Chapter I. A Pearl from the Deep.

Otago Witness, Issue 1832, 31 December 1886, Page 1

Chapter I.

A Pearl from the Deep.

Specially written for the Witness New Year Number of 1887.

By Alice, Author of ' Fickle Jack,' ' Chalk,' &c.

Pictures in the Fire. iANDPAPA, I'm going to paint pictures in the fire. • Ay, ay, my lass.' A girl's sweet face was turned for a moment to that of an old man Bitting in a comfortablycushioned, roughly - made armchair before a blazing fire of log?, which roared up the wide sod chimney. The old man's face wbb bale and hearty. The frost of time had silvered the locks about it, but had left the expression as free from hardness as the face of the girl of sixteen sitting at his feet. Mild blue eyes shone from beneath his shaggy eyebrows, oyes that gazed fondly at the slight figure curled up before him on the rug, and the large, toil roughened hand passed as softly as a woman's over the golden brown head on a level with his knee.

' Grandpapa, I'm going to paint pictures in the fire.'

' Ay, ay, my laßS.' Her face was bright and childlike as she turned it quickly up to the old man, innocent and eager in its expression, and the soft, fawnlike eyes retained all the wonder of earlier years. For a moment she sat quite still, her pretty hands folded in front of her, her oyes bent npon the glowing embers. 4 'Tis a dark night,' nbe said suddenly, ' and there is a ship out at sea in a stoim — a terrible storm — great waves beat over her, and dash her to pieces on the rocks, and the '

' Cries of drowning men and women are heard above the roar of the waters and the noise of the storm,' broke in the old man, ' O it was awful to hear the shrieks of tho women and the groan b of men above the roar of tho breakers, and then all grew still.'

4lt is morning now,' continued the girl, * and the sun has risen, and is sparkling and dancing on the cruel sea, and it lies as quiet and as beautiful as though it had no draadful secret in its bosom — '

' Ay, but,' said tho old man dreamily, 4 it murmurs and tosses ever as if its conscience wouldn't let it be.'

'On the shore,' continued the girl, ' those Bayed from tha wreck are wandering in search of — ' She paused, and the old man said softly, 'Tieasures I' * Among thosa who wander sadly along that de&olate shore I Bee the ship's carpenter.'

* Ay, laBB, the ship's carpenter.' 'Ho has a good, good face that man 1 He is tall, and broad, and strong, his clothes are rough, and hia hands are rough. I see him there down in the glow— in the picture of fifteen years ago— and he is stooping down with his eyes full of tears—' • For,' broke in the old man, ' washed up on the beach, lashed to a pic.cc of a mast, wrapped in a soft woollen shawl, was a little child — a sweet little baby about a year old, and not quite dead, bless Heaven ! the pretty dear. "Gold and stiff, but not quite dead. Many * times he'd seen its pretty mother a nussen' and a fondlin' of it, and a-singing to it, and she were lying now fathoms below; and here were this little pearl washed up from the deep 1 ' ■ ' Amijhe ship's carpenter picked it up and Bet4frixr^as heart of gold !' exclaimed the girl, jumping to her feet and wreathing her arms round his neck, ' and valued it far beyond its value, and guarded it with his life— with hh good life — and although he was not young, , never murmured at the anxiety, and trouble, and labour it gave.' 1 Nay, lass, for long years ago that same hungry Bea had torn wife and child from bis arms and swallowed them up, and he took his . little pearl as restitution, and found in it his recompense.' : The girl slipped down again to the rug and resuming her former attitude, with her gaze Opon the fire, reeumed, . ' Those are the pictures of the past. I see a , Picture of the present. They oall the place ) Timaru. Upon the cliff there stands a little « cottage, whore tho ship's carpenter and his I granddaughter— for so he calls her— dwells. \ The ship's carpenter mends tho boats and does ? odd jobs among the shipping, or when Buch I work fails he goes out to fish. His boat is I down there on the beach, That is the little » JLB" 3 ? P."* leading down to it from the cliff, ,£ The inside of the cottage, 1 went on the girl, g dapping her hands with glee, 4 is the loveliest i place in all the world. The ship's carpenter i built it, and made oil the funny rafters in the | toot, and the dear little windows ' % , /And his Pearl,' Baid the old man, 'tends | the flowers .hat bloom in the pots on the Bill ' f N*An& the ship's carpenter made th» table : and the chairs and the sofa,—-.'

' And his Pearl made the large soft cushions that make them lock real snug.

I And the ship's carpenter papered the walls with pictures, and built the chimney with sods. O, he is a dear, dear man that ship's carpenter, and a olever man. I can sea him down there, with his old fur cap on, working away at a boat, with his face all sunshine, and a pile of chips at his feet, and the great blue open roadstead tumbling and rolling in the Bunshine, and ships at anchor ' ' And I,' said the old man, peering over her shoulder, and looking where she looked, ( can see up above hi* head a little cottage on the cliff, a perfect blaze of geraniums, and a sweet little maid nodding her head out of the window and sending kisses to the old man below.' 'Then,' said tin girl, C I see a picture of a stormy night and tho ship's carpenter out fishing, and all to buy food and olothes for the child he has left bo warm at home ; but she doesn't sleep ' 4 Not she, laBS. She sets a light in the window and makes a hot supper, and sits up to give the old man a welcome fit for a prince.' I 1 Bee,' resumed the girl, ' I see by that girl's face she bears a grateful heart and says to herself a hundred times a day that she is blessed.'

' And I see,' said the old man, still peering over her shoulder, ' that ship's carpenter thinks himself the most happy of men to have in his life a flower so sweet as the love of his Pearl, and prays Heaven to do by him as he by her, so help him, God ! ' ' There are pictures for the future,' went on girl, * when the old man is older and the girl is a woman grown, and grown clever — O, you can't tell how clever and wise ! — and the old man sits in his chair all day in the summer at the door in the sun, and in the winter by the fire, while the girl, that is woman grown, goes out and earns enough for bath ' I'm dashed !' exclaimed tho old man, bringing his fist down vehemently upon the arm of hischair, 'if I'll give that pictcr a hangin' in this house.'

Tho girl smiled and took hold of his hand, resuming delightedly, 1 He'a got a beautiful new suit for b9st, and a soft, soft, feather bed, and lot* and lot 3of pipes and tobacco, and a real gold watch, and a footstool under his feet, and a boy comes in every morning to carry his water and chop his firewood for the day '

4 I'm dashed !' eaid the old man, more vehemently than before, with a tramendous blow of the unimprisoned hand upon the other arm of his chair, ' I'm dashed if I'll submit to it.' 'O yes you will, your dear old man,' said Pearl, laughing and shaking her brad at him, while Bbc took the other tough palm in hers, ' and to lotß of other things too ; for when I'm grown to a woman I shall make you do everything I say, and not lot you do anything but what I say. Now kiss ma, and I'll gat tea ' ' Ay, lass, and I'll &ing " Twoen D jcks " to you while you sot the table.' In a rich, deep voice the old man sang: Between the deuk j we stood one night , To hear the gunner's yarn ; For each bold lad ;it sea is glad Fresh tidings ior to lam. And this is how that tough old salt Commenced his yarn. Says he, * 'Neath a stormy sky, when the billows ran high, We sailed on the Baltic Sea. ' Despite the gale, we still set sail, Though the stormy winds did roar ; Though dark the night, yet our hearts were light, We were bound for Englaud'6 shore. ' The bleak winds whistled through the shrouds, Wo gathered on the deck, And floating spars told us old tar* That we were near a wreck. And in a lull, through stormy clouds, Shone out the moon so mild, And lashed to a raft, in the wake of our craft, There floated a little child.'

Pearl's sweet treble had taken up the strain and was mingling with the old man's rich tones, when suddenly the door opened and a stranger stood in the bright little room. Quietly shutting the door behind him, and as quietly looking from the astonished face of the old man to that of Pearl, who stooped in the act of placing the coßey over the teapot to regard him, he apologised for his abrupt entrance. ' Excuse my intrusion. I strolled an hour ago from the town along the beach below ; the tide rifting and this storm together made the walk so unpleasant I clambered up the cliff, intending to retrace my steps this way, but it is so daik that, being unaccustomed to the path, I fear I have somehow gone wrong. Seeing a light in this little cottage I knocked, to ask the safest and shortest way to town, but what with the pleasant sounds inside and the noise of the waves against the cliffs, I could not make myself heard, so ' 4 You just stepped in,' broke in the old man, rising and offering the stranger guest a obair. 'JRight you are ! and welcome. Sit here by the fire, sir ; ;it is a rough night and dark, and the cliff isn't the safest road by nigbt for a Btrangor. We are just about to take our tea, if you will condescend to join me and my little maid, we shall both be glad and proud.' The gentleman turned tru quiet, dreamy grey eyes upon Poarl and gazed until she was rosy red.

• Ab,' he said, as though waking suddenly from a dream, ' your granddaughter ?' 'So we oall her, sir— Pearl Hope. My name, is Ned $ope,'

' And mine,' said the stranger, ' is Laurence Ward ; and now that we have introduced ourselves, I tru3fc wa may become very good friend?,' he added, with a singularly sweet emile, that for a moment lit up a countenance that was dreamy and almost sad in expression.

He was a man about forty, above the middle height, rather slenderly built, his hands looked singularly white and soft, and upon one of his fiugera shone a massive gold ring, Ret with a diamond of the purest watnr. Foe the rest, his? attire was careless, almost slovenly, in appearance — certainly donned with an utter disregard to personal appearance and a total scorn of fashion. la truth, comfort was scarcely attained, for Pearl's quick eyes detected a pin in his shirt front whero a button Bhould have been. His forehead was full and high, and the hair above it scanty and fine, hero and there touched with gray. His eyebrowa ware beautifully marked, and the eyes that shone under them were largo, dreamy, thoughtful, kind eye 3, that won for their owner an instant and implicit trust. What could bo soon of his mouth beneath his moustache gave one the idea of a patience inexhaustible, a disposition as calm and mild as n samm or twilight; but when his rare, sweet smile broke over bis face the whole lit up as by a sudden burst of sunlight, Before the meal was finished he knew all about old Ned Hope and his Pearl — how they lived, and what they hoped — and yet he had asked no questions beyond those of the interested, absorbed expression of face and eyes. Tea over, be made no movement to depart ; indeed he seemed to havo forgotten he was a self-invited guest, and draw hia chair to the glowing hearth and listened in pleasure to the old man's 'talk, who, from behind the smoke of his pipe, spoke often of his Pearl.

' You sing very sweetly,' said Laurence in his quiet way to Pear], as, looking up from some needlework she was engaged upon, her 6yes met his. 'Do I?' exclaimed Isabel, looking pleased. ' I did not know ; but I atn very glad you think so. Ik plea3es grandfather to hear me sing.' 4 Ay, that it do,' said he, blowing a cloud of smoke.

And then, in his own peculiar, quiet way, Laurence began to talk of music, and from music to painting, and as Pearl listened with bated broatb, her eyes grew larga and h9r cheek* flushed as she followed the speaker through scone after scene in tha lives of ouv poets, musicUus, and artists. The girl for tha first timo caught ft glimpse of another world thau her oivii a3 Liuronca touched upon one thing after another with the manner of a man who was partly following his own voin of thought and partly discoursing tfpon common and well known facts. For the first tima Pearl heard the story of suffering genius, hsroio courage, and fearless deaths ; of battles fought and won by horoes who had lived and died long years ago ; and when grand lines of Shakoopearo, sad legends of Byron's, lofty thoughts of Lougfellow'a, and pure words of Wordsworth fell frcm tha lipa of their guest, tho echo of a groat yearning and regret was in her voice, when she exclaimed involuntarily,

• And nothing of this I have ever heard before, and never shall again !' Laurence pulled up short, as though coming back to real life, and, looking at Pearl, said with his sweet smilo, 4 1 beg your pardon. I have been off, as my eiater says, into dreamland. But the world of art and history, of poetry and romance, is common property—as much your right to walk as mine.' ' But how to get there ?'

1 Chiefly through books.' '(I have no books,' said Pearl with a sigh, 'except a Bible, a dictionary, and grandfather's book of songs.' 'A limited number, certainly; but I have many, which you may have at any time, if you will come to us. My sister Martha will be delighted to have you. Wn are strangers here in New Zealand, and Martha is lonely. If I reoollect right, Martha said her tongue was going rusty for want of use. Will you let her brighten it upon you occasionally ?' ' By telling me about all these lovely places and grand men you have been telling me of ? O, yes !' ' Well,' said Laurence with a twinkle of amusement in his grey eyes, ' Martha may not brighten up her tongue exactly in that way, not quite seeing the good of " all that sort of thing," meaning music, and painting, and poetry — she may have something to say about bonnets and weddings.' ' I like to hear about bonnets and weddings, ton,' rejoined Pearl innocently. ' That's well !' replied Laurence, the twinkle in his eyea deepening. ' Come there, and soon.'

And, shaking hands absently with the girl and the old man, be was gone. 1 Well,' said the old man, 4 he's a rum 'un, dearie, ain't he, to say " Come, come," and never toll a body where to ? How on earth he calculate you'll find your way? He's the dreamiest, abßonteßt minded fellow I everset eyes on — a real good 'up, too, or my name ain't Ned Hope, and talks like a play or a Rarmon, or both together for that matter. Well, I guess that's the first and the last we've ever seen on him.' •And I shan't ha7e an.d books, 1 ? prandfa,therV

4 O won't ye, though, lass 1 First five-pun' uotd I set hands on off I goes to a second-hand shop, and aa near clear them out as the cash will allow.'

4 But how can we tell they will be the right kind ?'

4 Boun3 to, deirie 1' answered Ned confidently. ' All books is alike filled with impossibles and nonsensioles. Why didn't you tell mo you wanted some books before, lovie? You should havo had a whole cargo by now.' • I didn't know I wanted books before tonight, grandfather.'

4 Right you are, lass ! When a body doesn't feel poor on any point he's rich on it ; soon aa he feels a need, then he's poor till his need's gratified. I call that man jolly well off in life who discovers hia needs so few and far between that by straining a muscle he can have 'em supplied. Books you can have, my dearie, and right you are !'