The Island of Gold Part 10

All's well that ends well. And shortly after the denouement there may be seen, wending its way in the calm summer gloaming up the little footpath that leads through the green corn, the following procession.

First, Bob solemnly carrying the fis.h.i.+ng-rod; then Ransey Tansey with a string of red-finned fish in front of him, and Babs on his back, wrapped in the Indian's blanket; and last, but not least, the Admiral himself, nodding his head not unlike a camel, and lifting his legs very high indeed, because the dew was beginning to fall.

Babs had gone soundly to sleep by the time they reached the farm, but she was lively enough a few minutes after this.

And Mrs Farrow made them stay to supper, every one of them, including even the Admiral, although he said "Tok--tok--tok" several times, out of politeness, perhaps when first invited in.

The kitchen at the farm was in reality a sitting-room, and a very jolly, cosy one it was; nor did the fire seem a bit out of place to-night.

It took Ransey quite a long time to tell all his adventures, and dilate upon the kindness of his visitors, especially rough but kindly Captain Weathereye.

It was almost dark before they got to the little cot at the foot of the hill that they called their home; and here a fresh surprise awaited them, for a light was s.h.i.+ning through the little window, and through the half-open door as well.

Babs herself was the first, I believe, to notice this.

"O 'Ansey," she cried, struggling with excitement on the boy's back, "O 'Ansey, look! fazer [father] has tomed! Be twick, 'Ansey, be twick."

And Ransey quickened his pace now, while Bob ran on in front.

"Wowff, wowff," he barked, "wowff--wowff--wow!" But it was in a half-hysterical kind of way, as if there were a tear of joy mixed up with it, joy at the hope of seeing a kind old master again.

Even the crane felt it his bounden duty to indulge in an extra hop or two, and to shout, "Scray--scray--scray--ay--ay!"

It was the Admiral's voice that caused honest Tom Tandy to get up from his chair, lay down his pipe, and hurry to the door.

"Hill--ll--o!" he shouted. "Here we all are, Ransey Tansey, Babs, and Bob, and all. Why, this _is_ a merry meeting. Come, Babs. Hoist away, Ransey. Hee--hoy--ip! and there she is safely landed in harbour. So you missed your old father, little la.s.s, did you? Bless it. But we're all going on to-morrow, and the _Merry Maiden_ has got a new coat o'

paint, and new furniture for the cuddy, and it's no end of a jolly time we'll all have."

Yes, it _was_ a merry meeting, and a right happy one. I only wish that both Miss Scragley and Captain Weathereye had seen it.

"Why," the former would have said to herself, "this good fellow could surely never have been a slave to the bottle!"

Mr Tandy had never really been a constant imbiber of that soul-killing curse of our country--drink; but some years gone by, like many another old sailor, he was liable to slide into an occasional "bout," as it is called, and it was with sorrow he thought of this now. But Miss Scragley and many others have yet to learn that it is often the best-hearted and the brightest that fall most easily into temptation.

As for Weathereye, had he been a witness of this little reunion, he too would have given his opinion about the st.u.r.dy old sailor.

"Why!" he would have cried frankly to Mr Tandy, [p.r.o.nounced Tansey only by the children] "why, my good fellow, Miss Scragley, who is faddy and elderly, and myself, old fool that I am at the best, were considering what best we could do for your children. We were to do all kinds of pretty things. The boy was going to a school, the child to a home, and you--ha, ha, ha--you, with your bold face and your st.u.r.dy frame, a man of barely forty, were going to be sent to the house. Ha, ha, no wonder I laugh. But tip us your flipper, Tandy, you're a man every inch--a man and a sailor."

That is what Weathereye would have said had he seen Tandy sitting there now.

They are right in saying that those whom animals and children love are possessed of right good hearts of their own.

And here was this old sailor--the word "old" being simply a term of endearment, for none but the sickly are old at forty, and they've been old all the time--sitting erect in his chair, Babs on one knee, the great cat on the other; Ransey on the hearth looking smilingly up at father's bronzed face, silver-sprinkled hair and beard; the Admiral standing on one leg behind the chair; and poor Bob asleep before the fire, with his chin reposing on his old master's boot.

It was a pretty picture.

"Children," says Tandy at last, "it is getting late, and--just kneel down. I think we'll say a bit of a prayer to-night."

Book 1--CHAPTER SEVEN.

ON SILENT HIGHWAYS.

It was early next morning when Ransey Tansey ran off through the fields for a double allowance of milk.

"Double allowance to-day, Mrs Farrow," he shouted. "Oh, yes, father's come; and we're goin' on to-day. Isn't it just too awfully jolly for anything?"

"Well, I'm sorry to lose you and Babs."

"Back in a month, Mrs Farrow. It'll soon pa.s.s, ye know. But I--I am a kind o' sorry to leave you too, for ye've been so good to Babs and Bob and me."

There was a tear in Ransey's eye as he took the milk-can and prepared to depart.

"The Admiral can take care o' his little self," he said, "but there's Murrams."

"Yes, dear boy, and our nipper shall go over every morning, and put Murrams's bowl of milk in through the broken pane."

"Oh, now I'm happy, just downright happy."

"Well, off you run. Mind never to forget to say your prayers."

"No; and I'll pray for Murrams, for the Admiral, for you, and all."

He waved his hand now, and quickly disappeared.

The world wasn't a very wide one just yet to these poor children, Ransey and Babs. It was chiefly made up of that little cottage which went by the uncanny name of Hangman's Hall, and of the carrying barge or ca.n.a.l-boat yclept _Ye Merry Maiden_. But when at home, at the hut, they had all the sweet, green, flowery fields around them, the stream, and the wild woods. These formed the grand seminary in which Ransey studied nature, and moreover, studied it without knowing he was studying anything. To him every creature, whether clad in fur or in feather, was a friend. He knew all their little secrets, and they _knew_ that he knew them. Not a bird that sang was there that he did not know by its eggs, its nest, or its notes; not a rabbit, hare, vole, or field-mouse that he could not have told you the life-story of. His was a--

"Knowledge never learned at schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase.

Of the wild flowers' time and place; Flight of fowl, and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his sh.e.l.l; How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground mole makes his well; How the robin feeds her young; How the oriel's nest is hung; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay; And the architectural plans Of grey hornet artisans."

It is true enough that this family was poor in the eyes of the world. I am sure they were not ashamed of it, however.

The poverty that goes hand in hand with honesty may hold up its head before the Queen.

"Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that?

The coward slave, we pa.s.s him by; We dare be poor for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that?"

So sang the immortal Robert Burns.

But could any boy, or girl either, be really poor who had so many friends in field and forest, and by the winding stream? No; and such a one as this, who has been in touch with nature in his or her early days, may grow up, grow old, but never forget the days of youth, and never, never lose faith in Heaven and a happy Beyond.

The cottage and the surrounding country, however, did not const.i.tute all the children's world. There was the s.h.i.+p--as I have said--the barge that went to sea, and in which they so often sailed.

For to them as yet the barge was a brig, and the ca.n.a.l the ocean wide and wild. Well, I might on second thoughts withdraw those "wee wordies," _wide_ and _wild_. The ca.n.a.l was not a very wide one, nor was it ever very wild, in summer time at all events.

Never mind, to the imagination of Ransey, Babs, and Bob, the _Merry Maiden_ was--