Chapter VIII: Little Robinson Crusoe

WHEN Eliza looked up through the hole at the paling sky, she quite intended keep awake until the sun was up, and then creep down the stairs to see if the cave was clear of water, before she disturbed the little boy from his sound sleep.

But before she was aware of it her eyelids drooped, her head sank back against the chalk wall, and she too was as soundly asleep as the child. She slept on for an hour or two, and then woke up with a start and in a fright. She looked up through the hole at the morning sky, and saw that it was quite bright. She felt sure that she should find the cave had dried in the morning sun, so she slipped the little boy aside out of her arms, unfastened her frock, and after some pulling and tugging, managed to get her arms out of the sleeves, and tucking the frock securely round the little sleeper, she made her way down the steps as quickly as she could.

When she reached the last step, she saw, to her dismay, that the tide was coming in again, and the sea was just beginning to flood the cave once more, but it was not deep enough yet to more than wet her feet, and she walked through that to look out and see if she could carry Eustace to the dry sand which she knew would lie a little way beyond. But, to her great consternation, there was no dry spot within view of where she stood, and she gazed out upon the water as it came slowly lapping in, and wondered whether anybody had been to look for them or would come this morning; and with the wild hope that Nurse or somebody might be searching for them, she thrust her head out as far as she could, and called, "Nurse, Nurse."

But no answer came to her call, and Eliza grew almost desperate as she thought of the little boy asleep up the steps. Presently he would wake up and cry for his breakfast and for Nurse to come to him; and what could she do to pacify him? And with the thought of poor little Robinson Crusoe's distress, she took courage to step out of the cave into the water beyond. It was very terrible to see nothing but the whirling, eddying water all round her, but she boldly ran forward to where she thought she would be seen if any one had come in search of her. To her intense relief, she saw the figures of three men in the distance, and she raised her arms and waved them, at the same time shouting "Help, help!" For a minute they did not seem to hear or see her, then all at once one of them began to run, and waved his arms in token that he saw her; and by that time Eliza's clothes began to dabble in the water, and she made her way back to the cave, but still stood at the edge looking out, for fear the men should pass, and this hope of rescue be lost to them.

But in a minute or two she saw, to her amazement, that the man who had outran the others was no other than the Vicar himself. She was too much overcome to speak for a moment, but before he stepped into the cave, she called out, "Go up the stairs quick, sir—Master Eustace is asleep just at the top;" and as the Vicar ran past her she sank down in the water, but was picked up the next minute by one of the fishermen who had followed closely behind the Vicar. The other, seeing the girl's scanty, dripping clothing, pulled off his thick guernsey and covered the girl up in it, and then ran back for a boat.

Eliza lay limp and inert in the fisherman's arms, and he wondered in some alarm whether they had not come too late to save the girl.

There was little doubt but that the Vicar's son was safe, for he could now be heard calling—

"Man Friday, Man Friday, I won't come till you find Friday."

The Vicar said afterwards that he rushed up the steps, and almost fell over the outstretched legs of the little boy, who was sleeping as comfortably wrapped in Eliza's frock as if he was in his own cot at home. He picked up the precious bundle, and would have gone out by the cliff entrance, but saw that it was blocked by the fall of sand; and he was just turning to go down again, when Eustace, rousing sufficiently to know that he was being carried in somebody's arms, began to kick and struggle and call for "Man Friday."

He looked round, thinking there might be another child; but, seeing Eliza's hat, he concluded she must be Friday, and by that time the boy was sufficiently awake to recognize his father, and tell him Lila was with him.

"My darling! my darling!" was all he could say as he kissed the child again and again while carrying him downstairs to the cave.

But at the sight of it being empty and the waste of waters all round, the little fellow almost sprang out of his father's arms.

"Dadda, dadda," he cried, "we can't go without Friday! See, I have got her frock to keep me warm."

"Hush, dear, hush! Eliza is safe. Do you think I would leave the girl who forgot herself to make you warm and comfortable?"

For answer Eustace kissed his father; but he was not satisfied until he saw the blue bundle being carried in the arms of the fisherman, and was told that that was Man Friday being carried to the boat that they could see approaching them in the distance.

Evidently Eustace was very little the worse for his adventure, for as his father waded through the water murmuring thanksgivings to God for his boy's escape, he was telling his father, as graphically as he could, how he was Robinson Crusoe and Lila his Man Friday; and how they had gone along the beach in search of the cave his father had showed him the year before; and how they had climbed to the top, and sat out on the heath to have their tea.

Then the finding the water in the cave and on the steps was told; and how he should have been afraid, only Man Friday was not, even when they went back and found they could not get out at the top.

"She told me God would take care of us till the tide turned, when I cried. And then she made a cosy bed-place with her frock, and I just went to sleep till you found me."

"Brave little woman!" murmured the Vicar, under his breath.

"Wasn't I brave too, father?" asked the little boy, looking down earnestly into his father's eyes.

"Yes, dear, you were. To go to sleep and let God take care of you in His own way was the best and bravest thing you could do. You believed what your Man Friday said—that God would take care of you until the tide turned; and then, of course, you could help yourselves. Man Friday must have gone to sleep too, I expect," added the Vicar to himself.

But the little fellow shook his head in dissent. "I told her to stop awake and help God take care of me," he said, "and she could not lie down like I did."

"She certainly took good care of you," said the Vicar; and then, with one more plunge through the deepening water, the boat was reached, and the little boy could see for himself that it was Eliza the fisherman had carried just in front of them. But when he saw her face he looked very grave. "What have you done to her?" he demanded, looking at one of the men.

"She was just like that when I picked her up yonder," said the man.

The truth was that Eliza had fainted as soon as there was no further demand upon her courage and endurance.

The Vicar understood better than Eustace or the fishermen what a terrible time it must have been for the girl, and that she had completely broken down as soon as relief arrived was not at all surprising.

"We will send for the doctor as soon as the boat gets in," said the Vicar.

"Ay, I expect he will be there to meet us, for my mate sent his boy to tell the ladies that the gell was badly like and might want the doctor," said one of the fishermen.

"Thank you. I am glad you did that, for, of course, my wife is in a terrible state of anxiety. We have been travelling all night, and only reached here at six o'clock this morning."

"Oh, father, did you come on purpose to look for me?" said Eustace, in a penitent tone.

His father looked at the grieved little face. "I don't think you will go so far away from Nurse again, will you?" he said gravely.

The boy shook his head. "No, I never will, father. But ask God to let Lila get well soon," he added.

"Yes, dear. I am afraid Eliza may be very ill after this, so that you will have to be careful and not give her any trouble, or want her to walk far with you. We shall have to take great care of her when she is well enough to go out again," concluded the Vicar.

There was quite a little crowd of visitors besides Nurse and Mrs. Parsons standing at the end of the landing-stage when the boat reached its destination.

Eustace threw off the frock when he saw his mother, and the Vicar helped him out of the boat, the child exclaiming as he jumped—

"I am so hungry. Have you got anything for me, Nurse?"

Everybody being thus assured that very little ailed Eustace, their attention was turned to Eliza, who still lay still and white on the little couch arranged for her in the boat by the fishermen.

"Give me the frock," said the Vicar, and he put aside the rough guernsey that covered her, and carefully wrapped her in it.

"Let me carry her, master," said one of the men, when he had finished mooring the boat.

But the Vicar shook his head. "Thank you all the same, but if she should waken, she will know me, and the sight of a stranger, as she is now, may frighten and hurt her."

And the Vicar took Eliza in his arms, and carried her as if she was a baby, while Mrs. Parsons and Nurse went on to give hungry little Eustace his breakfast and to hear his story, while the Vicar followed, and was soon joined by the doctor.

They did not, have far to carry their burden. The landlady had already prepared a warm bed, and Eliza was soon undressed, wrapped in a blanket, and covered up. Then the doctor gave her a restorative, which, in a few minutes, revived her, and she looked round in astonishment, as Mrs. Parsons bent tenderly over her.

"I am very sorry," began Eliza, in a faint voice.

But the lady held up her finger. "You must not talk or feel sorry, for we are all very glad to have you back safe. Now, you are to rest, and do exactly as the doctor and Nurse tell you. Are you quite comfortable?" asked the lady.

Just then Winny's voice was heard calling, "Lila! Lila!" and the girl's face grew bright as she heard it.

"Oh, please let me see Miss Winny," she said.

Mrs. Parsons opened the door and let the little girl come in.

"Up! up!" she cried, stretching out her arms towards her young nurse; and her mother lifted her on to the bed and let her lie for a minute or two beside her, the little one stroking her cheek and murmuring, "Poor Lila! Poor Lila ill!" And in a very few minutes Eliza was asleep.

Mrs. Parsons arranged to take the children to the beach while Nurse watched beside Eliza and got what rest she could, for she had slept very little all night. Eliza slept, and Nurse too, until the doctor came in again, when he set their fears at rest by saying that a day or two in bed was all that was necessary for Eliza's recovery.

The girl slept nearly the whole of that day and the greater part of the next, only rousing up have a meal of light food that would help her to go to sleep again.

The third day, however, the girl was more wakeful, and wanted to get up, and the doctor allowed her to do so for a short time in the evening.

"You will come out with us, won't you, Man Friday?" said Eustace, when Eliza went into the sitting-room to tea.

But Eliza shook her head. "Not to-day, dear," she said, with a smile, for she had never felt so weak before, and knew she would not be able to walk to the beach, even if she wished to do so.

"Now, Eustace, you must be very kind and quiet for Eliza's sake, or else she will be ill again," said his mother; and the little fellow looked tenderly up at his young nurse as she sat in the easy-chair that Nurse usually occupied.

The Vicar went back to his father's house as soon as Eliza was declared to be out of all danger, for the old gentleman was still very ill. But Mrs. Parsons did not leave until Eliza was quite well.

Before she left she heard from the Vicar that their stay at the seaside would have to be extended, for he had heard that scarlet fever had broken out at the other end of the town, and what was worse for them individually, the Vicarage drains had been discovered to be out of order, and they would have to be thoroughly repaired before the children could return home.

Mrs. Parsons wrote to tell Mrs. Brown of this alteration in their plans, and also of Eliza's adventure and illness, and how highly she and the Vicar esteemed her for her brave endurance and unselfish care of their little boy. The letter concluded by asking Mrs. Brown if she would allow Eliza to stay on at the Vicarage when they returned, as they would like to have her as nursemaid to the children.

Eliza wrote as well, asking that she might be allowed to go to the Vicarage nursery, and telling her mother how kind the Vicar and everybody had been to her, and that she would be quite well and strong again by the time they came home.

When Mrs. Parsons left them to rejoin the Vicar, Nurse took care that Master Eustace did not go roaming again.

"I don't want to go and look for another cave, for fear it should make Man Friday ill," said the little boy. "We will play Robinson Crusoe without a cave this time," he added.

It was on a Saturday morning that the letter reached Mrs. Brown, telling her of Eliza's adventure, and how greatly pleased the Vicar and his wife were with her kind, unselfish ways with the children altogether.

To say that Mrs. Brown was pleased with this letter would not express a tithe of what she felt when she read it, and to have this offer for Eliza of a place in the Vicarage was more than she had anticipated to be possible, and she felt proud indeed, and looked forward to her husband's return in the afternoon, to tell him the wonderful news.

Of course, she told the two girls who were at home, and Selina danced with delight as she dusted the kitchen chairs, while the more thoughtful Minnie paused in her work of cleaning knives and forks, and said—

"Mother, God must have told her what to do to take care of Master Eustace, and that is what we shall feel proud of. Of course, if our Eliza had not tried to serve God in the little things here at home, she would not have known what to do when she was shut up in that nasty cave."

It was a view of the matter that had not occurred to Mrs. Brown herself, but Eliza had always been the little comforter at home, and was always ready to sympathize and help everybody, quite forgetful of herself and her own interests.

Selina had another way of showing her pride and pleasure in her sister's brave doings. She wanted to run out and tell all the neighbourhood what great things Eliza had done. Her mother knew this, and kept a watchful eye upon her; and when the kitchen chairs were dusted, the little girl was sent upstairs to dust the bedrooms, for Mrs. Brown did not wish the neighbours to hear the news before her husband came home.

She wanted to tell him about the letter herself; but in this she was disappointed, for Selina, having finished all the housework she was capable of doing, had earned the right to go and meet her father at the railway station, and Mrs. Brown would not deprive her of this justly earned pleasure.

As she was going out, however, Minnie said, "Now don't tell father everything there is in that letter, because I know mother wants to tell some of it herself."

"Do you, mother?" asked the little girl.

"Well, yes. I think I should like to tell father something of it," replied Mrs. Brown.

Selina paused and looked puzzled. "Why didn't you tell me that I couldn't go and meet dad to-day," she asked.

"Because that wouldn't be quite fair," said her mother, "I always let you go out for an hour when you have done your housework properly, and as I have had no fault to find with you to-day, you have the right to go and meet your father if you like."

"Yes. But she need not go and tell him everything, as she generally does," put in Minnie, who did not see why her mother should be deprived of all the pleasure of imparting the pleasant news, because she would be strictly fair to Selina.

To this appeal from her sister the little girl hesitated to reply. Half the pleasure of going to meet her father would be taken away if she could not tell him all the wonderful news in the letter. At last she said, looking up into her mother's face—

"May we do it between us, mother? You tell half and I tell half."

Mrs. Brown laughed.

But Minnie said, "It is as much as we can expect, I suppose, from a chatterbox like you. Now, mother, tell her what she may say, and what you want to tell father," added Minnie.

"Very well, you may tell father all about Master Eustace and the cave, and let me tell the kind offer that has been made to take Eliza into the Vicarage nursery."

"Yes, yes," answered Selina. "I will remember that I am not to say a word about that. But I am glad I may tell about the cave, because that is the best bit of all;" and the little girl ran off by the shortest road to the railway station, for fear she should be late, and so miss her father.