The Project Gutenberg EBook of Summer Days, by George M. Baker This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: Summer Days Author: George M. Baker Release Date: June 8, 2015 [EBook #49170] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUMMER DAYS *** Produced by David Edwards, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
| ILLUSTRATED. |
NEW YORK:
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY,
Publishers.
Copyright, 1880, by Dodd, Mead & Company.
| SUMMER DAYS. DOWN BY THE SEA. |
IT was the fifteenth day of June, and the last day of school. Alice Grey had just said her last good-byes to the other girls, and was starting on her homeward way when she heard a voice behind her.
“Alice, Alice, wait a minute.”
Alice turned around and saw Susy Lee running towards her.
“Let’s go on together,” said Susy, overtaking her friend. “There is no use in walking alone when one can have company.”
“No, indeed,” said Alice, laughing, “particularly when the company has a good big sun umbrella, and the one has none. Here, let me take your arm, and creep under your shade, that’s a love.”
“Isn’t it hot?” exclaimed Susy, when they were both comfortably settled under the shade of the umbrella. “See, there isn’t a breath of wind.”
“Hot isn’t the word for it,” said Alice; “why, it is simply scorching. I am so glad we are through with school, for it is really dreadful to study in this weather. I am crazy to get off to the country, aren’t you?”
“Yes, indeed, I am,” said Susy. “I just love the country; don’t you? When I get on my blue flannel sailor suit and my big shade hat, and know that I can get just as mussy as I please, I am too happy for anything. Where are you going this summer?”
“Oh, we are going to Sandy Shore; we go there every summer. Papa has a cottage there.”
“Sandy Shore!” exclaimed Susy. “Why, how perfectly delightful. I am going there, too. Papa has rented a house for the summer, and we are to start off in about a week.”
The children were of course overjoyed to find that they were to be companions for the summer, and had a great deal to talk about. And so busy were they that Alice’s house was in sight long before the important event had been thoroughly discussed.
When they reached Mr. Grey’s it was nearly time for luncheon, however, so Alice and Susy
kissed each other good-bye, and separated, each to confide to her mother the pleasant prospects for the summer.
Alice found the house in rather a confused state. Trunks were in every room; carpets were being taken up; and everything denoted that a change of some sort was about to take place.
Alice flew up the stairs, and, rushing into her mamma’s room, she found her father and mother talking together very earnestly about something.
“Why, mamma,” she exclaimed, “what is the matter? Are we going to the country earlier than usual?”
“Yes, Alice,” said Mrs. Grey, “we are going to the country day after to-morrow. Now that your school is ended there is no need of our staying longer in town, and I am impatient enough to get away from this heat. I don’t suppose you are sorry, are you?” she added, laughing.
“Not very,” said Alice. “I am nearly roasted with this heat, and, mamma, just think, isn’t it too lovely? Susy Lee is going to Sandy Shore for the summer. Her papa has rented a cottage there.”
“Why, that must be the cottage next to us. I heard Mr. Morton had rented it but I did not know to whom. I am so glad. How delightful it will be for you.”
“But now you must run, my dear, for I am so busy that if I stop to talk to you I shall never finish what I have to do. I wish you would go up in the nursery, and see if the children are all right. Maria is so busy helping me that she has no time to look after them.”
Alice went up stairs, resolving that she would take care of the children all the afternoon. “I cannot pack the trunks,” she said,
“but I can help by giving the others time to do it.”
She found beside her little sister Janet and brother Harry, Pauline and Charley Roberts there. The children had found a box of paints, and had been amusing themselves by making pictures of each other. They were in a great state of merriment over their last performance when Alice opened the door and walked in.
“Why don’t you paint something really nice?” said she. “I have some pictures in my room, and you can draw any one which you will select. Now, wait a minute till I bring you some.”
So Alice went to her room, and soon returned with some pictures. The children gathered around, and, after some hesitation, they selected a picture of a man skating.
“Let’s choose this,” said Charley Roberts; “It is such a hot day that a winter scene is refreshing. Doesn’t it feel delightful to breathe that cold air, and to see all that ice and snow?”
Alice laughed at this flight of imagination, and seating herself upon the floor she began to look over her sketch-book, while the children amused themselves by drawing.
The hours flew quickly past, and Alice took such good care of the children that her mamma was able to get everything ready for their departure in time. The eventful day arrived, and at six o’clock the children were up. The train left so early that it was necessary to make a very early start.
Breakfast was hurriedly eaten, and then the small bags and parcels which had not been already sent were gathered together, and out went the happy party to the carriage which was waiting for them at the door.
Oh, how delightful it was to be leaving the hot city with all its noise and dust, and how sorry Alice felt for all the people she met who were obliged to remain behind. Although the morning was cool, the day which followed was sure to be warm and uncomfortable.
The ride in the cars was long and dusty, to be sure, but who cared for that when there was
something so delightful to look forward to at the end?
And it did not seem so very long after all, for there was so much to talk about, and there were so many plans to make for the summer, that before they knew it the conductor called out “Sandy Shore,” and they were at their summer home.
There was the old stage waiting at the station. In a few minutes all were comfortably seated, and off they went.
Oh, what rejoicings there were to be at home again, for the children always persisted in calling their country place home, and their house in the city as a sort of place where they must work and improve as much as possible.
The children ran about from room to room to see if there were any changes, but first of all they had to pay a visit to the stable, where they found Wrinkles, the old mastiff, basking in the sun, little dreaming that his friends were so near. When he heard their voices and saw them before him, his joy knew no bounds. He jumped up, and nearly overturned them in his joy at seeing them again.
Then, when he was convinced of their presence, he would not let them out of his sight, but followed them about everywhere. Everything had to be inspected; every room in the house had to be gone into; every corner of the stable must be looked at; and the dear old hay loft, where so many happy hours had been passed, could certainly not be neglected. And what should they find up there but Mistress Tab, with five of the prettiest kittens you ever saw. And what did they all do but march down stairs after the children, and walk into the house to show themselves to Mrs. Grey.
Then the boats had to be examined to see whether they leaked after the long winter
drying. They were discovered to be in good condition, and while Wrinkles ran along the banks the children roved about, having such a delightful time that they could scarcely believe it could be so late when supper was announced.
The days went on happily till the time arrived when Susy Lee was expected. Then of course Alice was doubly happy. Although she was not one of those silly girls who cannot find pleasure in the society of her younger brothers and sisters, she was of course delighted to have a girl of her own age to play with. So on the day that Susy came she was, of course, quite excited. She and Janet and Harry went about collecting flowers, so that the house might look bright and pleasant when the family should arrive.
So Susy came, and then began the good times in earnest. The children took long walks in the woods and lanes, with Wrinkles for a guide and protector, and many were the curiosities they brought back from their rambles.
One day as they were walking along over a road which they had never taken before, Susy suddenly exclaimed:
“See, there is a little house. I am so glad, for I am dreadfully thirsty. I didn’t say anything about it before, for it was of no use when there was no water near by, but now I can get a drink. Come.”
So the children ran on till they came to the hut, and knocking at the back door they waited quietly for it to be opened.
But no answer came to their rapping, so Susy lifted the latch and peeped cautiously in. She started back in a minute, however, exclaiming:
“Alice, there is a little girl in there sitting on the floor and crying like everything. What shall I do? Would you go in or would you go away?”
Alice hesitated a minute, and then she said, softly:
“Let us go in by all means. The poor child may be in trouble, and, if so, we may be able to help her.”
So the children opened the door, and Alice walked quietly towards the girl. At first she was so absorbed by her grief that she did not hear any footsteps, but suddenly, being conscious that some one else was in the room, she started to her feet, and, drying her eyes upon the corner of her apron, she exclaimed:
“Oh! I beg your pardon, miss; I did not hear any one. Can I do anything for you?”
“We came in search of a drink of water,” said Alice, “and seeing you in trouble we came in, hoping we should be able to do something to help you.”
“How kind you are,” said Sarah, for that was her name. “Indeed I am in sore need of help, but I do not see how I can get it.”
“What is it that troubles you,” said Susy.
“Why, you see,” said Sarah, “mother and I live here by ourselves since father died, which is going on five years now. Well, what with his long sickness and being out of work, we got into debt. After he died mother and I, we worked awful hard. We paid up a little each year until we got even again. But it wore poor mother out, for she did the bulk of everything, and now she has an awful cough, and is so bad she has to stay in bed nearly all day. All our money is gone now, and I can’t get food for her, and how can she get strong again without it? I could earn something if I could get out, but I can’t leave her; and my clothes are so ragged that I can’t bear to be seen. I thought I would cook a couple of potatoes, but I just took out the basket and found that there were only these bad ones left. I never lost my courage before,” she added, “for when we could work together we were bright and cheerful, but it is clean gone now.” And though the poor child tried to smile she failed, and, bursting into tears, she cried as if her heart would break.
“Sarah,” called a feeble voice from a little room near by, “Sarah, whom are you talking to?”
“Yes, mother,” said Sarah; “I’ll come in in one minute.”
So she took down a tumbler from a shelf, and after giving Alice and Susy some water she went into her mother’s room.
While she was gone Alice and Susy looked at each other for a few minutes in silence, then Alice spoke.
“Susy,” she said, “we must do something at once; it is too dreadful to think of.”
When Sarah came back Susy said to her:
“Cannot the neighbors do anything for you?”
“We have not any near neighbors,” said Sarah; “and besides they do not know anything about us. Mother and I only moved here a little while ago, and we don’t like people to know of our troubles.”
“Well,” said Alice, “there is one thing very certain, you must go home with me and get a basket of provisions. After you have had something to eat we can decide what to do.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” said Sarah, gratefully; “but—but—”
“But what?”
“I don’t see how I can leave mother alone. She has to be looked after all the time, and yet, oh, I should be so glad to see her eat a good meal.”
“I will stay with your mother,” said Susy, “and will take good care of her, too; so run along.”
Sarah put on her hat, and, walking along by Alice’s side, she told her about her past life. Her father had been a ship-carpenter. While health and strength lasted he had plenty to do, but when troubles came people became tired of helping them. Money was borrowed, and bills had to be run up, and at last came his death and the expenses consequent upon it.
Since then they had been trying in every way to pay their debts, and had gone on very well. Their house was larger than they needed, and they had at last resolved to move to an adjoining village, and into a smaller house. They knew that at Sandy Shore there were many families spending the summer, and Mrs. Thompson hoped to get washing or sewing.
But her strength would not hold out forever, and the poor overworked woman broke down at last.
Alice and Sarah walked quickly on, taking the road close to the beach because it was not only shorter but pleasanter. The clouds were gathering apparently for a storm, and the birds flew back and forth as if uncertain whether to seek shelter or to stay out and face the tempest.
Mr. Grey’s cottage was soon reached, and leaving Sarah in the kitchen, with instructions to the cook to give her a good meal, Alice flew into the house to find her mother.
Of course Mrs. Grey was shocked to hear such a dreadful story, and at once ordered a good basketful of provisions to be prepared for Sarah to take home.
“Mamma,” said Alice, “I was thinking that Susy and I might raise some money to take care of Sarah and her mother. Don’t you think we ought first to call in a doctor to see Mrs. Thompson?”
“By all means,” said Mrs. Grey. “If she is not so ill but that good care and proper food may restore her to health, there will be great encouragement to provide what we can for her. If, on the other hand, she is not likely to recover, some provision ought to be made for Sarah, and the mother must be made comfortable while she lives.”
“If we only had more time,” said Alice, “we might get up a fair.”
“Why not furnish lemonade and cake,” said Mrs. Grey, “then invite all our friends in the place to come over. We can provide amusements for them. You have a good many out-of-door games, tennis, croquet, archery; get them all out and let everybody use them, but have it understood that each person must spend something in lemonade and cake. You might have a series of afternoons like that, and in that way you could aid a great deal, I am sure.”
“Oh, mamma,” exclaimed Alice, “that is just the thing. I must fly back and tell Susy.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Grey. “You had better stop at Dr. Pool’s and ask him to go over and see the poor woman. And tell him I should be very glad if he could come here soon afterwards, and let me know what he thinks of her case.”
So Alice, after sending Sarah off with a
message to Susy, to come to her house as soon as possible, “as she had something very particular to say,” ran in the opposite direction to Dr. Pool’s house.
Dr. Pool lived in a very pretty house not far from Mr. Grey’s, although it was quite a distance back from the ocean. There were some beautiful old trees growing near the house, and behind it there was a small pond of freshwater. As Alice drew near the house she saw Patrick just driving the doctor’s horses down for a drink.
“Good!” exclaimed Alice. “There are the horses, that means that Dr. Pool is at home.”
So Alice ran to the door, and rang the bell. It was answered by Nettie Pool, the doctor’s oldest daughter.
Netty was a lovely girl, and was a great favorite with every one. When Alice saw her she said:
“Oh, Netty, I have something very particular to tell you, but first I must attend to business.”
“That sounds very solemn,” said Netty, laughing; “but do come inside while you tell me what that wonderful business is.”
“My business is with your father,” said Alice; “is he at home?”
Netty said he was in his office, so Alice went in and delivered the message from her mother. She told him exactly where the woman lived, and about all the trouble they had had.
“I am going over in that direction,” said the doctor, “in about two hours, and I will then call and see her, and let your mother know her condition.”
“That is beautiful,” said Alice. “Now I can go back and talk to Netty.”
The children had a long talk over their plans,
and Netty said she should be delighted to help them in it, and to have one of the lemonade tables.
“You might come back and take tea with me,” said Alice, “and we can talk it over. Why, there is Susy now; how nice that is! Let’s hurry on, and overtake her.”
So Susy was soon with them, and they had an opportunity to talk the whole affair over as they walked slowly home.
There was a great deal to be done in preparation for this “lemonade fête,” as the children called it, and for several days the three girls were very busy. There were invitations to be written, a big tent to be put up, the games, which had not been used since last summer, to be looked over, besides countless little things which always arise to be done at such a time.
But at last the eventful day arrived, and everything was ready. The three girls stood under the tent in breathless excitement waiting: for their expected guests.
“Oh, I wonder if any one will come,” said Alice, “and I wonder how much we shall make! I do think everything looks lovely.”
“I hope every one else will think so, and will leave their money behind in proportion to their admiration,” said Susy.
“Surely some one ought to be coming by this time,” said Netty.
“There, there, look! I see those two little Brice children coming along,” said Alice. “I suppose they will want some cake. Come on, my young friends; come and get some lemonade. No matter if you do cry all night with colic, it will be tears shed in a good cause.”
“Oh, Alice, how silly you are,” said Susy, laughing. “I suppose Mrs. Brice is just behind, and has stopped to talk to some one at the gate. She will take good care that no colic follows this festive scene.”
“Yes, you are right,” said Netty. “See! there comes a crowd of ladies and gentlemen. Oh, dear, my heart is thumping so; I do wish it would stop.”
But although the three girls were having their fun all by themselves, they looked very demure to the people who came to take lemonade at their tables. They stood quietly waiting, with their fresh muslin dress, dainty white aprons with pink ribbon bows on the pockets. Soon people began to come in crowds, and there was amusement for every one. Those who liked archery found bows and arrows waiting for them; those who liked croquet had only to pick out their mallets and begin a game. The tennis balls flew back and forth, and even the older ladies found comfortable chairs in the shade of tents or arbors where they could chat away the afternoon. As for the little people who came there was no end to their fun. They played “oats, peas, beans,” and tag and every sort of delightful game.
But the best of all was to see the cake and lemonade disappear. Again and again the plates were filled with cake, and the pitchers with lemonade, only to be emptied and refilled.
When the pleasant party was about to break up, Dr. Pool stood up and asked the people to give him their attention for a few minutes.
So every one listened, and he told them the story of poor Mrs. Thompson and her brave struggle with poverty. “My little friends tell me,” said he, “that they have made ten dollars this afternoon.
“My kind little friends, Alice and Susy and Netty, have confided to me that they would like very much to take upon themselves the support of this family. You see, if we can just keep her mind easy and give her good food for a few weeks, she will get up and be as strong as ever, I think. But she is in a bad way now, and unless care is taken of her at the present time it will be too late.
“It has been suggested that we should have one of these delightful lemonade parties every Saturday for a few weeks, and so raise money enough to keep Mrs. Thompson until she is able to support herself.”
But suddenly a scream was heard, and every one ran in the direction of the sound, and what do you think they saw?
Mrs. Martin had come in the afternoon, but being obliged to go home early, she had left her two little girls, promising to send the nurse for them. The children consequently played around, enjoying themselves immensely, until looking up suddenly they saw their nurse approaching.
“There’s Elise,” whispered Nannie. “Oh, I don’t want to go home.”
“We’se better hide,” said Freddy.
“I don’t see any place to hide,” said Nannie.
“Let’s dit up on dis fence,” said Freddy, “and turn our backs, and she will never see us.”
So the children climbed up, and sat very still with their backs turned towards Elise.
Of course they were discovered, and the scream of disappointment followed. They insisted that it was too early to go, and that they wanted to stay. But at last they were coaxed into going pleasantly, and then one after another of the party said good-bye, and the lawn was soon cleared of guests.
The next day Mrs. Grey went with the children to the village, and selected such provisions as she thought most suitable for Mrs. Thompson’s use. She also selected some calico for dresses for Sarah.
Mrs. Grey took the bundles, and getting back into the carriage they proceeded on their way to Mrs. Thompson’s cottage.
Their knock was answered by Sarah, who opened the door with a bright smile upon her face.
“Oh, ma’am,” she exclaimed, as she saw Mrs. Grey, “you don’t know how much better mother has been since you sent her the beef tea, and other things. Why she could speak quite loud this morning. Only,” she added, “she says she ought to get up and work now that she feels so much better. But I’m sure she ought not, for the doctor said most particular as how she was to stay in bed.”
“She mustn’t think of getting up,” said Mrs. Grey. “I will go in and see her.”
While Mrs. Grey was in the sick room the
children opened the bundle, and showed Sarah the dresses. She was greatly delighted, you may be sure. They then helped her to carry the groceries into the kitchen and to select the best places in which to keep them.
But Sarah said she would not put them away until she had washed off the shelves, and swept out the closet again.
So the three children, went out in the yard, and sat on the fence to wait until their mother should be ready to return. They were very much interested in watching some boats which were blown about on the water, and in talking about the fair.
While Susy and Alice were telling Sarah of their plans for her mother, they suddenly saw in a field some distance from where they were sitting a little girl playing with a lamb.
“Why, who is that child?” said Susy. “She cannot live near here, for there is no house for a great distance.”
“I am sure I do not know. I have never seen her before,” said Sarah.
“She has no hat on, and she looks dreadfully distressed about something.”
“I think we had better go and see what she is doing,” said Sarah; “perhaps she has lost her way.”
So the children jumped down from the fence, and, running for a little distance, they came to the field where the child was standing.
As soon as she saw our little friends she began to run towards them as fast as she could go, crying:
“Oh, please, please, show me the way home. I want my mamma.”
Alice went up to the child, and, putting her arms around her, she kissed the child gently, saying:
“Do not cry, dear. We will take you home, only tell us where you live. How did you get here? Have you lost your way?”
“Oh,” said the little girl, “I lost my lamb—he wandered away—so I thought I would go and find him. I hunted and hunted for him, and at last I found him in a big, big field. I was so glad to see him that I sat down and played with him. See! I made this chain of daisies; isn’t it pretty?
“Well, after we had played for a while we started to go home, but we didn’t find the place. Somehow, we kept getting into more fields and more fields, and then I got oh, so tired, and I called mamma but she didn’t hear me.”
“Well, never mind now,” said Alice; “we will take you home in our carriage, and you shall soon see your mamma. What is your name?”
“My name is Linda Forest,” said the little girl, “but I can’t tell you where I live, for I don’t know the way. It is a big, big house with big, big trees all around it. It isn’t our city house, but our new house in the country.”
“Well,” said Alice, “we will find out where it is when mamma comes out. There she is now,” she added. “Come take my hand and we will go and tell mamma.”
“Snowball must go, too,” said Linda, holding back a little; “I mustn’t leave him behind.”
Mrs. Grey came out of the door just then, so the children went to meet her.
“Who is this little girl?”
Alice told her mother of Linda’s wanderings, and to her surprise her mother exclaimed:
“Why, of course I know where the child lives; don’t you, Alice? Mr. Forest has just bought the old Minor place; they only moved in last week. Why, yes, you poor little thing, you shall be with your mamma in a little while; but how in the world did those little bits of feet carry you so far from home?”
Mrs. Grey then got into the carriage, and then the children climbed in.
They saw a great many interesting things on their way home, but I can only tell you of one
of them. They were driving along chatting merrily about all sorts of things, when suddenly, as they followed the turn in the road, what should appear before them but an encampment.
“Why, mamma, there’s a man lying flat down on the grass,” said Alice; “it looks like—why, mamma, mamma, it is Uncle Dick.”
Alice stood up on her seat and called “Uncle Dick.”
Uncle Dick, for it was really he, walked rapidly towards the carriage, and in a few minutes they were all asking and answering questions.
Uncle Dick told them he was on a walking trip, and that they were stopping here for a day or two to rest.
“I was going up to call on you this afternoon,” said he.
“You must come up to tea instead,” said Mrs. Grey.
They had to go a good deal out of their way to reach Linda’s house, but, as Alice said, it was all the better, for they would have a pleasant drive.
At length they reached the house. It was a delightful place surrounded by tall trees. Alice thought the only fault she could find with it was that it was too far from the ocean. A young girl, the gardener’s daughter, was picking a basketful of flowers as she walked under the trees.
When they drove in at the gate they saw that some great excitement had taken possession of everybody. The maids were running back and forth, and the house doors were all open.
As they drew nearer, Mrs. Grey began to guess what was the cause of all this trouble.
“They are looking for Linda,” said Mrs. Grey. “Yes; I hear them calling ‘Linda Linda!’ ”
So James hurried the horses on, and as soon as they came in sight of the maids Mrs. Grey held Linda up so that she might be seen.
You may imagine how surprised they were to see the child seated in a stranger’s carriage, and driving comfortably home.
But they were glad enough to see the little girl back again, you may be sure, for they had been in a terrible fright about her. Mrs. Grey said she was going to call upon Mrs. Forest very soon, but that she would not stop now; so bidding Linda good-bye, and telling her she must come over soon, and play with the children, she drove away.
Uncle Dick came that night to tea, and you may be sure Alice was delighted to see him. She had enough to talk about, for it seemed to her that a great deal had happened since she saw him last.
At eight o’clock Alice bade the family good night, and went up to bed.
It seemed to her that she had been in bed for not more than half an hour when, upon opening her eyes, she saw that the sun was beginning to come into her room. “Oh, dear; I suppose I ought to get up,” she said.
So Alice sat up in bed, and took her pillow in her hands. As she did so she heard something rattle, and, upon looking closely to see what it could be, she espied a letter directed to “Miss Alice Grey.”
“What in the world can that be,” said Alice, looking at it attentively. “I will open it, and see what is inside.”
So she broke the seal and took out a letter which was folded carefully within. This she opened and imagine her astonishment, when out rolled a ten-dollar bill.
All sleepiness left her eyes as she began to read her letter.
“Dear Alice: I shall not see you again probably, for some time, as we start off again to-morrow morning; but although neither Mr. Cushman nor I can be at the fair on Saturday, we wish to make a contribution to this good cause. Will you please accept ten dollars for us, and buy whatever you think is best for your protégée? So good-bye, my dear little girl. With our best wishes for your success, I remain your affectionate
Uncle Dick.”
Alice could not sleep any more that morning. Instead of dreading to get up she now only longed for the time when she could dress herself, and run over to tell Susy the delightful news.
So she lay in bed waiting for the clock to strike six. “I will get up then, certainly,” she said; “but I wish it would be seven. I hate to be up so long before breakfast.”
Just then two little birds lighted on a tree just outside of her window, and began their morning song. They seemed to have a great deal to say to each other, and Alice thought they were probably settling upon a good place for a nest. Alice was right. They were deciding this most important question.
Poor little birds, they have a hard time of it! Between bad boys and cats they have to battle for their lives. We can excuse cats, for they know no better, and they eat two or three mouthfuls of bird as innocently as we would pick and eat two or three strawberries.
Well, these little birds were in a safe enough place, for the boys who came to visit Alice were little gentlemen; and as Alice lay there listening to them her thoughts began to wander. She thought she was a bird and that Susy was another, and that they were both standing on the chimney of Mrs. Thompson’s house. She was showing Uncle Dick’s money to Susy, holding it in her beak, when suddenly, a big black cat came creeping stealthily up the chimney and made a spring toward her ten-dollar bill. She woke with a scream, and found that morning had fairly come.
She sprang out of her bed, and was soon dressed. When she went down to the parlor, she found her mamma writing a letter.
“Oh, mamma,” she exclaimed, “did you see what Uncle Dick left for me?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Grey; “was he not kind? He put it under your pillow himself.”
“He is just the best uncle that ever lived,” said Alice, “and I am going to write and tell him so; but, oh, dear me, I forgot, I don’t know where he is.”
The summer passed away at last. Alice and Susy kept up their fair until Mrs. Thompson grew perfectly well. In fact she said she had
never been so well in her life as she was when she began to walk about again.
The question arose how they should get back, should they take the cars or the boat.
The children were decidedly in favor of the boat, and at last it was decided that they should go in that way.
So one afternoon the trunks were all put on board of a big wagon, and off the Grey family went.
The children had great fun on the boat, and thought it much better than the cars.
The next day they reached New York, and soon the winter came with all its duties. It brought its pleasures, too, but it was a long time before the children ceased to talk about the pleasant summer days which had passed.
| ILLUSTRATED. |
NEW YORK:
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY,
Publishers.
Copyright, 1880, by Dodd, Mead & Company.
Hal Brooks and his sister Dolly lived in town. But this was only in the winter. As soon as the first of June came every year there was a great packing of trunks, for all the family were off to the seaside. Mr. Brooks had a house in the country as well as in town. The country house was built away out on a point of land that ran far into the ocean. On one side of this point were the quiet waters of the bay that lay in front of an old sea-port town, but on the other were the wild waves of the ocean.
The beach that faced the ocean was a fine one. In some places there was a long stretch of sand, and here in the summer time people came down from the town to bathe in the surf on pleasant days. But as you walked along
this beach, presently you would come to a great rocky point, where the air was full of foam as the heavy swell from the sea dashed against it.
There were little sheltered nooks among these rocks, though, and here Dolly loved to sit in the bright Summer days, and watch the seagulls or the boats that swept by.
But we must go back to Hal and Dolly, who are now in town.
It is the first day of June, and the sun is shining brightly. In front of Mr. Brooks’ door is a great van, which two sturdy porters are fast filling with trunks, for to-day they are all off for Oldport. Hal stands on the steps watching the trunks as they are brought down, one after another, with great satisfaction, but he is soon summoned to breakfast. The carriage is to be at the door in half an hour to take them to the station; for Oldport is a long day’s ride on the railway from the town where they live.
There is not much to tell of that day’s ride in the cars. For hour after hour their way led through green fields, where the cattle were browsing so lazily that they hardly lifted their eyes to look at the train as it rushed by. But toward afternoon they began to get now and then peeps of the sea, and once, through the marine glass that his father had, Hal could plainly make out two sailors furling the jib of a vessel some two miles at sea.
They were both pretty tired and dusty, and the basket that had held their lunches was very empty, when just at dusk they heard the brakeman shout “Oldport,” and the train came to a stop at the well-remembered platform.
Mr. Brooks did not go to the great hotel on the hill, but to a little old inn close by the water’s edge. The inn keeper knew that they were coming, and their rooms were all ready for them and supper was just being put on
the table as they drove up to the door. Mr. Brooks always went to this inn because the trip from Oldport to their home was made by boat, and this house was close to the pier. They could drive around, but it was a long, long way, while by the boat it was but a couple of miles. So old Andrew always met them bright and early the next morning after their reaching Oldport, with the big sail-boat, into which trunks, people and all were stowed away, and so home was reached.
The children were both too tired to eat much supper, and as soon as it was over went right to their rooms. Hal stood at the window a minute looking out across the bay to see if he could make out their own house. Yes, away out on the point, he saw it shining white in the moonlight, and here right below him in the harbor was a ship just setting out for sea. At any other time he would have
been much interested in watching her and the men in the boat that were rowing back to shore, but to-night he was much too sleepy, so he left the window and in ten minutes he and Dolly both were fast asleep snugly tucked up in bed.
It was a bright morning when he opened his eyes. He lay still for a moment, hardly wide enough awake to know where he was. Then he heard the splash of the little waves on the beach and that roused him instantly. Not a sound came from the next room, where his papa and mamma and Dolly slept. He crawled quietly out of bed so as not to wake them, and stole to the window.
A little way along the beach, perhaps half a mile from him, he saw a boy and girl running. A fishing boat was sailing by on its way out to sea, and a man in it was waving his hand to them. Hal made up his mind that he must be
the children’s father. But he looked at the boat and children only a minute, for coming across the bay was a sail that he knew at a glance to be that of their own boat, the Speedwell.
He ran to the chair where his clothes were, and began to dress himself with the greatest haste. Then leaving a few buttons to fasten as he went along, he stole out of the room on tip-toe, and running down the pier, reached it just in time to seize the painter that old Andrew threw him. And in another moment he was aboard; and the first thing that his father saw when he looked out of the window was Hal sitting on the Speedwell, and swinging his hat above him for joy.
While they were eating breakfast Andrew and another man carried down the trunks and stowed them away, and by nine o’clock all the luggage was on board. Meanwhile the children were impatient to be off. But much as they longed to be at their summer home they would never have left Oldport without first seeing Thalassa. Thalassa was the adopted daughter of the innkeeper, and was always called Lassie. The children were very much interested in her, for she had a strange history. It was this:
One night, about thirteen years before, there was a great storm. All at once came word that a ship was on the bar. The people crowded to the beach to watch, and to see if they could help those on board. But it was of no use. Of all that ship’s company only one came ashore alive, and that was a baby girl. How she lived in that wild sea no one could tell. The innkeeper who saw her floating just outside the surf, made fast a line around his waist, and at the risk of his life swam out and brought her in. And ever since that day when he rescued her half drowned from the sea, and declared that the friendless little baby should be as his own child, Lassie, his little mermaid as he called her, had been very dear to him. As for Lassie, she loved her adopted father better than all the world beside.
The children had often asked their mother to tell them over and over Lassie’s story, and their hearts had thrilled again and again as they heard of the great ship that in the morning had swept through the water with all sails set, like a thing of life, only to be a shattered wreck at
night, and of the little wave-tossed baby. And so they never came to Oldport without stopping to see Lassie.
They found her this morning in the kitchen. She was walking up and down the floor
carrying in her arms little Betty, who could never be persuaded to take her nap unless Lassie sang to her. Lassie’s voice was very sweet and Betty dropped off just as the children came in.
“Well, Lassie,” said Hal, beginning as he always did at the same question, “have you had any tidings yet from your family?”
“No,” said Lassie, “and I hope I never shall. I love my home here too well to want to have any one come and take me away.”
“But suppose your real father turned out to be the king of England,” said Hal. “It would be much finer to be the Princess Thalassa than just Old David’s Lassie.”
“I wouldn’t go with him a step if he were the King of England,” said Lassie, “no, not even if he were the Khan of Tartary.”
Hal had not much to say to this, as he did not even know who the Khan of Tartary was, so after a little he said good-by. “Perhaps he may turn up yet,” he called out as he moved along. “Any way, I’ll come and see you next time I am in Oldport and hear if he has.”
The harbor was quite a busy scene as they sailed across it. Here was a great ship just home from some foreign land. Away up aloft,
so high above the water that it made Dolly dizzy to look, out on the yards sun-burned sailors were furling the sails, happy, no doubt, to be home again. Here and there heavy sloops, coasters Hal thought them, were making their way slowly on.
Old Andrew, as he sat at tiller of their boat, cast his eyes up at the sailors on the large ship and sighed.
“Does it make you feel like going to sea again, Andrew?” asked Mr. Brooks.
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the old man. “It’s ten years now since I left the sea, but every now and then the old longing comes back.”
“Why, Andrew,” exclaimed Hal and Dolly both at once, “we never knew that you had been a real sailor! Tell us all about it, away back from the very beginning.”
“The very beginning was pretty bad,” said the old man, “for I ran away from home when
I was a boy. I had sometimes been to the little seaport near where I lived, and had watched the ships and had longed to be a sailor.
“But my father would not hear of it. He wanted me to stay at home and be a farmer like himself. I tried to like farming, but I could not, and so one day I sat down on a log and thought it all out, and that night I ran away and shipped as a cabin boy.”
“How splendid!” said Hal.
“It doesn’t look very splendid to me,” said old Andrew. “If I had stayed at home I might have had a farm of my own now, instead of having to hire out like any other common man. And I would never have had the thought of how I broke my mother’s heart, to trouble me all these fifty years.”
Hal began to think that perhaps it was not such a spirited thing to run away as he had thought. At all events he said to himself, as he squeezed his mamma’s hand, he would never
do anything to break his mamma’s heart, no never, never.
Andrew did not have time to tell any more of his experience then, for just at that moment the boat came alongside of their pier. In a minute more it was fast and they were ashore and at their own summer home again.
Tom and Dolly were wild with joy. They rushed about the house, into all the rooms and out again. Then they went to the tool-house, and finding here the sand-shovels that they had left behind the summer before, they seized them and rushed off to the beach, where they were soon hard at work building a sand castle that the next wave would surely knock down. They found this such fun that long before they had dreamed of its being dinner time, they were called to come in and make ready for the noon-tide meal. And such hungry little people as they were! They passed their plates twice for everything, and papa said that if they kept on at that rate they would eat him out of house and home.
In the afternoon they planned to walk along the beach at low tide to the point of rocks that I told you of, and visit a cave that they had found the year before, where they had often been. But this they could not do, for when they rose from the table and went out on the piazza they saw that a storm was brewing. Great heavy black clouds were piled up in the west, and a stormy wind was beginning to blow. The fishing boats in the open sea were making all speed to get into the quiet waters of the bay before the squall burst upon them.
Mr. Brooks brought out his glass, and through it the children could make out quite
plainly the figures of the men in the flying boats. The clouds were rising so fast that the sun was soon hidden. Far out at sea, where the sun was still shining, a great ocean steamer was ploughing its way along as if squalls and storms were something that it had no concern with; but inside the harbor, all the little boats were making great haste to get to their piers before the storm broke. But few of them succeeded, though, for while the children watched down came the rain in a blinding flood that shut out everything from their view, and they were glad to escape from it into the house.
At first they were inclined to feel very much aggrieved that they could not get their walk and had to stay indoors, and Hal was a little bit cross, I am afraid. But mamma said that she was very glad of the rain, for it gave her time to see to the unpacking of the trunks, and she said that if they would be very good they might both help her. At this all Hal’s crossness disappeared, for there was nothing they both liked to do more than to help mamma. They emptied trunk after trunk, bringing armfuls of clothing to her to put away in drawers, and so
much engaged were they that they did not notice that the clouds had broken away, until a broad gleam of sunshine came boldly in at the western windows and lay in a yellow band across the floor. Yes, the shower was over, and the clouds were fast disappearing. That night the moon came as brightly in Dolly’s window as it had ever done, for not even a baby cloud was there to dim its splendor.
The long June days went by one after another and soon July was at hand. July was fast going where June had gone before it. Many a day had Hal and Dolly spent on the sands, sometimes alone sometimes with papa and mamma, watching the great waves come rolling in and break into great clouds of foam.
The beach was not now as quiet and deserted as it had been when they first came, for now people were flocking down from the heated towns to gain health and strength from the cool sea air. The farmers’ houses all along back of the beach were full of them, and Hal and Dolly in their walks often met parties climbing over the rocks, or wading out into the shallow water to gather shells or seaweed that the tide had washed in.
They were not always pleasant people, but one day they came suddenly upon two children not far from their own age.
They were a boy and girl. The girl was younger than Dolly and looked very thin and pale. Her face brightened up so when she saw Dolly that she went up and spoke to her, and
gave her a whole apronful of bright shells that she had picked up.
The little girl was very much pleased with the shells, and soon all four were talking busily. The boy told them that his name was Will Thornton, and that his sister’s name was Ellen. Ellen had been very ill, Will said, and that was the reason that her cheeks were so pale; but now she was going to get well at once. His papa had taken a house high up on a cliff that rose above the ocean. It was more than two miles away from where they now where, and Will told Hal that they had been left on the beach by their papa and mamma, who had gone to make a call and would soon come back for them in a carriage and take them home. Hal and Dolly liked their new friends very much, and were very sorry that they lived so far away; but Will said that he would ask his papa sometime when they were out driving
to leave them at their house, so that they could spend the whole morning together.
And playing on the sands was not the only way Hal and Dolly had of passing their days; sometimes their papa took them in the Speedwell across the bay to Oldport. When he had business to transact he would leave them in charge of old Andrew, but when he was not very busy he would take them with him. They never failed to stop and see Lassie, and Hal was always much disappointed that no news from her family had come. Hal enjoyed these trips to Oldport more than anything else. It was such fun to see the sailors on the ships that lay idly at the piers. Sometimes they would be lying on a coil of rope spinning yarns, and Hal wished that he could go and listen, for he was sure that he should enjoy their stories.
Sometimes a man-of-war lay in the harbor, and Hal was wildly envious of the midshipmen
whom he saw away up in the rigging, looking as much at home in that lofty situation as if they had been born there. When he grew old enough he meant to be a sailor; that was, at least, if mamma would let him. For he had
made up his mind that he could not go unless she said yes. He would never break his mamma’s heart, as old Andrew had done, of that he was determined, sailor or no sailor.
And if there were no man-of-war in port and he grew tired of watching the men at work on the wharves, why there were the fishing boats drawn up on the beach for him to look at.
There they lay, with their sails idly flapping about the mast and with no one aboard. The men had been in too much haste to get their fish promptly to market to take down the sails, and, besides, they knew that no harm could come to their boats in that sheltered spot. Hal would wonder what kind of fish they had caught, how many, and how much money they got for them, and what they did with their money; and in fact, when he began wondering he never knew exactly where to stop.
One rainy day, when there was no going to the beach, Hal and Dolly found their way out to the tool-house. Old Andrew was there putting a great patch on a corner of the Speedwell’s sail where it had been torn. The little people sat beside him and begged for a story. “Did you never get shipwrecked?” asked Hal.
“Yes,” said Andrew. “I was wrecked, and a close shave I had of it for my life.”
“Oh do tell us all about it,” cried they both.
So old Andrew began his story. “I shipped in the Raven,” he said. “She was bound for Norway. A fine vessel she was and a fast one, and I looked forward to a pleasant voyage, for it was in the summer. And when I got to Norway I meant to go ashore a bit and see the land. But I never saw it, for the first night out it came on to blow, and such a gale! When daylight broke all our sails were gone, and the ship was drifting on a rocky shore. Do our
best there was no way to help matters. By and by she struck on a ledge. Snap went her mast and there she was a helpless wreck. The wild waves came leaping over her, battering at her with all their might, and sweeping us off into the raging sea. Many was the strong man that perished that day.”
“And were you drowned?” asked Dolly very much interested.
“Hardly,” laughed Andrew; “or I should not have been here.”
“Of course not,” said Dolly. “How stupid I was! you must have got safely ashore; tell us how you did it.”
“Well,” said Andrew, “I was swept off with the others, and at first I thought it was all up with me, and that I should never breathe again, for I was buried deep by the furious waves; but at last I came to the top; and there close by me was a spar, dashing about. I seized and clung to it, and the wind drove us slowly shore-ward.
“There were a crowd of men on the beach and they soon spied me. The surf was very heavy, so that no boat could be launched, but
two or three men stood ready with ropes tied around them, asnd when I came near they dashed in and seized me, and we were dragged out by the rope.”
“Dear me!” said Hal; “that sounds pretty dreadful, I don’t much think I will be a sailor after all.”
Andrew smiled. “It is not a pleasant life at all; at least I never found it so.”
By and by the days began to grow shorter, and papa and mamma began to throw out hints about school. Hal and Dolly tried very hard not to hear them. It was so pleasant those bright September days that they wished they would never come to an end. All the summer visitors had gone and it seemed to the children as if the beach belonged to them.
But the end came at last. Again the trunks were piled into the Speedwell and the bay was crossed. Again the night was spent in the old inn, and when the morning came the train whirled them away once more, and their pleasant summer was at an end.
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