Chapter VII: "five Years Ago This Very Night."

The bay of Methlin was a very beautiful one, wildly so in fact, although that black beetling wall of rocks that went darkly stretching seaward had at times a weird and uncanny look about it, especially when half buried in mist, with the mournful boom of the seas under it, and far away, coming landwards from the grey gloom, the plaintive but eerie cry of sea-birds.

In summer days, when the sun shone clearly over the water, it was cheerful indeed to stroll along that cliff top. Whichever way one looked there was something to cheer the sight--the far-off ships on the ocean horizon, or a little island here and there that appeared to float in the drowsy haze; the deep, deep green waves below the rocks, rising and swelling as they rushed inland, as if measuring their height against the slippery blackness, the glorious hills themselves, changing ever in beauty of shade as cloud-shadows raced across their majestic brows; and the wee white-housed village itself asleep in a wildery of trees.

Even when storms lashed over the rocks and rose in snowy fountains to the green turf above, when the hills were half-hidden in mixing masses of inky clouds, and the sea's horizon lowered close in shore, there was a beauty about both seascape and landscape that probably only such a mind as that of Eean's could fully appreciate. His had a melancholy tinge imparted to it from the bitter memories of a life that had been nearly all disappointment. His too was the soul of the bard of Ossian or Homeric type, only deeply imbued with religion. No dark mythology was called upon to account for the fierce war of storms that often raged o'er sky and sea and land on this wild coast. No; there was method even in the madness of the tempest, there was golden light and beauty behind the blackness; no thunder could roll, no lightning's flash could rend the mountain rocks, no waves could swell and break without the will of his Father--and his Father was mercy and goodness personified--despite the fact that He

"----moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform,
And plants His footsteps on the sea,
And rides upon the storm."

Far away then, on that wild cliff top, the tall figure of the bard, with his broad bonnet and his wind-tossed plaid, might have been seen at gloaming-tide of the stormiest days. His face at such times had a sterner, more thoughtful aspect; his usually mild blue eyes seemed to retreat beneath his lowering eye-brows; yet ever and anon that face would soften, and a smile irradiate its every feature, as some happy thought crossed his mind. Such flashes were like the blinks of sunshine that sometimes fall from rifts of blue in winter storms.

Or, tired of his walk, he would seek the entrance of his cave, disappearing suddenly as if it were off the face of the earth--as he really did, but a stranger noticing that tall figure one moment by the cliff's side, and missing it the very next, would have made sure the old man had been blown over the rocks.

It was one evening, about a fortnight after Frank Fielding had gone home to Benshee, that Eean had retired from the green cliff above to his cave below. Though quite light above, the cave was every now and then plunged in total darkness by the dashing waves.

The bard stirred up his fire till the red light gleamed fitfully on the rugged grey walls, then he sat down in his chair leaning his chin on his hand to think.

He had a habit of talking aloud, a habit that is very easily acquired by those who delight in being much by themselves in very lonely places.

"Yes," he was saying, "just this very night five years ago that my wee pet came on shore."

Pit--pit--pit--pit. It was the sound of softly-padded feet coming trotting towards him, and next minute Tippetty with immense effort had sprang on his knees.

"Why Tip," said Eean, "what are you doing here? and gasping too, with a quarter of a yard at least of a pink ribbon of a tongue hanging out over your snow-white teeth?"

Tip looked up with those speaking brown eyes of his.

"Oh! Daddy Pop," he seemed to say, "it blows so high on the cliff top, and I've been running hard."

"Where is your mistress, you scamp? You didn't come all by yourself."

Tip's ears went away back on his neck in quite an apologetic sort of way, and he glanced uneasily towards the door.

"Dad--_dee_!" It was Toddie's voice on the stone stair staircase.

Tip sprang down to meet her, and next moment she came in with a rush, her hair all a-toozle, her bare, naked feet and baton legs as red as red could be, for never would Toddie wear shoe or stocking except on high days and holidays.

Next moment she was seated on one of Eean's knees, and Tip on the other.

Toddie put one arm round Eean's neck, and entwined her fingers in his hair, then looking up--

"Isn't oo dlad I'se tomed?" she said.

"Very glad you've got here safe, dear."

"Well, tiss me. Now, this is nice. Nice file bulning there, and all. Plaps I'll make oo sing to me bye'm-bye."

Toddie was a very despotic little queen in her own wee way. Queen she was of that old man's heart, and she seemed to know it.

He was looking at her very fondly just then with a curious kind of smile on his face.

"Wouldn't you rather I'd tell you a story, Toddie?"

Toddie put her thumb in her mouth and gazed into the fire.

"I fink," she said, "Plank likes stolies best."

"My own little Treasure-trove," said the bard.

"Daddy, don't oo make up such silly words."

"You _are_ my Treasure-trove. Do you know where you came from, darling?"

"The Dood God sent me, of tourse."

"Yes, pet, the Good God sent you to cheer this old man's heart, and brighten his life. But do you know you came from the sea? That, years and years ago, five this very night, you were stranded on the beach down here?"

"Stlanded! What does that mean, daddy?"

"Thrown up by the waves, my wee one."

Toddie was looking at him now with eyes that were very wide indeed.

"What, daddy, dust the same as the Johnnie whale, daddy?"

"Just the same as the Johnnie whale, dear."

"Oh!"

She nestled towards him now, and gazed thoughtfully at the fire, and the old bard talked to her and to the fire at the same time apparently.

"Yes, Toddie, it was a fearful night that. There was a moon, but she hadn't a chance of shining; for the grey-black clouds dashed over her like the race of a mill-stream. Early in the afternoon a brig had been seen trying to round the point. But the wind blew high, and, alas! she tried in vain. We had all been on the beach for hours and hours watching her. Oh, what an evening it was! There had been sea-gulls in our garden that day, darling, as tame as chickens."

"Oh!"

"And we knew, Toddie, something terrible would soon happen. Mammy had hot water and blankets ready ever so long. Then the brig struck. Long before then Bunko had been sent off on horseback to warn a lifeboat. But the lifeboat never came. And small matter that she didn't. Hours after a spar floated up. We saw something white lashed to it, and all rushed to pick it up. I was first, and found you, Toddie."

"Oh!" thoughtfully.

"Mammy Mop took hours to bring you back to life. We have the old spar yet in the sail-house; it was loaded with iron--old axe heads--to make a keel; so, Toddie, you floated face upwards. That is the way you came, Toddie."

"Oh!"

"Dear little Treasure-trove. I hope you will not be taken from me."

He gathered her closer up to him.

"Sing now," she murmured, "sing soft and low, like mammy does."

He sat rocking her there, and singing low, sweet Scotch hits, till her regular breathing and closed eyes told him she was fast asleep.

Then he gently laid her on the bench, while he put on his plaid.

Every moment now the waves dashed high over the ports of the cave, and the wind shrieked like the voices of creatures in pain or despair.

Quietly he takes the sleeping Toddie up, and wraps her in the plaid folds close to his breast. "Come, Tip," he says, and crook in hand goes up the steps and struggles out into the storm and darkness.

On nights like this Eppie always had a light burning in her gable window to guide belated boats, and this was the star old Eean steered by.

"Praise be to Providence you've come," said Eppie. "D'ye mind what nicht this is?"

"Right well I do," said Eean. "Look at the innocent lamb. Take her gently, Eppie. Take her gently."

* * * * * *

When Fred went in with a rush next morning to the room where Toddie slept in a tiny cot, wondering why she had not come down to breakfast, he found the little maiden standing half-dressed before her little mirror, with a thumb in her mouth.

I dare say she had little womanly ways about her, else she would not have been in front of that morsel of mirror. But the thumb in the mouth showed how deep in thought she was.

"Thinking again, Toddie."

"Yes, I'se finking, Fred. Cause, you know, last night I was in Daddy's cave, or was I dleaming?"

"You must have been dreaming, Todd."

"Yes, I must have been dleaming, Fred. And I dleamt that Daddy told me a stoly, that Daddy said I came ashole on the beach, dust the same as the Johnnie whale."