Читать книгу Sara, a Princess - Fannie E. Newberry - Страница 8

Sara had not walked far, however, before she began to feel the silent, irresistible influences of the day. It was the balmy blossoming time. The whole atmosphere was rich with sweet scents and sounds, while the sky had that marvellous depth and tone which makes the name of heaven seem no misnomer.

The sea, limpid and tender, wooed the shore with gentle whispers and caressings, which seemed to have no likeness to the wild rushes and blows of two months before. She looked towards it wistfully,—for Sara loved the sea,—then, yielding to the homesick impulse, turned from the narrow street to the beach, and walked briskly away towards a spur of rock which jutted into the water sharply at some distance away.

Arrived here, she sought with assured footsteps a certain zig-zag way— it could hardly be called a path—which wound in and out among the bowlders, skipping some, leaping others, trenching on the edges of little pools left in some rocky hollow by the high tide, and finally led her, after a last steep scramble, into a niche of the sea's own hollowing, which she had always claimed as her own.

Seated just within, she could look down upon a narrow causeway, into which the water came tumbling through an aperture in the rocks much like a roughly shaped gothic window, and, having tumbled in, tumbled out again, with much curling and confusion, leaving its angry foam in sudsy heaps along the rocky edges which opposed its farther advance.

This bit of nature was named the "Devil's Causeway" by the natives, who have a way of bestowing all particularly grand and rugged sites upon that disagreeable personage; but Sara, having no mind to give up her favorite spot to his satanic majesty, always named it to herself the "Mermaid's Castle," and had a childish legend of her own about an enchanted princess confined here and guarded by the sea until the coming of the prince,—her lover.

Happy to be here once more, Sara leaned back against the rock, which felt warm, kindly, and familiar; then, removing her sun-bonnet, fanned her flushed face, and looked dreamily away to the pale opaline horizon, against which some sails showed inkily, like silhouettes.

She was wondering vaguely why sails should look so white in shore and so black far out to sea, when she was startled by a sharp tap! tap! apparently at her very elbow.

She jumped a little, then listened wonderingly. It came again—tap! tap! tap!—then a pause; and then an unmistakably human exclamation of impatience, while a bit of rock went whirling past her, to plunge with a resounding thud into the torrent below.

She leaned just the least bit forward and looked around the side of her alcove to see a funny sight. There stood a little man in the attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes, his bare bald head red and perspiring, and his eyes glaring through huge gold-bowed glasses at a bit of rock in one hand, which he had evidently just broken off with the hammer in the other.

He was muttering something unintelligible to Sara, and looked altogether quite queer and cross enough to be a denizen of this ill-named locality.

Sara, laughing to herself at the funny apparition, was drawing into the rocky shell again, when a mischievous puff of wind suddenly caught her gingham bonnet from her limp grasp, and sent it flying down the chasm after the piece of rock.

She heard the exclamation again, louder and more guttural than before, then the full moon of a face peered around her sheltering wall, and the voice said,—

"Hein! A yoong mees! Beg pardong, then—have I deesturb you?"

"No, sir," rising to her feet; "only I've lost my sunbonnet!" looking ruefully down to where it hung tantalizingly in sight, but far out of reach, on a jutting point of rock. He looked too, then shrugged his shoulders with a sympathetic air.

"If I have only been some tall now, mees, or if I could some climb down there—but, alas!"

He shook his head, and threw out his hands with a helpless motion, and just then a clear whistle rose from the base of the cliff, giving the tune of "Annie Laurie." The two looking down then caught a glimpse of a strong white hand, issuing from a black coat-sleeve, which was extended towards them, as the nervous-looking fingers grasped a ledge of rock preparatory to a spring, when the little man burst out,—

"Ha! Mine nevew! Robare, Robare, look! look dis way!"

The whistle ceased, and a head was thrust forward,—a well-cropped, chestnut head,—while a voice as clear as the whistle sang out,—

"Hello, uncle! That you, up there? How did you make it? Haven't got a rope to give me a lift, have you?"

"No, no, vait! Dat—dat—zing—Oh, you tell he!" turning impatiently to Sara, for, in trying to speak quickly, his limited English had quite deserted him.

She called out obediently, in her rich young voice,—

"Wait, please! Do you see the sunbonnet just above your head? If you will get it and go around to the beach, I'll meet you, and point out the way up here." "Indeed I will!" was the quick and courteous response; and she saw the fingers tighten, then the head give a little spring upwards, when the hand clutched the bonnet, and all disappeared.

"I have it," was called up an instant later. "Now for the beach!" Sara turned with a smile to the little man, who nodded kindly, raising his head to lift the hat that was not there, then, with a bewildered look, he whirled around two or three times and gazed at her helplessly.

"Los'!" he murmured, with so comical a look of dismay that Sara could scarcely keep from laughing outright. "Los'! an' it ees tree now of dose hat that ees gone, alas!"

"Perhaps I can find it," she said encouragingly. "Why, what's that?" suddenly catching sight of a bundle of things in a hollow just below.

Sure enough, there was the hat, also a coat, and a round tin box Sara was afterwards to know as a specimen-case. She sprang lightly down, handed them up to the absent-minded little geologist, and went on her way, meeting the nephew on the lower ledge.

He lifted his hat politely as he saw her, and, holding out the bonnet, said,—

"I presume this is your property?"

"Yes, thank you," she returned, flushing a little as she received it.

"You were very kind to get it for me."

"Indeed, no; it is you who are kind, rather! Did you pilot my Uncle Leon up that steep place?"

"Oh, no, sir! He found the way. See, after you get around this rough ledge it is easy till the last climb; that is quite steep. Just follow me a moment, please."

"As long as you wish"—he began gallantly, but she did not wait to hear; and, having led him to a spot whence he could see his uncle, she pointed out the further way, slightly bowed her head in adieu, and, waiting for no further parley, turned about and walked briskly homewards, remembering it was high time to return to the baby, and begin a search for that hidden money.

* * * * *

It was late afternoon of the next day, and poor Sara stood in the midst of her family and household treasures, looking the picture of despair. Around her was collected every description of bag, box, and bundle, also the baby, while Morton and Molly (the latter secretly delighted with all this excitement) were turning things upside-down and wrongside-out, with vim enough to have furnished Pinkerton's whole force.

But now they had come to a halt; for so far, though everything on the premises had apparently been emptied, no money had appeared, and the three stood confronting each other, with dismay written on their faces.

"Can't you think of another place, Molly?" asked Sara in desperation. "She couldn't have torn up the floor, could she?"

Molly's eyes danced.

"What if we had to take up every board! My! 'twould tear the old house all to pieces, wouldn't it? But, Sara, there isn't another place anywhere; we've been everywhere that even a mouse could get, I'm sure!"

"Then it must be among these things, and we have overlooked it. Here, Morton, you take that pile; you this, Molly; and I'll attack these rags; though it doesn't seem possible that she could have put it in a rag-bag."

For a moment there was silence, as each delved and peered, the baby more industrious than all the rest, snatching at everything, to clap to his mouth, only to toss it aside for something else when he found it was not eatable.

"Well, Sara, say what you will, I'm sure 'tisn't in my heap," said

Morton. "What shall I do with all these bits and papers, anyhow?"

"Let's see, it is nearly tea-time. Put them right into the fireplace, and light them to boil the kettle."

"All right; and O Sara! do let's have some crisp fried potatoes with our herring: this work has made me as hungry as a black bear!"

"Yes, yes, do, Sara!" cried Molly, hopping up and down. "And some molasses on our bread too; the butter's all gone."

"Well, Molly, you'll have to slice the potatoes then."

"Of course I will; where's the knife?" whirling about over the thickly strewn floor, glad of any change from what was becoming a wearisome and fruitless task.

"Molly! Molly! You're making everything fly! Do be more careful!"

"Yes'm," dropping suddenly into a ludicrous imitation of the waddle of a goose; "I'll stop flying, and paddle."

"You need a paddle!" muttered Morton, contemptuous of such antics; and he proceeded to stuff the rubbish into the chimney-place, adding a light stick or two.

Soon there was a leaping blaze under the squat black kettle, which the boy watched with satisfaction.

"There!" he said, "we won't have to look those over again. Why, what's baby got? It looks just like a wad of tobacco. Here, Neddie! Neddie! don't put that in your mouth; give it to brother, quick!"

But master baby had no idea of giving up his treasure-trove, and resisted so stoutly that a regular scramble ensued. For his dimpled fingers were shut so tightly over the wad that Morton could not at first undo them, and the baby, wrenching his hand away, crept rapidly to Sara, half crying, half laughing, then, with a sudden thought, turned when in front of the fireplace, and with a wild little giggle of mischief and rebellion tossed the thing into the very midst of the blaze.

The three were all laughing in sympathy, Sara on her knees before the rag-bag, Molly with knife and potato suspended in air, and Morton just as he had tipped over sidewise on the floor when the baby broke away, when suddenly Sara gave a quick, piercing cry.

"See! see! O Morton! Morton!" and reached out her arms in a desperate way, too paralyzed for the instant to rise.

Morton, following her wild glance, echoed the cry, for the supposed wad of tobacco, uncurling in the heat, was now plainly seen to be—a roll of greenbacks!

Morton sprang forward and made a lunge for them; Sara, regaining her wits, did the same, while Molly shrieked and whirled like a dervish, but alas! it was too late! Their scorched fingers clutched only a crumbling blackened roll, which fell to pieces in their grasp, and the day's search for that money, which meant all the difference between comfort and privation, had ended in a tiny heap of ashes, which a breath would blow away.

For one long, dazed, dreadful minute Sara and Morton stood gazing at each other, the boy's blue eyes large as saucers, and Sara's brown ones turned to black by desperation; then the baby, frightened at the silence and their strange expressions, began to cry and tug at Sara's dress, demanding to be taken up.

This broke the spell. Molly gave way to an agony of crying; Morton said brokenly, "Oh, what will we do?" and Sara, stooping mechanically to lift the unconscious little cause of all this trouble, gave a long, quivering sigh, and murmured helplessly, "God only knows!"

And, indeed, the prospect was dark enough. Those greenbacks meant the savings of months, doubtless, put by bit by bit, for just this occasion, and to have them thus destroyed in one careless instant seemed too cruel!

After a little they could talk about it.

"Where could it have been?" sobbed Molly, making a dab at her eyes with the potato, but remembering in time to substitute the corner of her apron.

"I don't know," said Sara; "it was wrapped in brown paper, I think. Even if we had seen it, we would have thought it but a twisted scrap. Did either of you see Neddie when he picked it up?"

No one had, until Morton spied it on the way to his mouth, and all conjectures were useless so long as the little fellow could not explain.

Instead, Morton said more hopefully, "But, Sara, perhaps this isn't all there was. She might have hid it in two or three places."

Sara shook her head dubiously; such wisdom was more than she could hope for in the young mother.

"No, Morton, I don't believe there would be enough to divide. We must look this trouble squarely in the face."

"But, Sara," persisted the boy, "Jap Norris always says father's the most forehanded among them all, and rich for a fisherman. You know he never spends a cent for grog."

"Yes, Morton, I know. Poor father! it's too bad, when he works so hard for us!" and for the first time tears trembled on her eyelashes. Then, dashing them bravely away, "Well, what's done can't be undone. O baby, baby! if you knew the mischief your bits of hands have done!" holding them up, and spatting them gently together till he crowed with delight. "But come, Molly dear, where are those nice fried potatoes we're to have for supper? 'There's no use in crying for spilt milk,' you know."

Molly gave a last sob, then looked up with the sun breaking through her tears. "Burnt money's worse'n spilt milk, Sara; but I'll tell you what, when the coddies are all gone, I'll go lobster-catching, can't I? It's awful fun!"

There were few circumstances in life out of which Molly could not extract "fun" in some shape. Indeed, in less than five minutes she was laughing gayly, and caricaturing the whole scene just passed, from the baby's wilfulness, to Sara's shriek of dismay and rush for the burning greenbacks.

Sara, oppressed with care and forebodings as she was, could not help smiling, and the smile seemed to ease her of her burden just a trifle. "Well, we haven't come to want yet, thank God!" she thought hopefully.

Not want as they knew it, though the most of us might consider them little short of it. There were still herring, "coddies," and potatoes in store, and some groceries, while the pile of wood back of the shed was large for that village. Then, too, summer was near, when their needs would be fewer. To be sure, the new dresses must be given up, but they still had one change apiece, and there were some things of the dead mother's which could be used, for poverty does not admit of morbid sentimentality.

"Oh, we can live, surely, till father comes home," was Sara's summing-up that night, as she lay wide-awake in her bed after all the rest had long been sleeping. Then, turning over with the resolution to trust and fear not, she clasped the naughty baby (whom she had never thought of blaming) in her arms, and, with a last uplifting of her soul in prayer, dropped gently into slumber.