Bosom Friends: A Seaside Story Read online

  CHAPTER V

  A HOT FRIENDSHIP.

  "I was a child, and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea."

  By the time Isobel had been a week at Silversands she had begun to feelas much at home there as the oldest inhabitant. She had won goldenopinions from Mrs. Jackson at the lodgings, and had been invited by thatworthy woman into the upper drawing-room during the temporary absence ofits occupiers, and shown a most fascinating cabinet full of foreignshells, stuffed birds, corals, ivory bangles, sandal-wood boxes, andother curiosities brought home by a sailor son who made many voyages tothe East.

  "Don't you wish you could have gone with him and got all these thingsfor yourself?" said Isobel ecstatically, when she had examined andadmired every article separately, and heard its history.

  "Nay," replied Mrs. Jackson, "I've never had no mind for shipboard,though my second cousin was stewardess on a Channel steamer for amatter of fifteen year, and made a tidy sum out of it too. She couldhave got me taken on by the Anchor Line as runs to America if I'd havesigned for two years. That was when my first husband died, and afore Imarried Jackson; but I felt I'd rather starve on dry land than take it,though it was good wages they offered, to say nothing of tips."

  "Why, it would be glorious to go to America," said Isobel, sighing tothink what her companion had missed. "You might have seen Red Indians,and wigwams, and medicine men, and 'robes of fur and belts of wampum,'like it talks of in 'Hiawatha.' Do you know 'Hiawatha'?"

  "There were an old steamer of that name used to trade from Liverpool inhides and tallow when I were a girl, if that's the one you mean. Iwonder she hasn't foundered afore now."

  "Oh no!" cried Isobel hastily. "It isn't a steamer; it's a piece ofpoetry. I've just been reading it with mother, and it's most delightful.I could lend it to you if you like. We brought the book with us."

  Mrs. Jackson's acquaintance with the muse, however, seemed to be limitedto the hymns in church, and a hazy remembrance of certain pieces in herspelling book when a child, and being apparently unwilling to furthercultivate her mind in that direction, she declined the offer on thescore of lack of time.

  "Not but what Jackson's fond of a bit of poetry now and again," sheadmitted. "He sings a good song or two when he's in the mood, and he dolike readin' over the verses on the funeral cards. He pins them all upon the kitchen wall where he can get at them handy. What suits me moreis something in the way of a romance--'Lady Gwendolen's Lovers,' or 'TheBlack Duke's Secret'--when I've time to take up a book, which isn'toften, with three sets of lodgers in the house, and a girl as can't evenremember how to make a bed properly, to say nothing of laying a table,and 'ull take the dining-room dinner up to the drawing-room."

  The much-enduring Polly, though certainly not an accomplished waitress,was the most good-tempered of girls, and an invaluable ally in savingthe treasured specimens of flowers or sea-weeds which Mrs. Jackson, inher praiseworthy efforts at tidiness, was continually clearing out,under the plea that she "hadn't imagined they could be wanted."

  "She even threw away my mermaids' purses and the whelks' eggs that wefound on the sand-bank," said Isobel to her mother. "But Polly climbedinto the ashpit and grubbed them up again. She washed them in a bucketof water, and they're quite nice now; so I shall put them in a box, tomake sure they'll be safe. Polly's father is part owner of a schooner,and sometimes they fish up the most enormous fan shells. She says she'llask him to give me a few when she's time to go home, but she hasn't hada night out for nearly three weeks, the season's been so busy."

  "Perhaps old Biddy could get you some large fan shells," suggested Mrs.Stewart. "I believe they find them sometimes very far out on the beachwhen they're shrimping."

  Biddy was a well-known character in Silversands. She was a lively oldIrishwoman, with the strongest of brogues and the most beguiling oftongues. In a blue check apron, and with a red shawl tied over her head,she might be seen every morning wheeling her barrow down the parade,where her amusing powers of blarney, added to the freshness of her fish,secured her a large circle of customers among what she called "thequality." She had a wonderful memory for faces, and always recognizedfamilies who paid a second visit to the town.

  "Why, it's niver Masther Charlie, sure?" she exclaimed with delight, onmeeting the Chesters one day. "It's meself that knew the bright face ofyez the moment I saw ut, though ye're growed such a foine younggintleman an' all. Ye was staying at No. 7 two years back with yermamma--an illigant lady she was, too--and your sister, Miss Hilda, theswate little colleen. Holy saints! this must be herself and none other,for it's not twice ye'd see such a pair of eyes and forgit them."

  What became of Biddy during the winter, when there were no visitors tobuy her fish, was an unsolved mystery. "Sure, I makes what I can by thekoindness of sthrangers during the summer toime!" she had replied whenIsobel once sounded her on the subject. "There's many a one as gives mean extra penny or two, or says, 'Kape the change, Biddy Mulligan!' TheBlessed Virgin reward them! Thank you kindly, marm," as Mrs. Stewarttook the hint. "May your bed in heaven be aisy, and may ye niver lack acopper to give to them as needs it."

  Besides Biddy, Isobel had a number of other acquaintances inSilversands. There was the coastguard at the cottage on the top of thecliffs, who sometimes allowed her to look through his telescope, and whohad an interesting barometer in the shape of a shell-covered cottagewith two doors, from one of which a little soldier appeared when it wasgoing to be fine, while a nautical-looking gentleman in a blue jacketcame out to give warning of wet weather. Then there was the owner of thepleasure boats, who had promised to take her for a row entirely free ofcharge on the day before she was going home; and the bathing woman, whoalways tried to keep for her the van with the blue stripes and the brasshooks inside because she knew she liked it. The donkey boy hadchristened the special favourite with the new harness "_her_ donkey,"and made it go with unwonted speed even on the outward journey (as arule it galloped of its own accord when its nose was turned towardshome); and the blind harpist by the railway station had waxed quiteconfidential on the subject of Scottish ballads, and had allowed her totry his instrument.

  As for the members of the Sea Urchins' Club, she felt as if she hadknown them all her life, and the sayings and doings of the Chesters, theRokebys, the Wrights, and the Barringtons occupied a large part of herconversation. Jolly as they were, none of them in Isobel's estimationcould compare with Belle Stuart, who from the first had claimed her asher particular chum. The two managed to spend nearly the whole of everyday together, sometimes in company with the other children, orsometimes alone on the beach, hunting for shells and sea anemones,picking flowers, or just sitting talking in delicious idleness under theshade of a rock, listening to the dash of the waves and the screams ofthe sea gulls which were following the tide.

  "I'm not generally allowed to make friends with any one whom we don'tknow at home," Belle had confided frankly. "But mother said you lookedsuch a very nice lady-like little girl, she thought it wouldn't matterjust for this once. I told her your father had been an officer, and shesaid of course that made a difference, but I really was to be careful,and not pick up odd acquaintances upon the beach, for she doesn't wantme to talk to all sorts of people who aren't in our set of society, andmight be very awkward to get rid of afterwards."

  Isobel did not reply. She would never have dreamt of explaining that itwas only due to her most urgent entreaties that she, on her part, hadbeen allowed to pursue the friendship. Mrs. Stewart, from somewhatdifferent motives, was quite as particular as Belle's mother aboutchance acquaintances, and had been a little doubtful as to whether shewas acting wisely in allowing Isobel to spend so much of her time withcompanions of whom she knew nothing, and whether this new influence wassuch as she would altogether wish for her.

  "But I can't keep her wrapped up in cotton wool," she thought. "She hasbeen such a lonely child that it's only right and natural she shouldlike to make friends of her own age, especially when I'm not able to goabout with her.
She'll have to face life some time, and the sooner shebegins to be able to distinguish the wheat from the chaff so much thebetter. Thus far I've perhaps guarded her too carefully, and this is anexcellent opportunity of throwing her on her own resources. I think Ican trust her to stick to what she knows is right, and not be led astrayby any silly notions. She'll soon discover that money and fine clothesdon't represent the highest in life, and I believe it's best to let herfind it out gradually for herself. She's like a little bird learning tofly; I've kept her long enough in the nest, and now I must stand asideand leave her to try her wings."

  For the present, at any rate, Isobel could see no fault in her newfriend. Belle had completely won her heart. Her charming looks; herfair, fluffy curls; her little, spoilt, coaxing ways; the clingingmanner in which she seemed to depend upon others; her very helplessnessand heedlessness; even the artless openness with which she sought foradmiration--all appealed with an irresistible force to Isobel's strongernature. If it ever struck her that her companion was lacking in some ofthose qualities which she had been taught to consider necessary, shethrust the thought away as a kind of disloyalty; and if it were she whogenerally carried the heavy basket, searched for the lost ball, fetchedforgotten articles, or did any of the countless small services whichBelle exacted almost as a matter of course from those around her, itcertainly was without any idea of complaint. There are in this worldalways those who love and those who are loved, and Isobel was ready withspendthrift generosity to offer her utmost in the way of friendship,finding Belle's pretty thanks and kisses a sufficient reward for anytrouble she might take on her account, and perhaps unconsciouslyrealizing that even in our affections it is the givers more than thereceivers who are the truly blessed. Belle, who usually found a briefand fleeting attraction in any new friend, was pleased with Isobel'sdevotion, and ready to be admired, petted, and waited on to any extent.I think, too, that, to do her justice, she was really an affectionatechild, and at the time she was as fond of her friend as it was possiblefor her light little character to be. She would not have troubled toput herself out of the way for Isobel, and it would not have broken herheart to part with her, but she enjoyed her company, and easily gave herthe first place among the dozen bosom friends each of whom she had takenup in turn and thrown aside.

  One particular afternoon found the namesakes strolling arm in arm alongthe narrow sandy lane which led inland from the beach towards the woodsand the hills behind. It was the most delightful lane, with high grassybanks covered with pink bindweed and tiny blue sheep's scabious, andbright masses of yellow bedstraw, and great clumps of mallows, withseed-vessels on them just like little cheeses, which you could gatherand thread on pieces of cotton to make necklaces. There was a hedge atthe top of the bank, too, where grew the beautiful twining briony, withits dark leaves and glossy berries; and long trails of bramble, where afew early blackberries could be discovered if you cared to reach forthem; and down among the sand at the bottom of the ditch you might findan occasional horned poppy, or the curious flowers and glaucous pricklyleaves of the sea holly. Isobel, on the strength of a new bright-greentin vasculum, purchased only that very morning at the toy-shop near thestation, and slung over her shoulder in the style of a student in aGerman picture-book, felt herself to be a full-fledged botanist, andrushed about in a very enthusiastic manner, scrambling up the banksafter pink centaury, diving into the hedge bottom for campions, orgetting her hair caught, like Absalom, in a prickly rose-bush in avaliant endeavour to secure a particularly fine clump of harebells whichwere nodding in the breeze on the stones of the old wall.

  "They're perfectly lovely, aren't they?" she cried. "I've got fourteendifferent sorts of flowers already, and I'm sure some of them must berare--anyway, I've never seen them before. I'm going to press themdirectly I get home. Do you think this stump will bear me if I climb upfor that piece of briony?"

  "I'm afraid it won't," said Belle, fastening some of the harebells inher dress (they matched her blue sash and hat ribbons). "It looksfearfully rotten. There! I told you it wouldn't hold," as Isobeldescended with a crash. "And you're covered with sand and pricklyburrs--such a mess!"

  "Never mind," said Isobel, the state of whose clothing rarely distressedher. "They'll brush off. But I must have the briony. I'll climb up bythe wall if you'll hold these hips for a moment."

  "Oh, do come along--that's a darling!" entreated Belle. "I don't want towait. They're only wild things, after all. I wish you could see ourgarden at home, full of lovely geraniums and fuchsias and lobelias, andthe orchids and gloxinias in the conservatory. They're really worthlooking at. Carter, our gardener, takes tremendous pains with them, andhe gets heaps of prizes at shows."

  "But I like wild flowers best," said Isobel. "You can find them yourselfin the hedges, and there are so many kinds. It's most exciting to huntout their names in the botany book."

  "Do you care for botany?" said Belle. "I have it with Miss Fairfax, andI think it's hateful--all about corollas, and stigmas, and panicles, andumbels, and stupid long words I can't either remember or understand."

  "I haven't learnt any proper botany yet," said Isobel, "only just someof the easy part; but when we come into the country mother and I alwayshunt for wild flowers, and then we press them and paste them into abook, and write the names underneath. We have eighty-seven differentsorts at home, and I've found sixteen new ones since I came here, so Ithink that's rather good, considering we've only been at Silversands aweek. How hot it is in this lane! Suppose we go round by the station andup the cliffs."

  The little lane with its high banks was certainly the most baking spotthey could have chosen for a walk on a blazing August afternoon. The sunpoured down with a steady glare, till the air seemed to quiver with theheat, and the only things which really enjoyed themselves were thegrasshoppers, whose cheery chirpings kept up a perpetual concert. In thefields on either side the reapers had been busy, and tired-lookingharvesters were hard at work binding the yellow corn and the scarletpoppies into sheaves. Little groups of mothers and children and babieshad come to help or look on, as the case might be, and brought with themcans of tea and checked handkerchiefs full of bread and butter.

  "Don't they look jolly?" said Isobel, peeping over the hedge to watch afamily who were picnicking among the stooks, the father in abroad-brimmed rush hat, his corduroy trousers tied up with wisps ofstraw, wiping his hot forehead on his shirt sleeves; the mother puttingthe baby to roll on the corn, while she poured the tea into blue mugs;and the children, as brown as gypsies, sitting round in a circle eatingslices of bread, and evidently enjoying the fun of the thing.

  "Ye-e-s," said Belle, somewhat doubtfully, "I suppose they do. Are youfond of poor people?"

  "I like going with mother when she's district-visiting, because thewomen often let me nurse the babies. Some of them are so sweet they'llcome to me and not be shy at all."

  "Aren't they rather dirty?"

  "No, not most of them. A few are beautifully clean. Mother says sheexpects they know which day we're coming, and wash them on purpose."

  "Babies are all very well when they're nicely dressed in white frocksand lace and corals," remarked Belle, "so long as they don't pull yourhair and scratch your face."

  "One day," continued Isobel, "we went to the _creche_--that's a placewhere poor people's children are taken care of during the day whiletheir mothers are out working. There were forty little babies in cotsround a large room--_such_ pets; and so happy, not one of them wascrying. The nurse said they generally howl for a day or two afterthey're first brought in, and then they get used to it and don't botherany more. You see it wouldn't do to take up every single baby each timeit began to cry."

  "I wish you'd tell that to the Wrights; they give that 'Popsie' oftheirs whatever she shrieks for. She's a nasty, spoilt little thing.Yesterday she caught hold of my pearl locket, and tugged it so hard shenearly strangled me, and broke the chain; and the locket fell into apool, and I couldn't find it, though I hunted for half an hour. Thenurse only babbl
ed on, 'Poor pet! didn't she get the pretty locket,then?' I felt so cross I wanted to smack both her and the baby."

  "And haven't you found the locket yet?"

  "No, and I never shall now; it's been high tide since then."

  "What a shame! I should have felt dreadfully angry. I don't like theWrights' nurse either. She borrowed my new white basket, and then letthe children have it; and they picked blackberries into it, and stainedit horribly. Why, there's Aggie Wright now, with the Rokebys. What _are_they doing? They're hanging over that gate in the most peculiar manner.Let us go and see."