Chapter VIII

PLEASANT SURPRISES--FRANK'S YACHT--THE LAUNCH OF
THE WATER-BABY.

Winter had come and gone again, and a very hard one it had been. Of the ten boats that belonged to the bay, and were laid up when not in use in a rock-girt harbour, about half a mile from the village, few had gone out very often. But seldom a day passed that Eean's boat, the _Treasure-trove_ was not seen scudding about somewhere, if wind and weather permitted; and always when Daddy went to sea--and this was no means seldom--the two children went with him, so that Fred had generally one complete holiday every week.

It must not be supposed that Eean was careless with regard to the boy's education on this account. No, indeed. Fred's day at sea was one of real utility, and, young though he was, he knew already how to handle the great boat, and how to steer as well. Toddie too was a capital young sailor lass. She was warmly clad; but though her brave little face might be red, or even almost blue, she never feared to look a storm in the teeth.

Frank had gone away south with his mother to attend a purely English school, for sake of _bon ton_ and the pure English accent. But the children corresponded regularly.

Toddie's letters to Frank were marvels in their way. She could not write very distinctly, so every alphabetical letter was pen-printed.

Frank had not much to tell. His life he was sorry to say was a very humdrum one. He was at a very humdrum school, where the pupils, all "sons of gentlemen," were allowed to do pretty much as they pleased. When they fell behind or lazed it was put down to delicate health. The bold forcing system of the Scottish Church parish schools was unknown at the so-called college at which Frank was engaged in his so-called studies.

His dear mamma spent the winter in the south, that she might be near to her dear boy and only son. She even told the head-teacher, or rather proprietor, of the school that her boy was not in robust health, and that he must on no account be thwarted. The fact is, Frank was as hardy and manly a lad as there was at the college.

He went home to his mother's house every Friday evening, and Fred's letter came punctually every Saturday afternoon, with wee Toddie's printed scrawl enclosed. Toddie's scrawls were really love letters of a sort, and not badly put together on the whole, as regards composition. Daddy spelt every word for her, which she herself could not manage. Here is a brief extract, which shows really that she could write better than she could speak:

"I thinks lots about you, Flank, in my bed and on the beach. I dont love the winter, I loves the summer, cause there is plenty flowers and no chilblains. I loves Daddy and Mammy Mop best, then Fred then Tippetty, then my dolly fishes, and then Flank last, but O Flank the last is a big big much.

"Your 'ffection' friend,
"Toddie Treasure-Trove."

Mrs. Fielding really was a good-hearted lady in the main, but purse-proud, and not over deep in mind.

She always spoke of Frank's little friends as "those poor children." This used to make Frank angry, though he loved his mother too much to show it. Well, Mrs. Fielding was also generous. She had proposed sending "those poor children" some clothes.

"Oh, mother, don't!" Frank had gasped, getting dreadfully red in the face.

Frank's father was reading the newspaper. He held it down for a minute to smile and say:

"Frank's right, mamma. It would be taken as a terrible insult. You forget that Eean Arundel is a gentleman though poor. My countrymen," he added, laughing, "are all gentlemen."

"Well," Mrs Fielding had replied, "I don't care much for pride in people who have nothing to keep it up with."

Young Frank was thoroughly roused now. He had to keep striding up and down across the floor to restrain his feelings.

"Mother," he said at last, "they have honesty."

"A king can mak' a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
An honest man's above his might."

Frank went and kissed his mother, and then ran straight out of the room.

Now Fred and Toddie, arrayed in their best, had several times visited at the house of Benshee. Frank had driven them over, and Fred at Frank's request had always brought his flute. For a boy of his years he was a charming performer. Frank played a little trick upon his lady mother. He went into her studio, which abutted on to the lawn, leaving Fred behind a bush near to the open window.

When Frank was fairly seated beside his mother, Fred began to play one of those sweet, sad Scottish melodies, that can draw tears to the eyes of even an English audience. Frank kept talking to his mother; but he was soon silenced.

"Hush! hush, boy!" she cried. "Have you no ear for the beautiful?"

She sighed when the air died in cadence away.

"Some poor tramp," said the lady. "Run, Frank, and give him sixpence."

But Fred now appeared at the window, laughing and holding out his hat.

"Oh, you dear lad," cried Mrs. Fielding, "come and kiss me!"

Fred did as told; but not quite so gracefully as an English boy would have done. Only this episode supplied Mrs. Fielding with an idea for being generous without offering insult.

One day, therefore, while Eppie was preparing a nice creel of fresh lobsters to be taken by Bunko to a neighbouring village, she was greatly surprised to find the carrier's cart from T---- draw up at her door. The cart contained a large and wonderful-looking box. If it had not been addressed in a clear hand to "Master Fred Arundel," Eppie would have thought there must be some mistake.

She did not dare to look into it until Fred came from school, and Daddy from his cave; and then, I do believe, half the village came to see the opening of that box.

It contained, to the amazement of all, a charming little piano. Toddie's face was a study at this disclosure; and Frank's was a picture of mingled pride and joy. As there was but little room in the house, the piano was taken to the cave; a damp-proof covering being made for it, lest it should be injured by the air of the sea.

All through the winter after school-hours, and after lessons at home, Fred had studied systematically on his new instrument. Playing was one of Eean's accomplishments, and Fred proved so apt a pupil that it was soon evident he possessed the gift of music.

And now spring had come. The larch trees were already green, and tasselled over with crimson; primroses and violets peeped out in sheltered places, larks sang their glad lilts high in air; the pigeons croodled low in the spruce thickets; but the mavis seemed to have gone out of his mind, so madly and merrily did he sing. The sea was often calm now, and the sky very blue, though the heaving swell of the great Atlantic broke in thunders on the beach.

And one day Fred came rushing in from meeting the post-runner, waving a letter over his head, and Tip barking at his heels.

"Hurrah!" he cried; "Frank's coming."

There was real joy now in the fisherman's cottage.

But that night, after the children had gone to bed, Eean and Eppie sat beside the fire to consider solemnly a letter of another kind.

It was from Mrs. Fielding. It was like Mrs. Fielding. It was written in all sincerity; but was a very thunderbolt to poor Eean.

She had proposed to adopt Fred as a companion to her boy, and bring him up as her own son, giving him a good start in life.

They talked the matter out from every point of view. The Fieldings were rich. They could give the lad a good start in life. Though it would break their hearts to lose him, and Toddie's heart too, was it right of them to be selfish? Would it not be best for the boy if they accepted?

Perhaps; but then perhaps not. Riches do not always bring success in life, and mixing in society that he was but little used to might alter all the lad's character, and spoil him for life.

For two long hours they talked and talked. Then Eean rose.

"Let us simply pray for God's guidance, Eppie."

And side by side they knelt, while Eean lifted up his open eyes and prayed.

Next morning Eean seemed to receive an inspiration; all that was doubtful the evening before seemed clear as day now.

"We'll leave it to the boy," he said.

"You like Frank very much, don't you?" Eean said to Fred after breakfast.

"Oh, very much!"

"He is very happy, isn't he?"

"Happy, daddy? I don't know. O yes, I suppose so."

"Wouldn't you like to be rich just as he is?"

"I'm so very happy you know, daddy, and I've so much to do, I never thought of that. And I have so much to learn too.

"O daddy," continued the boy after a pause, "poor Frank's letters almost make me cry sometimes."

"Now you surprise me. But I'm going to the cave, so come along and tell me all about it."

When seated by the open port--"You see, daddy," said Fred, "Frank really wants to learn things all the time; and at the school he is at there are so many holidays, and they get so much of their own way, and so much time is spent at football and cricket, that they have no leisure to learn much. But, you see, he won't require to be well educated, because he is rich. Will he, daddy?"

Eean laughed at this idea.

"And," continued Fred, "he would hardly believe me when I showed him my Latin and Greek exercises, and my books on algebra and history. And he bit his lip and grew red, and the tears came rushing into his eyes, daddy. And, O Daddy Pop, though he writes in English, _he can't spell_."

Fred was almost breaking down here in boyish grief for his friend.

Now was Eean's time. He took Mrs. Fielding's letter from his pocket and placed it in the boy's hand.

"It is very good of her," was all the poet said as he did so.

Eean watched him as he read. Sometimes Fred's colour heightened, and sometimes his pupils dilated, as if he saw not the letter before him.

"What, daddy, leave you and Mammy Mop and Toddie and Tippetty--and my books? Oh, Daddy Pop!"

"And what have you done about it, Pop?" he added.

"Mop and I talked hours about it; then we prayed to the Good God, Fred."

"What did the Good God say, Daddy Pop?"

"He bade me leave it all to you, dear lad."

"Ha! ha!" laughed the boy. "I'm so glad."

Then a funny notion came into his mind, which he proceeded at once to put into execution.

"Daddy," he said, "you left it to me. I'll leave it to the Corsican Brothers."

As he spoke he deftly tied a bit of meat to the string, and lowered it into the sea with a plash; about a minute after up over the ledge straddled the Corsican Brothers--Eean's pet crabs. They knew Fred, and at once advanced. Fred gave them a morsel or two of food to whet their appetite, and not to deceive them; then the boy assumed a semi-theatrical attitude, and addressed them.

"We have a very knotty point to solve, my dear twins," he said; "and Pop says I may leave it to you. Read that letter."

Both crabs seized it at once. They thought it the biggest piece of white meat ever they had turned their stalky eyes upon. But finding it flavourless and unprofitable they lost their tempers, and tore it into shreds. So indignant did they appear, they even clawed up the pieces and tore them over again.

Then Fred brushed away the paper and gave the Corsican Brothers a bigger feed than ever they had enjoyed in their lives before.

So that was an end to Mrs. Fielding's kind, but somewhat thoughtless proposal.

* * * * * *

When Frank called in his pony-trap he found Fred in his shirt sleeves, with a plane in his hand, and hard at work. He was making a table for the igloo, for carpentering was one of his chief hobbies. On the table near him lay a Greek grammar. He was conjugating the irregular verbs, while he sent the curling shavings flying all over Toddie and Tippetty, who were having fine fun on the floor.

That meeting was a very joyful one. There was much to say and much to be told on both sides.

Instead of going to the woods to-day the children got the cobble, and went off round the point fishing.

Frank's most interesting bit of news was embodied in the following words:

"I've been reading _Robinson Crusoe_," he said, "and I'd like to be a sailor. And what do you think?"

"I couldn't guess," said Fred. "Toddie, put the helm down a bit, the wind is shifting."

They had a sail on the cobble, and Toddie was bravely steering.

"Well, my mother has bought me a nice boat, and we are to keep it here in a boat-house. The boat is higher in the sides than this."

"Higher free-board," said Fred.

"And not quite so wide."

"Bloader in the beam oo means to say," said Toddie with a slight curl on her lip.

"How do you know all that, Toddie?" said Frank.

"Hush!" cried Toddie. "Tan't oo see I'se steeling [steering]. Oo must not talk to the man at the wheel."

Fred's eyes began to beam, as they always did when he caught up some new idea.

"O Frank," he cried, "I know what we can do. But what size is she?"

"Let me see. She must be yards and yards long."

Toddie began to laugh, and so did Fred. Poor Frank was no sailor.

"Never mind, Frank. I daresay she is big enough to deck over and step a mast in, and make a yacht of. Bunko and I can do it. You have no idea how clever Bunko is. And I have tools and wood and all."

In less than a week the boat came round, and was stabled, as Frank called it, in a boat-house on the beach. The boys could do what they liked with the boat, was Mrs. Fielding's request; but they must always have a man with a lifebuoy close beside them in another boat at sea.

Bunko took the village cows to the hill; but all day long the faithful collie Keelie watched them. The dog made a rapid run homeward every day, ate his dinner, which was always ready, then back to the hills he would scud again. So until eventide, when he went to take home his charge, Bunko's time was very much his own.

The decking and fitting out of the yacht, therefore, proceeded merrily enough. A fresh keel was put on her, and a good one too. Eean himself had seen to this. The mainsail was only a storm one, there was no topsail, and just a single jib. The rudder was very safely shipped, and so, though the boys did most of the work, Eean was the real ship-builder, and safety was consulted in every detail.

When all was complete, and the craft painted and furnished, a more complete little boys' yacht it would have been difficult to conceive.

The fishermen all said she was a perfect picture, and lay like a duck on the water, with a good many other complimentary allusions, all of which were Greek to Frank, but not to Toddie and Fred.

No expense was spared in the upholstering of the little cabin, and they even had a small galley, with a tiny spirit range, enough to make tea and boil eggs.

It was indeed a proud day for the boys, and Toddie and Tippetty, when they went for their first sail.

Their consort was a big cobble with a fisherman to row, and a silly sort of a sailor-fellow with a lifebuoy.

The villagers gathered down by the beach and natural harbour, to give them a cheer when they started away on their trial trip, with their saucy little red flag floating at the peak.

Her name was the _Water Baby_, and with great pomp and ceremony she had been duly christened by Toddie, a tiny bottle of eau de Cologne, brought by Frank, having been duly broken on her bows before she left the slip.

One day Mrs. Fielding herself went for a sail, and found it so perfectly safe that at Frank's earnest request she allowed them in future to dispense with the consort cobble, and the sailor-fellow also.

But they had to carry a lifebuoy nevertheless, and this was only right.

Boy though he was, Fred knew something about the signs of the weather, and always got into harbour in time to avoid a storm, or anything like one.

* * * * * *

So spring merged into summer; the days grew warmer and longer, and the sea more calm and bright. Then Fred's summer holidays came round; and happier children than those three, Frank, Fred, and Toddie, were surely not to be found in all broad Scotland.