The Stokesley Secret Part 28

Captain Merrifield did not answer at once; he bit his lip, then blew his nose, and cleared his throat, before he said, "Miss Fosbrook, you have made me very happy; it will make his mother so. She always rated him so high, that I half thought it was a weakness for her eldest son; but there! I suppose he was down-hearted about this fancy of his, poor boy; and that hindered him from making the most of himself. I wonder what sort of a figure he is cutting before his uncle!"

The town was at length reached; and the shopping was quite wonderful to the sisters. Miss Fosbrook found a shop where the marvellous woman undertook to send home two grey frocks trimmed with pink, by the next evening; and found two such fas.h.i.+onable black silk jackets, that Susie felt quite ashamed of herself, though rather pleased; and Bessie only wished she could see her own back, it must look so like Ida's. Then there were white sleeves, and white collars, that made them feel like young women; and little pink silk handkerchiefs for their necks; and two straw hats, which Miss Fosbrook undertook to trim with puffs of white ribbon, and a pink rosette at each ear.

Bessie thought they would be the most beautiful things that had ever been in her possession, and was only dreading that Sam would say they were like those on Ida Greville's donkey's best harness; while Susan looked quite frightened at them, whispered a hope that Mamma would not think them too fine, and that Miss Fosbrook would not let them cost too much money; and when a.s.sured that all fell within what Papa had given to be laid out, she begged that Annie and little Sally might have the like.

But as they were not going to London, Miss Fosbrook could not venture on this; and as Bessie had set her affections upon a certain white chip hat, with a pink border and a white feather, both sisters remained wis.h.i.+ng for something--as is sure to happen on such occasions.

However, Elizabeth recovered from the hat when she was out of sight of it; and they went and saw the cathedral, where the painted windows and grave grand arches filled her with a truer and wiser sense of what was beautiful; and then they walked a long time up and down under its b.u.t.tressed wall, waiting for Papa, till they grew tired and hungry; but at last he came in a great hurry, and sorry to have been hindered. With naval politeness, he gave his arm to Miss Fosbrook, and carried them off to a pastry-cook's, where he bade them eat what they pleased, and spend the rest of the florin he threw them on buns for the little ones, while he fetched the carriage; and so they all drove home again, and found the rest of the party ravenous, having waited dinner for three-quarters of an hour.

Wonderful to relate, Uncle John had not eaten anybody up! not even Baby; though Papa advised Susan to make sure that she was safe, and then sent Sam to ask Purday for a salad. Perhaps this was by way of getting rid of this constant follower while he asked his brother what he thought of the boys' attainments.

Uncle John could not speak very highly of the learning of either; but he said, "Sam knows thoroughly what he does know. As to the other, he thinks he knows everything, and makes most awful shots. When I asked them who Dido's husband was, Sam told me he did not know, and Hal, that he was Diodorus Siculus--AT LEAST, Scipio--no, he meant Sicyon."

"Then you think neither could stand an examination for the cadets.h.i.+p?"

"I could not be sure of Sam; but I am quite sure that Hal could not."

Here the dinner-bell rang; the hungry populace rushed to the dining- room, and the meal was gone through as merrily as could be, while still the father never spoke to Henry. Uncle John was as pleasant and good-natured as possible. Who would have thought of the marked difference he made between dining with barbarians, or young gentlefolks!

Dinner over, Captain Merrifield called Sam,--or rather, since that was not necessary, as Sam was never willingly a yard from his elbow, he ordered the others not to follow as they went into the garden together.

"Sam," he said, "Admiral Penrose is kind enough to offer me a berth in the Ramilies for one of you. If you can pa.s.s the examination, should you wish to avail yourself of the offer?"

Sam grew very red in the face, looked down, and twirled the b.u.t.ton of his sleeve. He certainly was not a gracious boy, for all he said was in a gruff hoa.r.s.e voice, without even thanks, "Not if it is for this."

"For this! What do you mean, Sam?" said Captain Merrifield, thinking either that the boy was faint-hearted, or that his wish had been the mere fancy of the girls.

"Not if it is to punish Hal," said Sam, with another effort.

"That is not the question. Do you wish it?"

Sam hung his head, and made his eyebrows come down, as if they were to serve as a veil to those horrid tears in his eyes; and after all, his voice sounded sulky, as he said, "Yes."

"Is that all?" said the Captain, angry and disappointed. "Is that the way you take such an offer? If you had rather stay here, and be bred up to be a country squire, say so at once; don't mince the matter!"

"O Papa!" cried Sam indignantly, "how can you think that? Didn't I always want to be like you?"

"Then why can't you say so?"

"Because I can't bear to cut Hal out!" said Sam, putting his arm over his eyes, as a way he considered secret of disposing of his tears.

"Put that out of your head, Sam; or if you don't fancy the sea, have it out at once."

"O Papa! please listen. You know, though Miss Fosbrook is very jolly, we couldn't help getting nohow when you were away, US two particularly."

"You have no mischief to confess, surely, Sam?" said his father, really imagining that this preference to Hal was acting on him so as to make him mention some concealed misdemeanour; "if you have, you know truth is the best line."

"But I haven't, Papa," said Sam, looking up, quite surprised. "You know I am a year older, and couldn't help caring more; and Miss Fosbrook is so nice, one couldn't bother her; but you see the Grevilles WOULD put it into Hal's head that it was stupid and like a girl to mind her. It is all their fault; and they were sneaks about the turkey-c.o.c.k, and wouldn't pay--and I know he would have ended by putting the money back when he could, only Davie made such a row before he could; and he did so reckon on the navy--he would pay it back the first thing." The last sentences came between gasps, very like sobs.

"Have done with Hal," said Captain Merrifield, still with displeasure. "I wouldn't take him now on any account. If the Grevilles lead him wrong, what would he do among the mids? If he acts dishonourably here, we should have him disgracing himself and his profession. Since he can't take it, and you won't, I shall try to make some exchange of the chance till John or David will be old enough."

"But Papa, I--" began Sam.

"_I_ don't want to force you to it," continued Captain Merrifield, in his vexed voice. "I never mean to force my sons to any profession if I can help it; and you have a right to be considered. It has always been a disadvantage to me, and to this place, that I was bred to the sea instead of to farming; and though you can't live on the property without some profession, it may be quite as well that you should turn your mind to something else--only if it be the army, I can't help you on in it."

"I had rather go to sea, if you please," said Sam.

"Don't say so to please me," said his father. "I tell you, the examinations are a pretty deal harder than they were in my time. It is not a trade for a youngster to be idle in; and I won't have you, just when you've knocked about a few years, and are getting fit to be of use on board and nowhere else, calling yourself heartily sick of it, and turning round to say it was my doing."

"I'll never do that, Papa," said poor Sam, unable to understand why his father should speak as though scolding him.

"No? And mind, you must take the rough with the smooth, if you sail with me, and not be always running after me, Papa-ing me. I can't see after you, and should only get you ill will if I tried."

"I had rather go," said Sam.

"I'm sure I don't know what to make of you," said his father, looking at him in a puzzle. "However, if you do mean to go, you may tell Freeman to get your things ready to come up with me on Thursday; only if you don't really like the notion, find out your own mind, and let me know in time, that's all."

The Captain turned away, and gave a long whistle--an accustomed signal--that brought children and dogs all rus.h.i.+ng and tumbling about him together, to walk with him about the farm, and his brother among them; but Sam hung back. He had not the heart to go with that merry throng; for he did not know whether his father were not displeased with him, and he therefore thought he must be to blame.

People who, like Sam, rather cultivate the habit of gruffness and reserve, and prefer to be short and rude, become so utterly unable to express what they mean, that on great occasions they are misunderstood, and give pain by supposed ingrat.i.tude and dislike, even when they feel most warmly. Captain Merrifield could only judge from looks and words; and even when Sam had been satisfied about Henry, he had shown so little alacrity or satisfaction, as really to leave a doubt whether he were not unwillingly yielding to his father's wishes; which would have been a mistaken act, as the Captain thought no one ought to be a sailor unless with a very strong desire that way. Thus Sam really perplexed and distressed his father, when he least intended it; and unable to understand what was the matter, yet feeling heavy and sad, he turned aside from the rest, and, by way of the quietest place he could find, climbed up a tall pear-tree, to the very highest branch he could reach. He put himself astride on one bough, his feet upon another below, and his back leaning against the main stem. No one could see him up so high among the thick leaves; but he could see all around the village, and over the house; he could look down into the farm-court at the pigs burying themselves in the straw; and out beyond at the geese and ducks in the meadow, and the broods of chickens pecking and scratching about, or the older poultry rolling in the dust-holes they had sc.r.a.ped for themselves.

He could see Purday among his cabbages in the garden; and further off, could watch the walking-party through the fields, his father with little George in his arms, and Uncle John as often as possible by his side; while the others frisked about, sometimes spreading out like a flock of sheep in the pasture land, or when they came to the narrow paths in the cornfields, all getting into single file, and being lost sight of all but their heads.

Sam recollected how, the day when he had heard that he was not likely to be a sailor, he had felt as if he hated Stokesley, and as if it would be a prison to him, and how everything reminding him of the sea had been a misery to him. He would not then have believed anyone who had told him that he would really hear of his appointment and be so little glad. Yet for two whole years the loss of the hope had weighed on him, and made him dull whenever he thought of grown-up life, heard of the sea, or was asked what he was to be: and almost always, at his prayers, he had that meaning in his mind, when he said "Thy Will be done;" he had really submitted patiently, and tried to put away the longing from his mind, and would, there can be no doubt, have been happy and dutiful at home; but at length the wish of his heart was suddenly granted.

And then, wish though it still were, there came all this grief and discomfort. The gladness was in him somewhere, but he could not get at it, either for his own comfort, or that of his father. He missed his mother exceedingly. SHE would know what he meant, and tell Papa that he did care to go. Yet, did he care so very much? Only think of beginning to be a stranger at this dear old home! and seeing no mother, no Susie, nor any of them, for years together--probably not his father after the first voyage! However, the sailor was too strong in Sam for that grief not to pa.s.s off; and his chief trouble was the sense of supplanting Henry. He knew the disappointment would be most bitter; and he could not get rid of the sense of having taken an unfair advantage of the disgrace of Henry's adventure. As to his father's manner, he got over that more easily, for his conscience was free; he knew that the tone of displeasure would be gone at the next meeting, and he was too sure of his own love of the sea to fear that he should not show it enough. After all, he was to be a naval cadet!

He could not be sorry. Nay, he felt he had his wish; the very wish he had thought it wrong to put into a prayer. He thought he ought to be thankful that it was granted, in the same way as he had been when his mother began to recover. So he put his hands together, and looked up into the summer blue sky through the leaves, and his lips moved, as he whispered his thanks, and asked to be helped in being a good brave sailor, and that something as good might happen to poor Henry.

After this, somehow, the weight was gone, he knew not where. All he recollected was, that he should see Mamma in two days, and that he was to sail with Papa if he could get through his examination. There was a sort of necessity of doing something comical; and just then spying Miss Fosbrook with a book walking slowly below, he could not resist the temptation of sending down on her a shower of little hard pears and twigs.

Bob came one down on her book, and another on her bonnet. She looked up, and saw a leg stretching out for a branch, apparently in such a dangerous manner, that she did not know whether she should not have Sam himself on her head next, and started back, watching as he swung himself from branch to branch, and then slid down, embracing the trunk.

"Did I hit you!" said he. "I couldn't help trying it; it was such fun."

It was a great liberty; but she was so good-humoured as to laugh, and said he had taken good aim.

"Please, Miss Fosbrook," next said he, "would you hear how many propositions I can say!" And as she opened her eyes at this holiday amus.e.m.e.nt, he added, "Papa has got the appointment after all, and means me to have it."

"I am so glad, Sam! I give you joy!" she said, and took his hand to shake it heartily.

"I wish Hal could go too," said Sam.

"Dear Sam," she said kindly, and guessing his feelings, as having gone along with them, "I don't wonder you are sorry for him; but indeed I think it is better for him to be sheltered from beginning real life just now."

"Papa said he would not have taken him," said Sam; "but it seems so hard to have all his life changed for a thing that sounds worse than he meant it to be."

"Sam," said Miss Fosbrook, "I once read a sermon, that said that our conduct in little things does decide the tenor of our lives. You know one moment of hastiness cost Moses the Promised Land; and only a little while ago, we heard how Joash had but few victories allowed to him, because he did not think it worth while to strike the ground as often as Elisha told him. It is the little things that show whether we are to be trusted with great."

"It is such a tremendous punishment," said Sam, "when he would have put it back again."