Bosom Friends: A Seaside Story Page 15

  CHAPTER XV.

  TEA WITH MR. BINKS.

  "At many a statelier home we've had good cheer, But ne'er a kinder welcome found than here."

  The tea-cosy, when finished, was a thing of beauty, and Isobel packed itup in sheets of white tissue paper with much pride and satisfaction.Both the steaming teapot on the one side and the ecclesiastical-looking"B" on the other had given her a great deal of trouble, and she was notsorry that they were completed.

  "Going to have tea with that vulgar old man we met in the train!"exclaimed Belle, raising her eyebrows in astonishment when Isobel toldher of their plans. "You really do the _funniest_ things! I thought himdreadful. I suppose, since he asked you, you couldn't get out of it, butI'm sorry for you to have to go. I shouldn't have been able to come tothe island in any case to-morrow, because mother wants to take me to seethe Oppenheims."

  "Who are they?" asked Isobel.

  "Oh, they're a family mother knows in London. They're ever so rich.They've taken a lovely furnished house near the woods, with atennis-court and a huge garden. They're to arrive this evening, andthey're bringing their motor car and their chauffeur with them. TheWilsons and the Bardsleys are coming by the same train. BlancheOppenheim is six months older than I am, and mother says she's sure Ishall like her. It will be nice to have some more friends here;Silversands is getting rather dull. There's so little to do in such aquiet place. There never seems to be anything going on."

  Isobel thought there had been a great deal going on of the kind of funshe enjoyed, though it might not be altogether to Belle's taste, andeven her friend's depreciation of poor Mr. Binks could not spoil thepleasure with which she anticipated her visit to the White Coppice. Shewas full of eagerness to start on Thursday afternoon, and was readyfully half an hour too soon, though her mother assured her they couldnot with decency arrive before four o'clock.

  The White Coppice lay opposite to Silversands, at the other side of anarrow peninsula, and you could either reach it by going five milesround by the road, or by walking two miles across the hills. Mrs.Stewart and Isobel naturally preferred the short cut, and leaving thelittle town behind them, were soon on the bare wind-swept heights,following a track which led over the heather-clad moor. It seemedno-man's land here, given up to the grouse and plovers, though now andthen they passed a rough sheep-fold, and once a whitewashed farmstead,the thatched roof of which was bound down with ropes to resist theautumn storms, and the few trees that sheltered the doorway, allpointing their struggling branches in the same direction, served to showhow strong was the force of the prevailing wind. From the crest of thehill they could see the sea on either hand, and at the far end of thepromontory could catch a glimpse of the pier at Ferndale, where asteamer was landing its cargo of excursionists to swell the alreadylarge crowd of cheap trippers, who seemed to swarm like ants upon theshore.

  "I'm glad we're not staying there," said Isobel, who had been taken foran afternoon by Mrs. Chester in company with Charlie and Hilda; andthough she had laughed at the niggers and the pierrots, and enjoyedwatching the Punch and Judy and the acrobats on the shore, and had putpennies into the peep-shows on the pier, had returned thankfully fromthe crowded promenade and streets full of holiday-makers to the peaceand quiet of Silversands.

  "It's rather amusing just for a day, but the people are even noisierthan those we met in the train; they were throwing confetti all aboutthe sands, and shouting to one another at the top of their voices. Ilike a place where we can go walks and pick flowers, and not meetanybody else. We shouldn't have found a desert island at Ferndale."

  "You certainly wouldn't," said Mrs. Stewart. "If 'Rocky Holme' werethere it would be covered with swings and gingerbeer stalls, and yourlittle hut might probably have been turned into an oyster room or apenny show. It is delightful to find a spot that is still unspoilt.Luckily the trippers don't appear to go far afield; they seem quitecontent with the attractions of the pier and band, and have not yetinvaded these beautiful moors. How quickly we seem to have come across!We're quite close to the sea again now, and I believe that gray oldfarmhouse nestling among the trees below will prove to be the end of ourjourney."

  The White Coppice was so called because it stood on the borders of abirch wood that lay in a gorge between the hills. It was protected by abold cliff from the strong north and west winds, sheltered by aslightly lower crag from the east, and open only towards the south,where the garden sloped down to a sandy cove and a narrow creek thatmade a natural harbour for Mr. Binks's boat, which was generally mooredto a small jetty under the wall. It was an ancient stone farmhouse, withlarge mullioned windows and hospitable, ever-open door, over which twotamarisk bushes had been trained into a rustic porch. The garden was gaywith such hardy flowers as would flourish so near to the sea, growing inpatches between the rows of potatoes and beans, and interspersed hereand there with the figureheads of vessels, while at the end was asummer-house, evidently made from an upturned boat, and covered thicklywith traveller's joy. Here Mr. Binks appeared to be taking an afternoonnap while awaiting the arrival of his visitors, but at the click of theopening gate he sprang up with a start, and advanced to meet them withbrawny, outstretched hand.

  "I'm reet glad to see you, I am!" he exclaimed cordially. "It's royalweather, too, though a trifle hotter nor suits me.--Missis!" (bawlingthrough the doorway), "where iver are you a-gone? Here's company come,and waitin' for you!"

  Mrs. Binks could not have been very far away, for she bustled into thefront garden in a moment, her round, rosy, apple face smiling all overwith welcome. She was a fine, tall, elderly woman, so stout that herfigure reminded you of a large soft pillow tied in the middle. She worean old-fashioned black silk dress, with a white muslin apron, and ablack netted cap with purple ribbons over her smoothly parted gray hair.

  "Well, now, I'm _that_ pleased!" she declared. "Come in, and set youdown. You'll be fair tired out, mum, with your walk over the moor,havin' had a bad foot and all. It's a nasty thing to strain your ankle,it is that.--Come in, missy. Binks has talked a deal about you, hehas--thinks you're the very moral of our Harriet's Clara over atSkegness; but, bless you, I don't see no likeness myself. The kettle'sjust on the boil, and you must take a cup of tea first thing to freshenyou up like. It's a good step from Silversands, and a bit close to-dayto come so far."

  Seated in a corner of the high-backed oak settle, Isobel looked witheager curiosity round the old farm kitchen. Its flagged stone floor, thesliding cupboards in the walls, the great beams of the ceiling coveredwith hooks from which were suspended flitches of bacon, bunches of driedherbs, strings of onions, and even Mr. Binks's fishing-boots--all werenew to her interested gaze, and her quick eyes took in everything fromthe gun-rack over the dresser to the china dogs on the chimney-piece.The kitchen was so large that half of it seemed to be reserved as aparlour; there was a square of carpet laid down at one end, upon whichstood a round table spread with Mrs. Binks's very best chinatea-service, and a supply of dainties that would have feasted a dozenvisitors at least. The long, low window was filled with scarletgeraniums, between the vivid blossoms of which you could catch a peep ofthe cove and the water beyond; and just outside hung a cage containing apair of doves, which kept up an incessant cooing. Mrs. Binks made quitea picture, seated in a tall elbow chair, wielding her big teapot, andshe pressed her muffins and currant tea-cakes upon her guests with truenorth-country hospitality.

  "You ought to be sharp set after a two-mile walk," she observed. "Takeit through, missy, take it through! You must have 'the bishop' with 'thecurate,' as we say in these parts; the top piece is nought but the poorcurate, for all the butter runs to the bottom, and that's the bishop! Isyour tea as you like it? You must taste our apple jelly, made of our owncrabs as grows in the orchard out at back, unless you'd as lief try thedamson cheese or the strawberry jam."

  Mr. Binks seemed much undecided whether his position as host requiredhim to join the party, or whether his presence in such select companywould be an intrusion, and in spite
of Mrs. Stewart's kindly-expressedhope that he would occupy his own seat at the table, he finallycompromised the matter by carrying his tea to the opposite end of thekitchen, and taking it on the dresser, from whence he fired off remarksevery now and then whenever Mrs. Binks, who was a hard talker andmonopolized the conversation, gave him a chance to put in a word. It wasamusing talk, Isobel thought, all about Mrs. Binks's children andgrandchildren, and the many illnesses from which they had suffered, andthe medicines they had tried, and the wonderful recoveries they hadmade, interspersed by offers of more tea and cake and jam, orlamentations over the small appetite of her visitors, whom she seemed toexpect to clear the plates like locusts.

  "No more, missy? Why, you are soon done! And you haven't tasted mycranberry cake! You must have a bit of it, if you have to put it in yourpocket. It's made by a recipe as I got from my great-aunt as lived up inBerwick, and a light hand she had, too, for a cake," laying a generousslice upon Isobel's plate, and seeming quite hurt by her refusal.

  "You mustn't make her ill, Mrs. Binks," laughed Mrs. Stewart, "thoughshe fully appreciates your kindness.--Isobel, would you like to open theparcel we brought with us?"

  "You worked this for us, honey? Well, I never did!" cried Mrs. Binks,touching the gorgeous tea-cosy gingerly, as if she feared her stoutfingers might soil its beauty.--"Peter, come hither and look atthis.--Use it for tea every day? Nay! that would be a sin and a shame.It's a sight too pretty to use. I'll put it in the parlour, alongside ofthe cup Binks won at last show for the black heifer. You shall see foryourself, missy, how nice it'll stand on the sideboard, on top of adaisy mat as Harriet crocheted when she was down with a bad leg."

  Mrs. Binks opened a door at the farther side of the kitchen, and proudlyled the way into her best sitting-room. It was a close little room, witha mouldy smell as if the chimney were stopped up and the window neveropened. One end of it was entirely filled by a glass-backed mahoganysideboard; a large gilt mirror hung over the fireplace, carefullyswathed in white muslin to keep off the flies; the walls were adornedwith photographs of the Binks family and its many ramifications, takenin their best clothes, which did not appear to sit easily upon them, tojudge by the stiff unrest of their attitudes; and opposite the door hunga wonderful German oleograph depicting a scene that might either havebeen a sunrise on the Alps or an eruption of Vesuvius, according to theindividual fancy of the spectator. The square table was covered with amagenta cloth, in the centre of which stood a glass shade containing waxfruit, while several gorgeously bound volumes of poems and sermons wereplaced at regular intervals each upon a separate green wool-work mat.

  It was so hot and airless in there that Isobel was quite glad when Mr.Binks suggested they should adjourn to the garden, that he might showher the figureheads which stood among the flower-beds like a row ofwooden statues. Each one was the record of some good ship gone to piecesupon that treacherous coast, and as he walked along pointing them outwith his stick, the old man gave the histories of the wrecks, at many ofwhich he had played an active part in saving the lives of the crews.

  "That there's the _Arizona_--her with the broken nose; smashed up likematchwood she was, on the cliffs beyond Ferndale, and the captaindrowned and the second mate. That there's the _Neptune_. The trident'sgone, but you can see the beard and the wreath. She went down of asudden on a sunken rock, and never a man left to tell as how ithappened. This un's the _Admiral Seymour_, wrecked outside SilversandsBay; but we had the lifeboat out, and took all off safe. And this here'sthe _Polly Jones_, a coastin' steamer from Liverpool, as went clean intwo amongst them crags by the lighthouse, and her cargo of orangeswashed up along the shore next day till the beach turned yellow with'em."

  "You know a great deal about ships," said Isobel, to whom her host'sreminiscences were as thrilling as a story-book.

  "I should that. I've been sailin' for the best part of fiftyyear--leastways when I wasn't farmin'. I've not forgot as I promised torow you over to the balk. If your ma's willin', we'd best make a startnow, whilst the tide's handy. It's worth your while to go; you'd not seesuch a sight again, maybe, in a far day's journey."

  Mrs. Binks declined to join the expedition, so only Mrs. Stewart andIsobel stepped into the boat which Mr. Binks rowed over the bay withswift and steady strokes. Their destination was a narrow spit of landabout a quarter of a mile distant, where the crumbling remains of an oldabbey rose gray among the surrounding rocks. Long years ago the monkshad fashioned the balk to catch their fish, and it still stood, asurvival of ancient days and ancient ways, close under the ruined wallof the disused chapel. It consisted of a circle of stout oak staves,driven into the sand, so as to enclose a space of about forty yards indiameter, the staves being connected by twisted withes, so that thewhole resembled a gigantic basket. It was filled by the high tide, andthe retreating water, running through the meshes, left the fish behindas in a trap, when they were very easily caught with the hands andcollected in creels.

  "You wouldn't see more than a couple like it in all England," said Mr.Binks. "They calls it poachin' now, and no one mayn't make a fresh one;but this here's left, and goes with the White Coppice, and I've rentedthe two for a matter of forty year."

  He drew up the boat under the old abbey wall, and helping his guests toland, led them down the beach to the enclosure, where the wet sand wascovered with leaping shining fish, some gasping their last in thesunshine, and some seeking the temporary shelter of a deeper pool in themiddle. Bob, Mr. Binks's grandson, was busy collecting them and puttingthem into large baskets, assisted by a clever little Irish terrier,which ran hither and thither catching the fish in its mouth, andcarrying them to its master like a retriever, much to Isobel'samusement, for she had certainly never seen a dog go fishing before.

  It was a pretty sight, and a much easier way, Isobel thought, of earningyour living than venturing out with nets and lines; and she resolved totell the Sea Urchins about it, so that they might make a small balk forthemselves on their desert island, if the colonel would allow them. Sheand her mother wandered round the old abbey, while Mr. Binks was engagedin giving some directions to Bob; but there was nothing to be seenexcept a few tumble-down walls and a fragment of what might once havebeen part of an east window. They were lifting away the thick ivy whichhad covered a corner stone, when, looking up, Isobel suddenly caughtsight of a familiar figure coming towards them across the rough brokenflags of the transept.

  "O mother," she whispered, "it's Colonel Smith!" and advancing rathershyly a step or two, she met him with a beaming face.

  "Why, it's my little friend again!" cried the colonel. "Hunting for moreantiquities? I wish you would find them. This is surely your mother"(raising his hat).--"Your daughter will, no doubt, have told you, madam,what an interesting discovery she made on my island. I feel I am verymuch indebted to her."

  "She was equally delighted," replied Mrs. Stewart. "She has talkedcontinually about this wonderful stone and its runic inscription. I amhoping to be able to take a sketch of it before we leave. I hear thereis carving on the lower portion, as well as the runes."

  "So there is, but it's half hidden by the soil. I'm taking some of mymen to-morrow to dig it out of the ground and raise it up, and amsending for a photographer to take several views of it. It is of specialvalue to me, owing to the particular Norse dialect employed, which issimilar to that on several monuments in the Isle of Man, and shows thatthe same race of invaders must have swept across the north, and probablypenetrated as far as Ireland."

  "I have seen runic crosses in Ireland," said Mrs. Stewart. "There's abeautifully ornamented one near Ballymoran, though the carving is morelike Celtic than Teutonic work--those strange interlacing animals whichyou find in ancient Erse manuscripts. I am very interested in old Celticremains, and have a good many sketches of them at home."

  "You couldn't take up a more fascinating study," said the coloneleagerly. "It's a very wide field, and one that has not been too muchexplored. I've done a little in that way myself, and I am collectingmateria
ls for a book on the subject of Celtic and runic crosses, but itneeds both time and patience to sort one's knowledge. It's worth thetrouble, though, for the sake of the pleasure one gets out of it."

  "I am sure it is," replied Mrs. Stewart, with ready sympathy. "To lovesuch things is a kind of 'better part' that cannot be taken away fromus, however much the uninitiated may laugh at our enthusiasm."

  "You're right," said the colonel. "We can afford to let them laugh. Weantiquarians have the best of it, after all. I should have liked to haveseen your picture of the Irish cross. I wish I could sketch. You arefortunate to have that talent at your disposal; it's a great help insuch work, and one which I sadly lack. Why, here's Binks!--Do you wantanything, Peter?"

  "No, sir," answered Mr. Binks, touching his cap. "Only to say as how thetide's runnin' out fast, and we ought to be startin' back now, or I'llhave to carry the boat down the sands; she's only in a foot of water asit is."

  "We must indeed go," said Mrs. Stewart, consulting her watch. "It's timewe were walking home again.--Thank you" (turning to the colonel) "foryour kindness to my little girl and her companions in allowing them toplay on your island. I hope they are careful and do no damage there."

  "Not in the least. There's nothing to hurt. Good-evening, madam. It hasgiven me great pleasure to meet one with whom I have such a congenialsubject in common. You must come, by all means, and sketch the stone,and I wish you every success in your study of both Celtic and runicantiquities."

  "What an interesting old gentleman!" said Mrs. Stewart, when, having bidmany farewells to Mr. and Mrs. Binks, she and Isobel at last turnedtheir steps homeward over the moors. "It was, as he said, quite apleasure to meet. I suppose there's a freemasonry between antiquarians.I should like to have a copy of his book when it's published. I wonderif he would find my sketches of the Irish crosses useful. I think I mustventure to send them to him when I return home. We don't know hisaddress, but no doubt Colonel Smith, Silversands, would find him. We'vehad a delightful afternoon, Isobel, and not the least part of it, to me,has been to make the acquaintance of your friend of the desert island."