Wild Life in the Land of the Giants: A Tale of Two Brothers. Stables Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ minutes appeared to make me immeasurably wiser than Jill. I was not stronger, nor bigger, nor anything, only just five minutes older, and five years wiser. So I thought, and so Jill thought, and he never failed to consult me in all matters, however trivial.

      He would just say, with that simple, innocent smile of his:

      “Jack, what would you do now?”

      And I would tell him, and he would do it straight away.

      Of course Jill was very dear to me. I loved him more than I did myself. Does that seem a strange confession? Well, it is true, though. I think one reason for this great affection was his likeness to papa. I saw that, if others did not. And he even had papa’s way of talking and using little odd words, such as “certainly,” “assuredly,” and so forth.

      For example one day in the schoolroom we were among the “ologies” – bother them all.

      “Reginald Augustus,” said auntie, and I pulled myself to “attention” and braced sharp up, as Bill would say. “Reginald Augustus, define to us the meanings of the words ‘entomology’ and ‘etymology.’”

      Now I would have been all right if I hadn’t started off by putting the cart before the horse.

      “Entomology,” I replied, “is the science that treats of word derivations, and etymology describes insects.”

      One o’clock struck on my knuckles, loud enough to be heard over all the room.

      “Rupert Domville,” said auntie, “is your brother right in saying that etymology describes insects?”

      “Certainly, auntie.”

      “But suppose I say that entomology, not etymology, is the science descriptive of insect life, would you then say your brother was right?”

      “Assuredly, aunt,” said Jill, boldly.

      One o’clock rang out sharp and clear on old Jill’s knuckles, and we were both sent to our seats to think.

      The cottage we lived in might have just as well been denominated a villa, only Aunt Serapheema, to whom it belonged, rather despised high-flown names. It was a beautiful old house in the suburbs of a romantic wee fisher village, that nestled under high banks and green braes, not far from the great naval seaport of P – .

      My father’s duties at the barracks were not very heavy in our childhood, for there was no war, and though the ride home was a long one, every night almost we listened for the clatter of his horse’s hoofs, whether he came or not, and Jill and I bounded to meet him. His coming was the one great event of the day or week to us all, and he never failed to bring light and sunshine to Trafalgar Cottage.

      Our mother was very, very beautiful – Jill and I always thought so – and our father was the beau ideal to our young minds of what a hero ought to be. I think I see him now as he used to look standing by his beautiful black horse, before mounting in the morning, one arm thrown carelessly over the mane, with his fair hair and his blue eyes smiling as he blew kisses to the drawing-room window, and had kisses blown back in return.

      Of course you will excuse a son speaking thus of his parents. They might not have been much to any one else, but they were all the world to my brother and me.

      My father was to be a rich man some day, auntie told us, when he came into his estates in Cornwall. Meanwhile he was simply Captain Jones, and proud and happy to be so.

      Ours was not a very large village, though dignified at times by the name of town by the people themselves, only it was quaint and pretty enough in the sweet summer-time, when the sky was blue, and the sea reflected its colour; when the waves sang on the beach, and birds in the hedges and bushes, on the cliffs, and in the glen; when fisher boats were drawn up on the sand, or went lazily out towards the horizon in the evening. Yes, then it was even picturesque, and more than one artist that I remember of lived quite a long time at the Fisherman’s Joy. They would be sketching boats and sails and spars, and the natives themselves, all day, to the great astonishment of the natives.

      “He do be uncommon clever-like,” I heard one man say; “but surely he ought to let the loikes of we have our Sunday clothes on afore he paints us.”

      The artists thought differently.

      Quite a friendship sprang up between our family and the Grays.

      But shortly after we made their acquaintance, Bill – who was not a Gray, his name was Moore – went away, having got, at his own request – he being a deserving old coast-guardsman – a post as ship keeper on an old hulk, of which you will hear more soon. Here he lived alone with his old woman, as he called his buxom wife.

      Then something else really strange happened. Quite an adventure in a little way. Jill had gone to P – with mamma that day, and I was strolling on the beach, feeling very lonely indeed. The tide was far back, and near the water’s edge I could see a girl gathering shells. Strolling down towards her was a fisher lad, about my own age, and some instinct impelled me to follow. I was just in time to notice him rudely snatch at her basket, and empty all the shells, and presently she passed me crying.

      My blood boiled, so I went right on and told the boy he was no gentleman.

      He said he didn’t pretend to be, but he could lick me if I wanted him to, gentleman or not gentleman.

      I said, “Yes, I wanted him to.”

      I never knew I was so strong before. That lad was soon on his back crying for mercy, and next minute I left him.

      The girl was about seven, but so beautiful and lady-like.

      She thanked me very prettily, and we walked on together, I feeling shy. But I summoned up courage after a time to ask her name.

      “Mattie Gray,” she replied; “and yonder comes mother.”

      To my surprise, “mother” was Nancy, the fisherman’s wife.

      I was invited in, and made a hero of for hours, but somehow I could not keep from wondering about Mattie.

      I told auntie the story that evening. Now, if there be anything a woman loves in this world it is a mystery, and auntie was no exception. So she and Jill and I all walked over to the cottage next afternoon.

      “What a lovely child you have, Mrs Gray! We have not seen her before.”

      “No, ma’am, she’d been to school.”

      “Have you only one?”

      “My dear lady,” said Nancy, “Mattie isn’t ours. You see, we have only been here for six months, and people don’t know our story. We come from far south in Cornwall, and when a baby, bless her, Mattie, as we call her, came to us in a strange, strange way.”

      “Tell us,” said auntie, seating herself in a chair which Nancy had dusted for her.

      “Oh, it is soon told, ma’am, all that’s of it. We lived on a wild bit o’ coast, ma’am, and many is the ship that foundered there. Well, one wild afternoon we noticed a barque trying to round the point, and would have rounded it, but missed stays like, struck, and began to break up. We saw her go to pieces before our eyes, for no boat could be lowered.

      “At long last, though, my man and his mate determined to venture. It was a terrible СКАЧАТЬ