The Lively Poll: A Tale of the North Sea. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ attic window and gaze over the sands upon the sea, smiling hopefully, yet with a touch of sadness in the smile; mouthing her toothless gums, and muttering now and then as if to herself, “He’ll come soon now.” Her usual attitude was that of one who listens expectantly.

      Thirty years before Granny Martin had stood at the same attic window, an elderly woman even then, looking out upon the raging sea, and muttering anxiously the same words, “He’ll come soon now.” But her husband never came. He was lost at sea. As years flew by, and time as well as grief weakened her mind, the old woman seemed to forget the flight of time, and spent the greater part of every day in the attic window, evidently on the look-out for some one who was to come “soon.” When at last she was unable to walk alone, and had to be half carried to her seat in the attic window by her strong and loving daughter, the sadness seemed to pass away, and her cheery spirit revived under the impression, apparently, that the coming could not be delayed much longer. To every one Granny was condescendingly kind, especially to her grandchild Fred, of whom she was very fond.

      Only at intervals was the old woman’s cheerfulness disturbed, and that was during the occasional visits of her ne’er-do-well son Dick, for he was generally drunk or “half-seas-over” when he came. Granny never mentioned his name when he was absent, and for a long time Mrs Martin supposed that she tried to forget him, but her opinion changed on this point one night when she overheard her mother praying with intense earnestness and in affectionate terms that her dear Dick might yet be saved. Still, however much or frequently Granny’s thoughts might at any time be distracted from their main channel, they invariably returned thereto with the cheerful assurance that “he would soon come now.”

      “You’re ill, my boy,” said Mrs Martin, after the first greetings were over.

      “Right you are, mother,” said the worn-out man, sitting down with a weary sigh. “I’ve done my best to fight it down, but it won’t do.”

      “You must have the doctor, Fred.”

      “I’ve had the doctor already, mother. I parted with Isa Wentworth at the bottom o’ the stair, an’ she will do me more good than dozens o’ doctors or gallons o’ physic.”

      But Fred was wrong.

      Not long afterwards the Lively Poll arrived in port, and Stephen Lockley hastened to announce his arrival to his wife.

      Now it was the experience of Martha Lockley that if, on his regular return to land for his eight days’ holiday, after his eight weeks’ spell afloat, her handsome and genial husband went straight home, she was wont to have a happy meeting; but if by any chance Stephen first paid a visit to the Blue Boar public-house, she was pretty sure to have a miserable meeting, and a more or less wretched time of it thereafter. A conversation that Stephen had recently had with Fred Martin having made an impression on him—deeper than he chose to admit even to himself—he had made up his mind to go straight home this time.

      “I’ll be down by daybreak to see about them repairs,” he said to Peter Jay, as they left the Lively Poll together, “and I’ll go round by your old friend, Widow Mooney’s, and tell her to expect you some time to-night.”

      Now Peter Jay was a single man, and lodged with Widow Mooney when on shore. It was not, however, pure consideration for his mate or the widow that influenced Lockley, but his love for the widow’s little invalid child, Eve, for whose benefit that North Sea skipper had, in the kindness of his heart, made a special collection of deep-sea shells, with some shreds of bright bunting.

      Little Eve Mooney, thin, wasted, and sad, sat propped up with dirty pillows, in a dirty bed, in a dirtier room, close to a broken and paper-patched window that opened upon a coal-yard with a prospect rubbish-heap beyond.

      “Oh, I’m so glad it’s you!” cried Eve, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, as the fisherman entered.

      “Yes, Eve, my pretty. I’m back sooner than I expected—and look what I’ve brought you. I haven’t forgot you.”

      Joy beamed in the lustrous eyes and on every feature of the thin face as the sick child surveyed the treasures of the deep that Lockley spread on her ragged counterpane.

      “How good—how kind of you, Stephen!” exclaimed Eve.

      “Kind!” repeated the skipper; “nothing of the sort, Eve. To please you pleases me, so it’s only selfishness. But where’s your mother?”

      “Drunk,” said the child simply, and without the most remote intention of injuring her parent’s character. Indeed, that was past injury. “She’s in there.”

      The child pointed to a closet, in which Stephen found on the floor a heap of unwomanly rags. He was unable to arouse the poor creature, who slumbered heavily beneath them. Eve said she had been there for many hours.

      “She forgot to give me my breakfast before she went in, and I’m too weak to rise and get it for myself,” whimpered Eve, “and I’m so hungry! And I got such a fright, too, for a man came in this morning about daylight and broke open the chest where mother keeps her money and took something away. I suppose he thought I was asleep, for I was too frightened to move, but I could see him all the time. Please will you hand me the loaf before you go? It’s in that cupboard.”

      We need scarcely add that Lockley did all that the sick child asked him to do—and more. Then, after watching her till the meal was finished, he rose.

      “I’ll go now, my pretty,” he said, “and don’t you be afeared. I’ll soon send some one to look after you. Good-bye.”

      Stephen Lockley was unusually thoughtful as he left Widow Mooney’s hut that day, and he took particular care to give the Blue Boar a wide berth on his way home.

      Chapter Three

      The Skipper Ashore

      Right glad was Mrs Lockley to find that her husband had passed the Blue Boar without going in on his way home, and although she did not say so, she could not feel sorry for the accident to the Lively Poll, which had sent him ashore a week before his proper time.

      Martha Lockley was a pretty young woman, and the proud mother of a magnificent baby, which was bordering on that age when a child begins to have some sort of regard for its own father, and to claim much of his attention.

      “Matty,” said Stephen to his wife, as he jolted his daughter into a state of wild delight on his knee, “Tottie is becoming very like you. She’s got the same pretty little turned-up nose, an’ the same huge grey eyes with the wicked twinkle in ’em about the corners.”

      “Don’t talk nonsense, Stephen, but tell me about this robbery.”

      “I know nothin’ about it more than I’ve told ye, Matty. Eve didn’t know the man, and her description of him is confused—she was frightened, poor thing! But I promised to send some one to look after her at once, for her drunken mother isn’t fit to take care of herself, let alone the sick child. Who can I send, think ’ee?”

      Mrs Lockley pursed her little mouth, knitted her brows, and gazed thoughtfully at the baby, who, taking the look as personal, made a face at her. Finally she suggested Isabella Wentworth.

      “And where is she to be found?” asked the skipper.

      “At the Martins’, no doubt,” replied Mrs Lockley, with a meaning look. “She’s been there pretty much ever since poor Fred Martin came home, looking after old granny, for Mrs Martin’s time is taken up СКАЧАТЬ