these almond-eyed children 
 of the Flowery Land. 
 
 Mr. Macdonald (the store-owner) seemed, however, to 
 think that they required pretty close watching, and I do 
 not think he would have been willing to let Alister go 
 back with us to luncheon at Willie’s, but for his apprecia- 
 
 17 
 
258 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 tion of social rank. It was obvions that it did Alister no 
 harm that he had a friend in an officer of her Majesty’s 
 Service, and a comrade in the nephew of a sugar-planter 
 of the uppermost level of Demerara society. 
 
 We three held a fresh council as we sat with the young 
 engineer. He and Alister got on admirably, and he threw 
 himself into our affairs with wonderful kindness. One 
 point he disposed of at once, and that was my fate! 
 There could be no question, he said, that my duty was to 
 get back to Halifax, “report myself” to Uncle Henry’s 
 agent there, and then go home. 
 
 “You're ruthlessly dismembering the Shamrock, Willie,” 
 Dennis objected. 
 
 “1 don’t see that. You're not to stay here; for in- 
 stance.” 
 
 ‘“‘You’re mighty positive,” said Dennis, blushing. 
 
 “Of course Iam. I wouldn’t encourage you to waste 
 sentiment anyhow; and the West Indies is no latitude for 
 boys, to go on with. And you know as well as I do, that 
 it’s rather more than time the Squire started you in life. 
 You must go home, Dennis!” 
 
 “Tf Ido, I go with Jack. And what about Alister? 
 
 The young officer tugged his moustaches right and left. 
 Then he said, “If I were exactly in your place, Auch- 
 terlay e 
 
 “Well, sir?” said Alister, for he had hesitated, 
 
 —‘ T should—enlist in the Royal Engineers.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Nothing like gunpowder,” whispered Dennis tome. I 
 kicked him in return. 
 
 The pros and cons of the matter were not lengthy. If 
 Alister enlisted in any regiment, the two advantages of 
 good behaviour and good education would tell towards 
 his advancement more rapidly and more certainly than 
 perhaps in-any other line of life. If he enlisted into a 
 scientific corps, the chance of being almost immediately 
 employed as a clerk was good, very much of the work 
 would be interesting to an educated and practical man ; 
 the “marching, pipe-claying and _ starching,” of which 
 Dennis sang, was a secondary part of “ R. E.” duties at 
 any time, and there were special opportunities of employ- 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 259 
 
 ment in foreign countries for superior men. Alister was 
 not at all likely to remain long a private, and it was quite 
 “on the cards” that he might get a commission while he 
 was still young. So much for “ peace time.’ But if—in 
 the event of—and supposing (here the young engineer 
 made a rapid diversion into the politics of the day) there 
 was a chance of ‘active service””—the Royal Engineers 
 not only offered far more than drill and barrack duties in 
 time of peace, but no branch of the army gave nobler 
 opportunities for distinguished service in time of war. At 
 this point he spoke with such obvious relish, that I saw 
 Dennis was ready to take the Queen’s shilling on the 
 spot. Alister’s eyes gavea flash or two, but on the whole 
 he “kept a calm sough,” and put the other side of the 
 question. 
 
 He said a good deal, but the matter really layin small 
 compass. The profession of arms is not highly paid. It 
 was true that the pay was poor enough as a seaman, and 
 the life far harder, but then he was only bound for each 
 voyage. At other times he was his own master, and 
 having “gained an insight into” trading from his late 
 captain, he saw indefinite possibilities before him. Alister 
 seemed to have great faith in openings, opportunties, 
 chances, etc., and, he said frankly that he looked upon his 
 acquired seamanship simply as a means of paying his 
 passage to any part of the habitable globe where fortunes 
 could be made. 
 
 “Then why not stick together ?”’ cried Dennis. ‘ Make 
 your way up to Halifax with us, Alister dear. Maybe 
 you'll find your cousin at home this time, and if not, at 
 the worst, there’s the captain of our old ship promised ye 
 employment. Who knows but we’ll all go home in her 
 together? Ah, let’s keep the shamrock whole if we 
 can?” 
 
 “ But you see, Dennis,” said the leutenant, “ Alister 
 would regard a voyage to England as a step backward, as 
 far as his objects are concerned.” 
 
 Dennis always maintained that you could never contrive 
 to agree with Alister so closely that he would not find 
 room to differ from you. 
 
260 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 So he nudged me again (and I kicked him once more) 
 when Alister began to explain that he wouldn’t just say 
 that, for that during the two or three days when he was 
 idle at Liverpool he had been into a free library to look 
 at the papers, and had had a few words of converse with 
 a decent kind of an old body, who was a care-taket in a 
 museum where they bought birds and beasts and the like 
 from seafaring men that got them in foreign parts. So 
 that it had occurred to him that if he could pick up a few 
 natural curiosities in the tropics, he might do worse, 
 supposing his cousin be still absent from Halifax, than 
 keep himself from idleness, by taking service in our old 
 ship, with the chance of doing a little trading at the 
 Liverpool Museum. 
 
 ‘“T wish I hadn’t broken that gorgeous luinp of coral 
 Alfonso gave me,” said Dennis. ‘‘ But it’s as brittle as 
 egg-shell, though I rather fancy the half of it. would 
 astonish most museums. You’re a wonderful boy, Alister! 
 Ah, we'll all live to see the day when you’re a millionaire, 
 laying the foundation-stone of some of these big things 
 the Aberdeen men build, and speechifying away to the 
 rising generation of how ye began life with nothing but a 
 stuffed Demerary parrot in your pocket. Willie, can’t ye 
 lend me some kind of a gun, that I may get him a few of 
 these highly painted fowl of the air? If I had but old 
 Barney at my elbow now—Goob rest his soul !—we’d give 
 a good account of ourselves among the cockatoos. Many’s 
 the lot of seabirds we’ve brought home in the hooker to 
 stuff the family pillows. But I’m no hand at preparing a 
 bird for stuffing.” 
 
 “T’ll cure them,” said I; “the schoolmaster taught 
 me. 7. 
 
 ‘Then we’re complete entirely, and Alister’J| die Pro- 
 vost of Aberdeen. Haven’t I got the whole, plan in my 
 head? (And it’s the first of the O’Moores that ever 
 developed a genius for business!) Swap crimson macaws 
 with green breasts in Liverpool for cheap fizzing drinks, 
 trade them in the thirsty tropics for palm-oil; steer for the 
 north pole, and retail that to the oleaginous Esquimaux 
 for furs: sell them in Paris in the autumn for what’s left 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 261 
 
 of the summer fashions, and bring these back to the 
 ladies of Demerary ; buy i 
 
 “Dennis! stop that chattering,” cried our host; 
 “‘there’s some one at the door.” 
 
 We listened. There was a disturbance below stairs, 
 and the young officer opened the door and shouted for 
 his servant, on which O’Brien came up three steps ata 
 time. 
 
 ¢ What is it, O’Brien ? ” 
 
 ‘““A Chinee, your honour. I asked him his business, 
 and not a word but gibberish will he let out of him. But 
 he’s brought no papers nor parcels at all, and sorra peep 
 will 1 let him have of your honour’s room, ‘The haythen 
 thafe !” 
 
 But even as O’Brien spoke, a Chinaman, in a China-blue 
 dress, passed between him and the door-post, and stood 
 in the room. 
 
 ““Who are you?” asked the engineer peremptorily. 
 
 “ Ah-Fo,” was the reply, and the Chinaman bowed 
 low. 
 
 “You can understand English, if you can’t speak it, 
 Chive . 
 
 The Chinaman smiled. His eyes rolled round the room 
 till he caught sight of Alister, then suddenly producing 
 three letters, fanwise, as if he were holding a hand at 
 whist, he jerked up the centre one, like a“ forced” card 
 ina trick, and said softly, “ For you’’—and still looking 
 round with the others in his hand, he added, “ For two; 
 allee same as you,” and as Alister distributed them to 
 Dennis and me, his wooden face took a few wrinkles of 
 contempt, and he added,’‘‘One nigger bringee. Mister 
 Macdonald, he send me.” 
 
 After this explanation he stood quite still. Even his 
 face was unmoved, but his eyes went round and into every 
 corner of the room. I was so absorbed in watching him 
 that Dennis was reading his letter aloud before I had 
 opened mine. But they were all alike, with the exception 
 of our names. They were on pink paper, and highly 
 scented. This was Dennis O’Moore’s : 
 
 “ Tlymeneal.—Mr. Alfonso St. Vincent and Miss 
 
 
 
662 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 Georgiana Juba’s compliments are respectfully offered, 
 
 and will be happy of Mr. Dennis O’Moore’s company 
 
 on the occasion of the celebration of their nuptials. 
 
 Luncheon at twelve on the auspicious day, Saturday 
 99 
 
 “Oh, botheration! It’s six weeks hence,” said Dennis. 
 ** Will we be here, I wonder? ” 
 
 “We'll voaf-we-are,” ““Poorvold: Alfonsoy eee 
 done, Alfonso!” Such were our sentiments, and we ex- 
 pressed them in three polite notes, which the Chinaman 
 instantaneously absorbed into some part of his person, 
 and having put the hand with which he took them to his 
 head and bowed lowly as before, he went away. And 
 O’Brien, giving one vicious dust with his coat-sleeve of the 
 doorpost, which Ah-Fo had contaminated by a passing 
 touch, followed the “heathen thief” to see him safe off 
 the premises. 
 
 “That’s a strange race, now ” began Alister, but I 
 ran to the window, for Dennis was on the balcony watch- 
 ing for the Chinaman, and remembering the scene on the 
 stelling, I anticipated fun. 
 
 “Hi, there! Fe-fo-fum, or whatever it is that they call. 
 
 e ! 9 
 
 Ah-Fo looked up with a smile of delighted recognition, 
 which, as Dennis gave a few preliminary stamps, and 
 began to whistle and shuffle, expanded into such hearty 
 laughter, that he was obliged to sit down to it by the 
 roadside. 
 
 “Look here, Dennis,” said our host; ‘ we shall have a 
 crowd collecting if you go on with this tomfoolery. Send 
 him off.” 
 
 “All right, old fellow. Beg your pardon. Good-bye 
 Te-to-tum.” 
 
 It was not a respectful farewell, but there is a free- 
 masonry of friendliness apart from words. Dennis had 
 a kindly heart toward his fellow-creatures everywhere, 
 and I never knew his fellow-creatures fail to find it out. 
 
 “Good-bye,” said Ah-Fo, lingeringly. 
 
 “Good-bye again. I say, old mandarin,” added the 
 incorrigible Dennis, leaning confidentially over the bal- 
 
 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 263 
 
 cony, “got on pretty well below there? Or did O’Brien 
 keep the tail of his eye too tight on ye? Did ye manage 
 to coax,.a great-coat or a hall-table, or any other trifle of 
 the kind up those sleeves of yours ?”’ 
 
 This time Ah-Fo looked genuinely bewildered, but he 
 gazed at Dennis as if he would have given anything to 
 understand him. 
 
 “* Uppee sleevee—you know!”’ said Dennis, illustrating 
 his meaning by signs. (‘Chinese is a mighty easy lan- 
 guage, Willie, I find, when you’re used to it.”’) 
 
 A grin of intelligence spread from ear to ear on Ah-Fo’s 
 countenance. 
 
 “EKyah!” said he, and with one jerk he produced our 
 three letters, fan-fashion, in his right hand, and then they 
 vanished as quickly, and he clapped his empty palms and 
 erred tia. na a Haha}? 
 
 ‘It’s clever, there’s no denying,” said Alister, ‘“but it’s 
 an uncanny kind of cleverness.” 
 
 Something uncannier was to come. Ah-Fo had _ stood 
 irresolute for a minute or two, then he appeared to make 
 up his mind, and coming close under the balcony he 
 smiled at Dennis and said, ‘ You lookee here.’ ‘Then 
 feeling rapidly in the inner part of his dress be brought 
 out a common needle, which he held up to us, then 
 pricked his finger to show that it was sharp, and held it 
 up again, crying, “‘ You see?” 
 
 halesee. ssaid Dennis: Needle... Allee ‘same iasipin; 
 barring that a pin’s got a head with no eye in it, and a 
 needle’s got an eye with no head to. it.” 
 
 “ You no talkee, you lookee,” pleaded Ah-Fo. 
 
 “One for you, Dennis,” laughed the engineer. We 
 looked, and Ah-Fo put the needle into his mouth and 
 swallowed it. He gave himself a pat or two and made 
 some grimaces to show that it felt rather prickly going 
 down, and then he produced a second needle, and tested 
 and then swallowed that. In this way he seemed to 
 swallow twelve needles, nor, with the closest watching, 
 could we detect that they went anywhere but into his 
 mouth, : 
 
 “Will he make it a baker’s dozen, I wonder!” gasped 
 Dennis. 
 
264 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 But this time Ah-Fo produced a small ball of thread, 
 and it followed the needles, after which he doubled him- 
 self up in uneasy contortions, which set us into fits of 
 laughter. Then he put his fingers into his mouth—we 
 watched closely—and slowly, yard after yard, he drew 
 forth the unwound thread, and all the twelve needles 
 were upon it. And whilst we were clapping and cheer- 
 ing him, both needles and thread disappeared as before. 
 
 Ah-Fo was evidently pleased by our approval, and by 
 the shower of coins with which our host rewarded his 
 performance, but when he had disposed of them in his 
 own mysterious fashion, some source of discontent 
 seemed yet to remain. He looked sadly at Dennis and 
 said, ‘“‘ Ah-Fo like to do so, allee same as you.” And 
 then began gravely to shuffle his feet about, in vain 
 efforts, as became evident, to dance an Irish jig. We 
 tried to. stifle our laughter, but he was mournfully con- 
 scious of his own failure, and, when Dennis whistled the 
 tune, seemed to abandon the task in despair, and console 
 himself by an effort to recall the original performance. 
 After standing for a few seconds with his eyes shut and 
 his head thrown back, so that his pigtail nearly touched 
 the ground, the scene appeared fully to return to his 
 memory. ‘‘ Eyah!” he chuckled, and turned to go, laugh- 
 ing as he went. 
 
 “Don’t forget the letters. Uppee sleevee, old Teatray !”’ 
 roared Dennis. 
 
 Ah-Fo flirted them out once more. “Ha! Ha! Ha!” 
 laughed he, and went finally away. 
 
 CHAPTER. Ox 1G 
 
 “ Das Haar trennt.” 
 German Proverb. 
 
 Ws three were not able to be present at Alfonso’s wedding, 
 for the very good reason that we were no longer in British 
 Guiana. But the day we sailed for Halifax, Alfonso and 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 265 
 
 his Georgiana came down to see us on the stelling. 
 “ Georgiana’’ was as black asa coal, but Alfonso had 
 not boasted without reason of the cut of herclothes. She 
 had an upright pretty figure, and her dress fitted it to 
 perfection. It was a white dress, and she had a very 
 gorgeous parasol, deeply fringed, and she wore a kerchief 
 of many colours round her shoulders, and an equally 
 bright silk one cleverly twisted into a little cap on her 
 woolly head. Her costume was, in short, very gay 
 indeed. 
 
 ‘Out of all the bounds of nature and feminine modesty,” 
 said Alister. 
 
 “Of your grandmother’s nature and modesty, maybe,” 
 retorted Dennis. “ But she’s no gayer than the birds of 
 the neighbourhood, anyway, and she’s as neat, which is 
 more than ye car? say for many a young lady that’s not so 
 black in the face.” 
 
 In short, Dennis approved of Alfonso’s bride, and I 
 think the lady was conscious of it. She had a soft voice, 
 and very gentle manners, and to Dennis she chatted away 
 so briskly that I wondered what she could have found to 
 talk about, till I discovered from what Demnis said to 
 Alister afterwards, that the subject of her conversation 
 was Alfonso’s professional prospects. 
 
 “Took here, Alister dear,’’ said Dennis; “don’t be 
 Bothering yourself whether she employs your aunt’s dress- 
 maker or no, but when you’re about halfway up that ladder 
 of success, that I'll never be climbing (or I’d do it myself), 
 say a good word for Alfonso to some of these Scotch 
 captains with big ships, that want a steward and 
 stewardess. That’s what she’s got her eye on for Alfonso, 
 and Alfonso has been a good friend to us.” 
 
 “T’ll mind,” said Alister. And he did. For (to use his 
 own expression) our Scotch comrade was “aye better than 
 his word.” 
 
 Dennis O’Moore’s cousin behaved very kindly to us. 
 He was not only willing to find Dennis the money which 
 the Squire had failed to send, but he would have advanced 
 my passage-money to Halifax. I declined the offer for 
 two reasons. In the first place, Uncle Henry had only 
 
266 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 spoken of paying my passage from Halifax to England, 
 and I did not feel that I was entitled to spend any money 
 that I could avoid spending ; and, secondly, as Alister had 
 to go north before the mast, I chose to stick by my 
 comrade, and rough it with him. ‘This decided Dennis. 
 If Alister and I were going as seamen, he would not 
 ‘sneak home as a passenger.” 
 
 The elderly cousin did not quite approve of this, but the 
 engineer officer warmly supported Dennis, and he was 
 also upheld in a quarter where praise was still dearer to 
 him, as I knew, for he took me into his confidence, when 
 his feelings became, more than he could comfortably keep 
 to himself. 
 
 ‘‘Perhaps she won’t like your being a common sailor, 
 Dennis,” I had said, ‘“‘and you know Alister and I shall 
 quite understand about it. We know well enough what a 
 true mate you’ve been to us, and Alister was talking to 
 me about it last night. He said he didn’t like to say any- 
 thing to you, as he wouldn’t take the liberty of alluding to 
 the young lady, but he’s quite sure she won’t like it, and 
 I think so too.” . 
 
 I said more than I might otherwise have done, because 
 I was very much impressed by Alister’s unusual vehemence 
 on the subject. He seldom indeed said a word that was 
 less than a boast of Scotland in general, and Aberdeen- 
 shire in particular, but on this occasion it had burst forth 
 that though he had been little “in society” in his native 
 country, he had “ seen enough to know that a man would 
 easier live down a breach of a’ the ten commandments 
 than of any three of its customs.”’ And when I re- 
 membered, for my own part, how fatal in my own neigh- 
 bourhood were any proceedings of an unusual nature, and 
 how all his innocence, and his ten years of martyrdom, 
 had not sufficed with many of Mr. Wood’s neighbours to 
 condone the “fact” that he had been a convict, I agreed 
 with Alister that Dennis ought not to risk the possible ill 
 effects of what, as he said, had a ‘‘ne’er-do-weel, out-at- 
 elbows, or, at last and least, an uncommon look about it;”’ 
 and that having resumed his proper social position, our 
 Irish comrade would be wise to keep it in the eyes he 
 cared most to please. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 267 
 
 “Alister has a fine heart,” said Dennis, ‘‘ but you may 
 tell him I told her,” and he paused. 
 
 ‘What did she say?” I asked anxiously. 
 
 “She said,” answered Dennis, slowly, ‘‘ that she’d small 
 
 belief that a girl could tell if a man were true or no by 
 what he seemed as a lover, but there was something to be 
 done in the way of judging of his heart by seeing if he 
 was kind with his kith and faithful to his friends.” 
 ‘ It took me two or three revolutions of my brain to 
 perceive how this answer bore upon the question, and 
 when I repeated it to Alister, his comment was almost as 
 enigmatical, 
 
 ‘‘ A man,” he said, sententiously, “ that has been blessed 
 with a guid mother, and that gives the love of his heart to 
 _a guid woman, may aye gang through the ills o’ this life, 
 like the children of Israel through the Red Sea, with a 
 wall on ’s right hand and a wall on’s left.” 
 
 But it was plain to be seen that the young lady ap- 
 proved of Dennis O’Moore’s resolve, when she made us 
 three scarlet night-caps for deck-wear, with a tiny sham- 
 rock embroidered on the front of each. 
 
 Indeed, as to clothes and comforts of all sorts, we 
 began our homeward voyage in a greatly renovated 
 condition, thanks to our friends. The many kindnesses 
 of the engineer officer were only matched by his brusque 
 annoyance if we “‘made a fuss about nothing,” and be- 
 tween these, and what the sugar-planter thought due to 
 his relative, and what the sugar-planter’s daughter did 
 for the sake of Dennis, the only difficulty was to get our 
 kits stowed within reasonable seaman’s limits. The 
 sugar-planter’s influence was of course invaluable to us 
 in the choice of a ship, and we were very fortunate. 
 The evening we went on board I accompanied Dennis to 
 his cousin’s house to bid good-bye, and when we left, 
 Miss Eileen came with us through the garden to let us 
 out bya short cut and a wicket-gate. She looked prettier 
 even than usual, in some sort of pale greenish-grey 
 muslin, with knots of pink ribbon about it, and I felt very 
 much for Dennis’s deplorable condition, and did my best 
 in the way of friendship by going well ahead among the 
 
268 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 oleanders and evergreens, with a bundle which contained 
 the final gifts of our friends. Indeed I waited at the 
 wicket-gate not only till I was thoroughly tired of waiting, 
 but till I knew that we dare wait no longer, and then I 
 went back to look for Dennis. 
 
 About twenty yards back I saw him, as I thought, 
 mixed up in some way with an oleander-bush in pink 
 blossom, but, coming nearer, I found that it was Eileen’s 
 grey-green dress with the pink bows, which, like a 
 slackened sail, was flapping against him in the evening 
 breeze, as he knelt in front of her. 
 
 “ Dennis,” said I, not too loud; not loud enough in 
 fact, for they did not hear me, and all that Dennis said 
 was, ‘‘ Take plenty, Darlin’!” 
 
 He was kneeling up, and holding back some of the 
 muslin and ribbons with one hand, whilst with the other 
 he held out a forelock of his black curfs, and she cut it off 
 with the scissors out of the sailor’s housewife which she 
 had made for him. I turned my back and called louder. 
 
 “T know, Jack. I’m coming this instant,” said Dennis. 
 
 The night was noisy with the croaking of frogs, the 
 whirring and whizzing of insects, the cheeping of bats, 
 and the distant cries of birds, but Dennis and Eileen 
 were silent. ‘Then she called out, ‘Good bye, Jack, Gop 
 bless you.” 
 
 “Good-bye, Miss Eileen, and Gop bless you,” said I, 
 feeling nearly as miserable as if I were in love myself. 
 And then we ran all the rest of the way to the stelling. 
 
 Alister was already on board, and the young officer was 
 there to bid us Gop speed, and Dennis was cheerful al- 
 most to noisiness. 
 
 But when the shores of British Guiana had become a 
 muddy-looking horizon line, I found him, with his 
 cropped torehead pressed to the open housewife, shedding 
 bitter tears among the new needles and buttons. 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 269 
 
 CLAP TE ROX, 
 
 * “ Zur tiefen Ruh, wie er sich auch gefunden. 
 * * * 
 
 _ Sein Geist ist’s, der mich ruft.” 
 Wallenstein’s Tod. 
 
 Not the least troublesome part of our enlarged kit was 
 the collection of gay-plumaged birds. Their preservation 
 was by no means complete, and I continued it at sea. 
 But between climate and creatures, the destructiveness of 
 the tropics is distracting to the collector, and one or two 
 of my finest specimens fell into heaps of mangled feathers, 
 dust, and hideous larve under my eyes. It was Dennis 
 _O’Moore’s collection. He and his engineer friend were 
 both good shots, and they had made an expedition on 
 purpose to get these birds for Alister. There were some 
 most splendid specimens, and the grandest of all, to my 
 thinking, was a Roseate Spoonbill, a wading, fish-catch- 
 ing bird of all shades of rose, from pale pink to crimson. 
 Even his long horny legs were red. But he was not a 
 pleasant subject for my part of the work. He smelt like 
 the Water-Lily at her worst, before we got rid of the fish 
 cargo. 
 
 Knowing that he had got them for Alister, I was rather 
 surprised one day when Dennis began picking out some 
 of the rarest birds and put them aside. It was so unlike 
 him to keep things for himself. But as he turned over 
 the specimens he began to ask me about Cripple Charlie, 
 whose letter he had read. Meanwhile he kept selecting 
 specimens, and then returning them to the main body 
 again, saying, “Ah, we mustn’t be robbing Alister, or 
 he’ll never die Provost of Aberdeen.’”’ In the end he had 
 gathered a very choice and gorgeous little lot, and then I 
 discovered. their destination. ‘‘ We’ll get them set up 
 when we get home,” he said; “I hope Charlie’ll hke ’em. 
 They’ll put the old puffin’s nose out of joint anyway, for 
 as big as it is!” 
 
 Our ship was a steamship, a well-found vessel, and we 
 made a good passage. ‘The first mate was an educated 
 
270 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 man, and fond of science. He kept a meteorological log, 
 and the pleasantest work we ever did was in helping him 
 to take observations. We became very much bitten with 
 the subject, and I bought three pickle-bottles from the 
 cook, and filled them with gulf-weed and other curiosities 
 for Charlie, and stowed these away with the birds. 
 
 Dennis found another letter from his father awaiting 
 him at the Halifax post-office. The Squire had dis- 
 covered his blunder, and sent the money, and the way in 
 which Dennis immediately began to plan purchases of all 
 sorts, from a birch-bark canoe to a bearskin rug, gave me 
 a clue to the fortunes of the O’Moores. I do not think he 
 would have had enough left to pay his passage if we had 
 been delayed for long. But our old ship was expected 
 any hour, and when she came in we made our way to her 
 at once, and the upshot of it all was, that Dennis and I 
 shipped in her for the return voyage as passengers, and 
 Alister as a seaman. 
 
 Nothing can make the North Atlantic a pleasant sea. 
 Of the beauty and variety of warmer waters we had noth- 
 ing, but we had the excitement of some rough weather, 
 and a good deal of sociability and singing when it was 
 fair, and we were very glad to be with our old mates 
 again, and yet more glad that every knot on our course 
 was a step nearer home. Dennis and I were not idle 
 because we were independent, and we enjoyed ourselves 
 thoroughly. As to Alister, there was no difficulty in see- 
 ing how well he stood with the red-bearded captain, and 
 how good a friend his own energy and perseverance (with 
 perhaps some touch of clannishness to boot) had gained 
 for him, Dennis and I always shared his watches, and 
 they were generally devoted to the discussing and redis- 
 cussing of our prospects, interspersed with fragmentary 
 French lessons. 
 
 From the day that Alister had heard Dennis chatter to 
 the squaw, through all our ups and downs, at sea and 
 ashore, he had never flagged in his persistent profiting by 
 Dennis’s offer to teach him to speak French. It was not, 
 perhaps, a very scholarly method which they pursued, but 
 we had no time for study, so Dennis started Alister every 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 271 
 
 day with a new word or sentence, and Alister hammered 
 this into his head as he went about his work, and reca- 
 pitulated what he had learned before. By the time we 
 were on our homeward voyage, the sentences had become 
 very complex, and it seemed probable that Alister’s ambi- 
 tion to take part in a “ two-handed crack” in French with 
 his teacher, before the shamrock fell to pieces, would 
 be realized. 
 
 ‘‘What he has learnt is wonderful, I can tell ye,” said 
 Dennis to me, “ but his accent’s horrid! And we'd get 
 on faster than we do if he didn’t argue every step we 
 go, though he doesn’t knowa word that I’ve not taught 
 him.” 
 
 But far funnier than Alister’s corrections of his teacher, 
 _ was a curious jealousy which the boatswain had of the 
 Scotch lad’s new accomplishment. We could not quite 
 make out the grounds of it, except that the boatswain 
 himself had learned one or two words of what he called 
 parly voo when he was in service at the boy’s school, and 
 he was jealously careful of the importance which his 
 shreds and scraps of education gave him in the eyes of 
 the ordinary uneducated seaman. With Dennis and me 
 he was uniformly friendly, and he was amost entertaining 
 companion. 
 
 Owing to head winds, our passage was longer than the 
 average. A strange thing happened towards the end of 
 it. We had turned in for sleep one night, when I woke 
 to the consciousness that Dennis had got out of his berth, 
 and was climbing past mine, but I was so sleepy that 
 I did not speak, and was only sure that it was not a 
 dream, when Alister and. I went on deck for the next 
 watch, and found Dennis walking up and down in the 
 morning mist. 
 
 “Have you had no sleep?” I asked, for his face looked 
 haggard. 
 
 “T couldn’t. For dreaming,” he said, awkwardly. 
 
 I laughed at him. 
 
 ‘What have you been dreaming about ?”’ 
 
 “Don’t laugh, Jack. I dreamt of Barney.” 
 
 “Well, that’s natural enough, Dennis, This end of the 
 voyage must recall the poor fellow.” 
 
 9) 
 
272 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 “T wouldn’t mind if it was a kindly dream. But I 
 dreamed he’d an old woman’s bonnet on and a handker- 
 chief tied over it. It haunts me.” 
 
 “Go back to bed,” I advised. ‘“‘ Perhaps you’ll dream 
 of him again looking like himself, and that will put this 
 out of your head,” 
 
 Dennis took my advice, and I stood Alister’s watch 
 with him, and by-and-by Dennis appeared on deck again 
 looking more at ease. 
 
 “Did you dream of him again?” I asked. He nodded, 
 
 ““T did—just his own dear self. But he was sitting 
 alone on the edge of some wharf gazing down into the 
 water, and not a look could I get out of him till I woke.” 
 
 The following morning Dennis was still sound asleep 
 when I rose and went on deck. The coast of Ireland 
 was just coming into sight through the haze when he 
 joined me, but before pointing it out to him, I felt curious 
 to know whether he- had dreamed a third time of old 
 _ Barney. 
 
 “Not I,” said he; “all I dreamed of was a big rock 
 standing up out of the sea, and two chlidren sitting on it 
 had hold of each other’s hands.” 
 
 ‘Children you know ?” 
 
 “Oh dear no! Just a little barefoot brother and 
 sistem 
 
 He seemed to wish to drop the subject, and at this 
 moment a gleam of sunshine lit up the distant coast line 
 with such ethereal tints, that I did not wonder to see him 
 spring upon the bulwarks and catching a ratlin with one 
 hand, wave his cap above his head with the other, crying 
 “Gop bless the Emerald Isle!” 
 
 We reached Liverpool about four o’clock in the after- 
 noon, and as we drew up alongside of the old wharf, my 
 first thought was to look for Biddy Macartney. Alister 
 had to remain on board for a time, but Dennis came 
 willingly with me in search of the old woman and her 
 coffee-barrow. At last we betook ourselves to the Dock- 
 gatekeeper, to make inquiries, and from him we heard a 
 sad story. The old woman had “ failed a deal of late,” he 
 said, He “ad heard she wasn’t right in her mind, but 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 278 
 
 whether they’d shifted her to a ’sylum or not, he couldn’t 
 say.” If she was at home, she was at an address which 
 he gave us. 
 
 “Will you go, Dennis? I must. At once.” 
 
 SAL COUrSe, s 
 
 Biddy was at home, and never whilst I live can I forget 
 the “home.” Four blocks of high houses enclosed a 
 small court into which there was one entrance, an arch- 
 way through one of the buildings. All the houses opened 
 into the court. ‘There were no back-doors, and no back 
 premises whatever. All the dirt and (as to washing) all 
 the cleanliness of a crowded community living in rooms 
 in flats, the quarrelling and the love-making, the old 
 people’s resting, and the children’s playing ;—from 
 - emptying a slop-pail to getting a breath of evening air— 
 this court was all there was for it. I have since been told 
 that if we had been dressed like gentlemen, we should not 
 have been safe in it, but I do not think we should have 
 met with any worse welcome if we had come on the same 
 errand—“ to see old Biddy Macartney.” 
 
 Roughly enough, it is true, we were directed to one of 
 the houses, the almost intolerable stench of which in- 
 creased as we went up the stairs. By the help of one 
 inmate and another, we made our way to Biddy’s door, 
 and then we found it locked. 
 
 “The missis ll be out,” said a deformed girl who was 
 pulling herself along by the balustrades. She was decent- 
 looking and spoke civilly, so I ventured to ask, ‘‘ Do you 
 mean that old Biddy is out?” 
 
 ““Nay, not Biddy. The woman that sees to her. 
 When she’s got to go out she locks t’ old lass up to be 
 safe,” and volunteering no further help, the girl rested for 
 a minute against the wall with her hand to her side, and 
 then dragged herself in to one of the rooms and shut the 
 door in our faces. 
 
 The court without and the houses within already 
 resounded so to the squalling of children, that I paid no 
 attention to the fact that more of this particular noise was 
 coming up the stairs; but in another moment a woman, 
 shaking a screaming baby in her arms and dragging two 
 
 18 
 
274 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 crying children at her skirts, clenched her disengaged fist 
 (it had a key in it) close to our faces and said, “* And 
 which of you vagabones is t’ ould lass’s son. 
 
 “‘ Neither of us,” said I, ‘‘ but we want to see her, if we 
 may. Are you the woman who takes care of her?” 
 
 “ T’ve plenty to do minding my own, I can tell ye,” she 
 grumbled, “‘ but I couldn’t abear to see t’ould lass taken to 
 a’sylum. They’re queer places some on’em, as I know. 
 And as to t’House! There’s a many folks says, ‘ Well 
 if t'guardians won’t give her no relief, let her go in.’ But 
 she got hold on me one day, and she says, ‘Sally, 
 darling’ (that’s t’ ould lass’s way, is calling ye Darling. It 
 sounds soft, but she is but an old Irish woman, as one 
 may say) ‘if ever,’ she says, ‘you hear tell of their coming 
 to fetch me, Gop bless ye,’ she says, ‘just give me a 
 look out of your eye, and I’m gone. I'll be no more 
 trouble to any one,’ she says, ‘and maybe I’ll make it 
 worth your while too.’ ” 
 
 At this point in her narrative the woman looked 
 mysterious, nodded her head, craned over the banisters 
 to see that no one was near, slapped the children and 
 shook up the baby as a sort of mechanical protest against 
 the noise they were making (as to effects they only 
 howled the louder), and drawing nearer ‘to us, spoke in 
 lower tones: 
 
 ‘“‘'T’ ould lass has money, it’s my belief, though she gives 
 me nowt for her lodging, and she spends nowt on herself. 
 She’s many a, time fair clemmed, I’ll assure ye, till I can’t 
 abear to see it, and I give her the bit and sup I might 
 have had myself, for ’'m not going to rob t’ children 
 neither for her nor nobody. Ye see it’s her son that’s 
 preying on her mind. He wrote her a letter awhile ago, 
 saying times was bad out yonder, and he was fair heart- 
 _ broke to be so far away from her, and she’s been queer 
 ever since. She’s wanted for everything herself, slaving 
 and saving to get enough to fetch him home. Where she 
 hides it I know no more nor you, but she wears a sight of 
 old rags, one atop of another, and pockets in all of ’em for 
 aught I know—hold you din, ye unrewly children !— 
 there’s folks coming. I'll let ye in. I lock t’old lass up 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 275 
 
 when I go out, for she might be wandering, and there’s 
 them hereabouts that would reckon nought of putting her 
 out of t’way and taking what she’s got, if they heard 
 tell on’t.” 
 
 At last the door was unlocked and we went in. And 
 sitting on a low box, dressed as before, even to the old 
 coat and the spotted kerchief over her bonnet, sat Biddy 
 Macartney. 
 
 When she lifted her face, I saw that it was much 
 wasted, and that her fine eyes had got a restless uneasy 
 look in them. Suddenly this ceased, and they lit up with 
 the old intelligence. For half an instant I thought it was 
 at the sight of me, but she did not even see me. It was 
 on Dennis O’Moore that her eyes were bent, and they 
 - never moved as she struggled to her feet, and gazed anx- 
 iously at his face, his cap, and his seafaring clothes, 
 whilst, for his part, Dennis gazed almost as wildly at her. 
 At last she spoke: 
 
 ‘““Gop save ye, Squire! Has the old counthry come to 
 this? Is the O’Moore an alien, and all?” 
 
 **No, no. I’m the Squire’s son,” said Dennis. ‘“ But 
 tell me quick, woman, what are you to Barney Barton?” 
 
 “Barney is it? Sure he was brother to me, as who 
 knows better than your honour?” 
 
 ‘“* Did you live with us, too?” 
 
 “YT did, acushla. In the heighth of ease and_comfort, 
 and done nothin’ for it. Wasn’t I the big fool to be 
 marryin’ so early, not knowin’ when I was well off!” 
 
 “T know. Barney has told me. A Cork man, your 
 husband, wasn’t he? A lazy, drunken, ill-natured rascal 
 of a fellow.” ' 
 
 ‘“That’s him, your honour !” 
 
 “Well, you’re quit of him long since. And, as your 
 son’s in New York, and all I have left of Barney is 
 you d9 
 
 ‘She doesn’t hear you, Dennis.” 
 
 I interrupted him, because in his impetuosity he had 
 not noticed that the wandering look had come back over 
 the old woman’s face, and that she sat down on the box, 
 and fumbled among her pockets for Micky’s letter, and 
 then crouched weeping over it, 
 
 
 
276 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 We stayed a long time with her, but she did not really 
 revive. With infinite patience and tenderness, Dennis 
 knelt beside her, and listened to her ramblings about 
 Micky, and Micky’s hardships, and Micky’s longings 
 for home. Once or twice, I think, she was on the point of 
 telling about her savings, but she glanced uneasily round 
 the room and forbore. Dennis gave the other woman 
 some money, and told her to give Biddy a good meal—to 
 have given money to her would have been useless—and 
 he tried hard to convince the old woman that Micky was 
 quite able to leave America if he wished. At last she 
 seemed to take this in, and it gave her, I fear, undue 
 comfort, from the conviction that, if this were so, he 
 would soon be home. 
 
 After we left Biddy, we went to seek decent lodgings for 
 the night. For Dennis was anxious to see her again in 
 the morning, and of course I stayed with him. 
 
 = Flad+you everiscen “her, before ?,’* 2 sasked sas: we 
 walked. 
 
 “Not to remember her. But Jack, it wasn’t Barney I 
 saw in that first dream. It was Bridget.” 
 
 Dennis was full of plans for getting her home with him 
 to Ireland; but when we went back next day, we found 
 a crowd round the archway that led into the court. 
 Prominent in the group was the woman who “cared for” 
 Biddy. Her baby was crying, her childrer were crying, 
 and she was crying too. And with every moment that 
 passed the crowd grew larger and larger, as few things 
 but bad news came make a crowd grow. 
 
 We learnt it very quickly. Biddy had been so much 
 cheered up by our visit, that when the woman went out to 
 buy supper for them, she did not lock the door. When 
 she came back, Biddy was gone. ‘To do her neighbours 
 justice, we could not doubt—considering how they talked 
 then—that they had made inquiries in all the streets and 
 courts around. 
 
 “ And wherever t’owld lass can ha’ gone!” sobbed the 
 woman who had been her neighbour, in the noblest sense 
 of neighbourhood. 
 
 I was beginning to comfort her when Dennis eripped 
 me by the arm: 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 277 
 
 “Tl know,” said hes “Come along!” 
 
 His face was white, his eyes shone, and he tossed his 
 head so wildly he looked madder than Biddy had looked ; 
 but when he began to run, and roughs in the streets 
 began to pursue him, I ran too, as a matter of safety. 
 We drew breath at the dock- -gates. 
 
 The gatekeeper told us that old Biddy, “ looking quite 
 herself, only a bit thinner lke,” had gone through the 
 evening before, to meet some one who was coming off one 
 of the vessels, as he understood, but he had not noticed 
 her on her return. He had heard her ask some man 
 about a ship from New York. 
 
 I wanted to hear more, but Dennis clutched me again 
 and dragged me on. 
 
 “ T’ll know the wharf when I see it,” said he. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped, and pointed. A wharf, but no 
 vessel, only the water sobbing against the stones. 
 
 “That’s the wharf,” he gasped, ‘‘That’s where he sat 
 and looked down. She's there /” 
 
 * x * * * * 
 
 He was right. We found her there at ebb of tide, with 
 no sign of turmoil or trouble about her, except the grip 
 that never could be loosened with which she _ held 
 Micky’s one letter fast in her hand. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 “Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed 
 The lighthouse-top I see? 
 Is this the hill? Is this the Kirk 
 Is this mine own countree ? 
 
 “We drifted o’er the harbour bar, 
 And I with sobs did pray— 
 O let me be awake, my Gop! 
 Or let me sleep alway.” 
 
 The Ancient Mariner. 
 
 WHEN Alister joined us the first evening after we came 
 back from poor Biddy, he was so deeply interested in 
 
 “ 
 
278 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 hearing about her, that he would have gone with us the 
 next morning, if he had not had business on hand. He 
 had a funny sort of remorse for having misjudged her 
 the day she befooled the sentry to get me off. Business 
 connected with Biddy’s death detained Dennis in Liver- 
 pool for a day or two, and as I had not given any warning 
 of the date of my return to my people, I willingly stayed 
 with him. My comrades had promised to go home with 
 me before proceeding on their respective ways, but (in 
 answer to the letter which announced his safe arrival in 
 Liverpool) Alister got a message from his mother sum- 
 moning him to Scotland at once on important family 
 matters, and the Shamrock fell to pieces sooner than we 
 had intended. In the course of a few days, Dennis and 
 I heard from our old comrade. 
 
 “The Braes of Buie. 
 
 “My Dear Jack AND Dennis: I am home safe and 
 sound, though not in time for the funeral, which (as partly 
 consequent on the breaking of a tube in one engine, and, 
 a trifling damage to the wheels of a second that was 
 attached, if ye understand me, with the purpose of rectify- 
 ing the deficiencies of the first, the Company being, in my 
 humble judgment, unwisely thrifty in the matter of. 
 second-hand boilers) may be regarded as a Dispensation 
 of Providence, and was in no degree looked upon by any 
 member of the family as a wanting of respect towards the 
 memory of the deceased. With the sole and single ex- 
 ception of Miss Margaret MacCantywhapple, a far-away 
 cousin by marriage, who, though in good circumstances, 
 and a very virtuous woman, may be said to have seen her 
 best days, and is not what she was in her intellectual 
 judgment, being afflicted with deafness and a species of 
 palsy, besides other infirmities in her faculties, I mis- 
 doubt if I was wise in using my endeavours to make the 
 poor body understand that I was at the other side of the 
 world when my cousin was taken sick, all her response 
 being, ‘they aye say so. Wowever, at long and last, she 
 was brought to admit that the best of us may misjudge, 
 and as we all have our faults, and hers are for the most 
 
 
 
 ~» 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 279 
 
 part her misfortunes, I tholed her imputations on my 
 veracity in the consideration of her bodily infirmities. 
 
 “ My dear mother, thank Gop, is in her usual, and over- 
 joyed to see my face once more. She desires me to pre- 
 sent her respects to both of you, with an old woman’s 
 blessing. I’m aware that it will be a matter of kindly 
 satisfaction to you to learn that her old age is secured in 
 carnal comforts through my father’s cousin having left all 
 his worldly gear for her support; that is, he left it to me, 
 which is the same thing. Not without a testimony of 
 _ respect for my father’s memory, that all the gear of Scot- 
 land would be cheap to me by the side of; and a few 
 words as to industry, energy, and the like, which, though 
 far from being deserved on my part, sound—like voices 
 - out of the mist upon the mountain side—sweeter and 
 weightier, it may be, than they deserve, when a body 
 hears them, as ye may say, out of the grave. 
 
 “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good, and it’s not 
 for me to complain of the downbreak in the engines, see- 
 ing that in place of rushing past the coast, we just 
 crawled along the top of these grand cliffs in the bonny 
 sunshine, which hardly wakes a smile upon the stern faces 
 of them, while the white foam breaks at no allowance 
 about their feet. Many’s the hour, Jack, I’ve lain on the 
 moss, and looked down into a dark cove to watch the 
 tide come in, and turn blue, and green, and tawny purple 
 over the weeds and rocks, and fall back again to where 
 the black crags set in creamy surf with sea-birds on their 
 shoulders. Eh! man, it’s sweet.to come home and see it 
 all again; the folk standing at their doors, and bairns 
 sitting on the dykes with flowers in their hands, and the 
 waving barley-fields on the cliff tops shining against the 
 sea and sky, as lights and shades change their places 
 over a woman’s hair. There were some decent bodies in 
 the train beside me, that thought I was daft, with my 
 head out of the window, in an awful draught, at the seri- 
 ous risk of brow-ague, not to speak of coal-smuts, which 
 are horrid if ye get them in your eye. And not without 
 reason did they think so, for I’ll assure ye I would have 
 been loth to swear whether it was spray or tears that 
 
280 WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 made my cheeks so salt when I saw the bit herring-boats 
 stealing away out into the blue mist, for all the world as 
 if they were laddies leaving home to seek their fortunes, 
 as it might be ourselves. 
 
 “But I’m taking up your time with havers about my 
 own country, and I ask your pardon; though I’m not 
 ashamed to say that, for what I’ve seen of the world— 
 tropics and all—give me the north-east coast of Scot- 
 land! 
 
 “T am hoping, at your leisure, to hear that ye both 
 reached home, and found ail belonging to ye as ye could 
 wish; and I’m thinking that if Dennis wrote in French, 
 I might make it out, for I’ve come by an old French 
 Dictionary that was my father’s. Gop save the Sham- 
 rock! Your affectionate friend, 
 
 “* ALISTER AUCHTERLAY. 
 
 “T am ill at saying all that I feel, but I’ll never forget.” 
 
 Dennis and I tramped from Liverpool. Partly for the 
 walk, and partly because we were nearly penniless. His 
 system, as I told him, seemed to be to empty his pockets 
 first, and to think about. how he was to get along after- 
 wards. However, it must be confessed that the number 
 and the needs of the poor Irish we came across in con- 
 nection with Biddy’s death and its attendant ceremonies, 
 were enough to be ‘“‘the ruination ” of a far less tender- 
 hearted Paddy than Dennis O’Moore. 
 
 And so—a real sailor with a real bundle under my arm 
 —I tramped Home. 
 
 Dennis had been a good comrade out in the world; 
 but that was a trifle to the tact and sympathy he dis- 
 played when my mother and father and I were making 
 fools of ourselves in each other’s arms. 
 
 He saw everything, and he pretended he saw nothing. 
 He picked up my father’s spectacles, and waltzed with the 
 dogs whilst the old gentleman was blowing his nose. 
 When Martha broke down in hysterics (for which, it was 
 not difficult to see, she would punish herself and us later 
 on, with sulking and sandpaper), Dennis ‘ brought her 
 
WE AND THE WORLD. 281 
 
 to”’ by an affectionate hugging, which, as she afterwards 
 explained, seemed “‘ that natteral”’ that she never realised 
 its impropriety, till it was twenty-four hours too late to 
 remonstrate. 
 
 When my dear mother was calmer, and very anxious 
 about our supper and beds, I ascertained from my father 
 that the Woods were from home, and that Jem had gone 
 down to the farm to sit for an hour or so with Charlie ; 
 so, pending the preparation of our fatted calf, Dennis and 
 [ went to bring both Jem and Charlie back for the 
 night. 
 
 It was a dark, moonless night, only tempered by the 
 reflections of furnace fires among the hills. Dennis 
 thought they were northern lights. The lane was cool, 
 
 _ and fresh and damp, and full of autumn scents of fading 
 leaves, and toadstools, and Herb Robert and late Meadow 
 Sweet. And as we crossed the grass under the walnut- 
 trees, I saw that the old schoolroom-window was open to 
 the evening air, and lighted from within. 
 
 I signalled silence to Dennis, and we crept up, as 
 Jem and I had crept years ago to see the pale-faced rela- 
 tion hunting for the miser’s will in the tea-caddy. 
 
 In the old arm-chair sat Charlie, propped with cushions. 
 On one side of him Jem leant with elbows on the table, 
 and on the other side sat Master Isaac, spectacles on 
 nose. 
 
 The whole table was covered by a Map of the World, 
 and Charlie’s high, eager voice came clearly out into the 
 night. 
 
 “Isaac and I have marked every step tbey’ve gone, 
 Jem, but we don’t think it would be lucky to make the 
 back-mark over the Atlantic till they are quite safe 
 Home.” 
 
 Dennis says, in his teasing way, he never believed in 
 my “athletics” till he saw me leap in through that win- 
 dow. He was not far behind. 
 
 66 em ! 9? 
 
 6 Jack! ” 
 
 When Jem released me and IJ looked round, Charlie 
 was resting in Dennis O’Moore’s arms and gazing up in 
 
Bae WE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 his own odd, abrupt, searching way into the Irish boy’s 
 face. 
 
 “Tsaac!” he half laughed, half sobbed: ‘ Dennis is” 
 afraid of hurting this poor rickety body of mine. Come 
 here, will you, and pinch me or pull my hair, that I may 
 be sure it isn’t all a dream!”’ 
 
 THE END. 
 
Frank F. Lovell & Company's Publications. 5 
 
 SOCIAL SOLUTIONS. 
 
 By M. Gopin, Founder of the Familistere at Guise ; Prominent 
 Leader of Industries in France and in Belgium; Member of the 
 National Assembly. Translated from the French by Marie How- 
 land. srvol. Cloth. r2mo. Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 The most important work ever written upon the labor question, and the only 
 one offering a practical solution of the subject of the relation of Capital to 
 Labor. Ina notice of the death of the celebrated author, the New York 7rzbune 
 of January 31, 1888, says: ‘‘ The death of Mr. Godin, founder of the famous ‘ famil- 
 istére ’ of Guise, and that of Madame Boucicaut, not long preceding the former, 
 bring two of the best-known co-operative enterprises of France to a critical stage. 
 It is to be seen now whether these establishments can stand alone, without the aid 
 and support of the strong minds that brought them into being. The ‘familistére’ 
 has long been noted among Socialistic undertakings, but not alone because of the 
 number of working people concerned. There are less than half as many as in the 
 big Paris shop of the Boucicauts, hardly one-tenth as many as in the Essen works 
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 made for the health, comfort and even the pleasures of the employés, is certainly 
 not surpassed, if it is equalled, by any similar enterprise in the world, but which 
 in its methods is decidedly paternal rather than co-operative.”’ 
 
 THE CONDITION OF THE WORKING CLASS IN 
 ENGLAND IN 1884. 
 
 With Appendix written 1886, and Preface 1887. By FREDERICK 
 ENGELS. Translated by Florence Kelley Wischnewetzky. 1 vol. 
 12mo. Cloth. $1.25. 
 
 A good exhibit is here made of the causes that led to a socialistic organi- 
 zation and the line of action which the founder of Modern Socialism, Karl Marx, 
 and the author of this volume followed for more than forty years. The principles 
 of the order are concisely set forth in the ‘‘Communist Manifesto”’ of 1847, given 
 in the preface, which clearly defines them. Mr. Engel’s views and aspirations are 
 comprehensive and far-reaching. It appears to him that ‘tthe Henry George 
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 local movement, or at best fora short-lived phase of the genera] movement.’’ The 
 book is one those who would learn what the Socialistic Movement is, from its 
 leading friends and advocates rather than from the misrepresentations of its 
 enemies, should read and consider, 
 
4 Frank F. Lovell & Company's Publications. 
 
 FOR MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS. 
 
 By Mrs. E. G. Cook, M.D. A book for all Women. Health and 
 happiness for the children (home treatment), and a complete manual 
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 “The revised and enlarged edition of ‘For Mothers and Daughters’ is one of 
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 ‘‘As lam constantly contending with ignorance of the laws of healthin parents, 
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 who reads this book will thank the author for giving, from ripe experience cf over 
 a quarter of a century, this vital and all-important information.’-—Geo. E. Shif- 
 man, M.D.,0f the Foundlings’ Home, Chicago, lll. 
 
 Christian at Work, New York, says: *‘ A motherly, sisterly, sensible book.”’ 
 New York Times says: ‘‘ A book of sound advice to women.”’ Southern World, 
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 Child’s History of France; 12mo, 288 pp., large type, cloth, 75 
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 Bible Gallery of Illustrations and Stories. One large quarto 
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