The Island of Gold: A Sailor's Yarn. Stables Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ had died on the hunting-field; one, a soldier, had fallen on the field of fame in far Afghanistan; another, a captain in the royal navy, had succumbed to fever at sea; and still another had sailed away in a ship that never returned.

      Others had died in peace and at home. So Miss Scragley was indeed a relic of the past, but she was lord of the manor for the time being. Her heart was bound up in little Eedie; and the girl would have to change her name when of age, as she would then be heir to all the Scragley estates. Even if she married, her husband must become a Scragley. It would never do to let the glorious name of Scragley die out.

      But Miss Scragley was somewhat antiquated though not very old; somewhat set up and starchy in manner too. She preferred to import good people from London to mixing with the residents around, with the exception of the kindly-faced, white-haired old rector, Captain Weathereye, R.N., and Dr Fairincks.

      In bygone ages it was currently believed that this rough old sea-dog of a captain, Weathereye would lead the then graceful Miss Scragley to the altar, and the lady herself still believed that the happy event would yet come off.

      And she was quite gay when she thought of it. At Christmas-time, when she imported more good people from London than usual, and turned on the family ghost for the occasion, when she had the special brand of port decanted that old Weathereye so dearly loved, and when Scragley Hall resounded with mirth and laughter, and was lighted up from basement to attics, Miss Scragley nursed the fond hope that the captain was almost sure to pop the question.

      Old Captain Weathereye praised the port. But – well, he loved to hear corks popping, only he wouldn’t pop himself.

      Poor Miss Scragley!

      “I wonder will he ever?” she used to remark to herself, when she had finished saying her prayers and was preparing to undress – “ever —ever?”

      “Never – never,” old Weathereye would have unfeelingly replied had he heard her.

      On this particular occasion Miss Scragley extended her walk far into the very wood – forest, she romantically called it – where Ransey Tansey and his pets were enjoying themselves.

      She and her niece wandered on and on by the banks of the stream, till they came to the place where little Babs lay, still sound asleep in her hammock, and this was swaying gently to and fro in the summer wind.

      “O Eedie!” cried Miss Scragley, “why, I’ve found a child!”

      “Oh, the wee darling!” exclaimed Eedie; “mayn’t I kiss it, auntie?”

      “If you kissed it,” said the lady, as if she knew all about babies and could write a book about them – “if you kissed it, dear, it would awake, and the creature’s yells would resound through the dark depths of the forest.”

      “But there is no one near,” she continued; “it must be deserted by its unfeeling parents, and left here to perish.”

      She went a little nearer now and looked down on the sleeping child’s face.

      A very pretty face it was, the rosy lips parted, the flush of sleep upon her face; and one wee chubby hand and arm was lying bare on the shawl.

      “Oh dear!” cried Miss Scragley, “I feel strangely agitated. I cannot let the tiny angel perish in the silvan gloom. I must —you must, Eedie – well, we must, dear, carry it home with us.”

      “Oh, will ye, though?” The voice was close behind her. “Just you leave Babs alone, and attend to yer own bizness, else Bob will have somethin’ till say to ye.”

      Miss Scragley started, as well she might.

      “Oh,” she cried, looking round now, “an absurd little gipsy boy!”

      “Yes,” said Ransey Tansey, touching his forelock, “and I’m sorry for bein’ so absurd. And ashamed all-so. If a rabbit’s hole was handy, I’d soon pop in. But, bless yer beautiful ladyship, if I’d known I was to ’ave the perleasure o’ meetin’ quality, I’d ’ave put on my dress soot, and carried my crush hat under my arm.

      “Don’t be afeard, mum,” he continued, as the crane came hopping out of the bush. “That’s only just the Admiral; and this is Bob, as would die for me or Babs.”

      “And who is Babs, you droll boy?”

      “Babs is my baby, and no one else’s ’cept Bob’s. And Bob and I would make it warm for anybody as tried to take Babs away. Wouldn’t us, Bob?”

      Just then his little sister awoke, all smiles and dimples as usual.

      Ransey Tansey went to talk to her, and for a time the boy forgot all the world except Babs.

      Book One – Chapter Four.

      “Ransey, Fetch Jim; We’re Goin’ On.”

      “I’se glad ’oo’s tome back, ’Ansey. Has I been afeep (asleep), ’Ansey?”

      “Oh, yes; and now I’m goin’ to feed Babs, and Babs’ll lie and look at the trees till I cook dinner for Bob and me.”

      “That wady (lady) won’t take Babs away, ’Ansey?”

      “No, Babs, no.”

      Ransey Tansey fed Babs once more from the pickle bottle with the horn spoon, much to Miss Scragley’s and little Eedie’s astonishment and delight.

      Then he commenced to build a fire at a little distance, and laid out some fish all ready to cook as soon as the blazing wood should die down to red embers.

      “You’re a very interesting boy,” said Miss Scragley politely. “May I look on while you cook?”

      “Oh, yes, mum. Sorry I ain’t got a chair to offer ye.”

      “And oh, please, interesting boy,” begged Eedie, “may I talk to Babs?”

      “Cer – tain – lee, pretty missie. – Babsie, sweet,” he added, “talk to this beautiful young lady.”

      “There’s no charge for sittin’ on the grass, mum,” said Ransey the next minute.

      And down sat Miss Scragley smiling.

      The boy proceeded with the preparation of the meal in real gipsy fashion. He cooked fish, and he roasted potatoes. He hadn’t forgotten the salt either, nor a modicum of butter in a piece of paper, nor bread; and as he and Bob made a hearty dinner, he gave every now and then the sweetest of tit-bits to Babs.

      Eedie and the child got on beautifully together.

      “May I ask you a question or two, you most interesting boy?” said Miss Scragley.

      “Oh, yes, if ye’re quite sure ye ain’t the gamekeeper’s wife. The keeper turned me out of the wood once. Bob warn’t there that day.”

      “Well, I’m sure I’m not the gamekeeper’s wife. I am Miss Scragley of Scragley Hall.”

      The boy was wiping his fingers and his knife with some moss.

      “I wish I had a cap on,” he said.

      “Why, dear?”

      “So СКАЧАТЬ