Old pictures in a new frame ... With illustrations

Preface

. — ♦ — The stories included in this volume were written by me some years ago, for various publications devoted to juveniles, under the name of " Sidney Daryl." Not so very long since, I was asked if I should like to have them collected together, and gathered into a single volume under my own name. What objection could I make ? I know their literary value is very small, but I have thought it best to leave them pretty much as they were originally penned, in days of impecuniosity and struggle, when the few guineas they brought me were precious help to a highly absorbent pocket, that had always a hole in it. The proofs come to me for correction to a pleasant spot, whence I look upon sparkling seas and vi Pi'efacc. heather-browned islands, basking in golden sunshine, first seen by me nearly twenty years ago.

I read them with some astonishment, as far as their senti mental passages are concerned, for a hard professional life, in a field where reality too often outdoes romance, has knocked most of the softer nature and imagination out of me; and not even the "genius" of this heavenly spot could give me back the thoughts and emotions under which these stories were written. Alas ! " the days have grown old" since "Little Johnny" and I parted company; but I confess it is pleasant to shake hands with him and his companions again, and to commend him and them once more to the merciful indulgence of the juvenile public. Douglas Straight. Guernsey, August 10th, 1877. CONTENTS. PAGE Little Johnny i Nellie's Fault 13 Joey the Tumbler 27 Wanted a Stitch 39 Barney's Little Wife 54 Left Alone 70 Lisette's Birthday 87 Cousin Fanny 100 "With the Tide" 115 "Birds of a Feather flock together". . . 352 "Time and Tide wait for no Man" .... 377 "Where there's a Will there's a Way" . . 385 "Nothing venture, nothing win" .... 405 The "Black Dragoon" 416 Lena's Christmas-box "Those only are the brave, who keep their ground, And keep it to the last.

" — Blair. VERYBODY in Harmoufh knew Little Johnny, with his crooked back and tiny crutch, by means of which he managed to get over the ground a good deal faster than most other people who had free and full use of their legs. A great favourite was he with the bluff, weatherbeaten beachmen, who used to take him out with them in their shore-boats to the luggers, when they were bringing their night's catching ashore. Then they would make him sing, for he had a capital voice, and had learned to give out the " Death of Nelson" and " Tom Bowling " with a nautical emphasis and spirit hardly to be expected in a child of twelve. Standing on the shore, you could hear his silvery notes sounding over the water, and presently the shouts and hurrahs of his audience, as he came to a conclusion, showed with what approval his efforts had been received.

Johnny had no mother ; she had long been dead, having 1 only lived to bring her child into the world, and then passed quietly away as if in a peaceful sleep. The sole memorial that remained to him of her was a green mound under the great yew-tree in the corner of Harmouth Churchyard, and there every Sunday, after the morning service, he and his father might be found hand-in-hand, silent and sad. For though he had lost his wife close on a dozen years, Joe Barton, rough and iron-hearted as he was, had not forgotten her who for one brief twelve month made life sunshine to him. " Poor little woman! " he would say, turning away; and as he passed through the gate that led from the resting-place of the dead, a great salt tear as big as a pebble would force its way out, and slowly creep down his brown cheek.

Joe and his little lame son lived in a comfortable cot tage just on the outskirts of Harmouth. He was well-to do, and a successful man : from a poor struggling fisher man, he had gradually become part owner of a lugger, then sole proprietor, and now had no less than three boats of his own. So as time went on and good fortune attended his enterprises, he managed to secure a very nice little nest-egg, which he invested in shares of the County Bank, and then, having laboured long and well, retired from active work to make holiday for the remain der of his days. The County Bank had a local branch at Harmouth, and most of the fishermen and inhabitants deposited their money there, and altogether it was supposed to be a very solvent and flourishing institution. It was extraordinary what an intense love Joe had for the sea.

He was wont to say, "That it did his heart good to hear the waves, and that they used to talk to him for all the world like human beings." When he gave up fishing, " to rest on his oars," as he would jocosely remark, he had built a small pleasure boat, which, upon its launch, was christened with great ceremony The Saucy sack, and a smart, trim little craft she was, with a power of sailing close to the wind that made her the envy and admiration of all beholders. All through the summer she was kept fully occupied, and heartrending were the appeals Joe had to listen to from the juvenile frequenters of the beach to take them out for a sail with him. For he always had plenty of company, and what with his sea stories and biscuits and ginger-beer, Joe Barton was at last worshipped as a hero. Johnny always went with him on these marine excursions, and despite his deformity and ever-attendant crutch, without which he could not move, he had learned to handle and manœuvre The Saucy sack with the greatest ease, and was as expert at "taking in a reef" or " putting about " as the oldest salt in Harmouth.

It was a glorious summer's day, the sea so smooth that it rippled on to the beach without noise, and seemed to be coyly kissing the pebbles ; so hot, too, that the rowers in the many boats floating about were leaning listlessly on their oars, allowing themselves to drift lazily along with the tide. All Harmouth seemed to be on the water; everything in the shape of a boat was engaged. TJie Saucy sack alone remained idle. There she lay, about fifty yards from the shore, securely anchored, and every thing as neatly fastened up as when she had been left "all snug" the night before. Many and anxious were the in- 1 — quiries for Joe Barton, and general were the expressions of regret that he should not be in the way on such a lovely day. No one knew where he had gone, not even Johnny. All he could say was that his father had received a letter the night before, after reading which he had sat silent and gloomy all the rest of the evening, and gone out be fore six o'clock in the morning, leaving him a-bed, with out saying a word.

So The Saucy sack remained idle all through that livelong summer's day. Evening came on, and Johnny, who had been lounging about uneasily all day, for he could not bear his father to be away from him, began to feel very tired and sleepy, and thinking that a nap on board would be cool and com fortable, hailed one of the passing boats, and was duly transported to The Saucy sack. Creeping into the little cabin at her bow, in which spare sails, empty ginger-beer bottles, and such-like odds and ends were kept, he soon fell into a sound and heavy slumber. How long it lasted he knew not, but when he woke he was startled by hearing a rippling sound in the neighbourhood of his head ; it was quite dark, too, and the boat felt as if she were moving smartly along. What could have happened? Had she broke away from her anchor?

For a moment he lay still, frightened in spite of himself. Then slowly he raised himself on his elbow, and rubbing his eyes, peered through the narrow aperture that gave admission to the tiny cabin. He could see the mainsail bellied out with the fresh breeze, and that was all. But was it not enough? He knew he was out on the sea, but how had he come there ? Could anybody out of spite have sent him adrift ? No, that was impossible, for he could not recall a soul that had a grudge against him. Suddenly he was startled by a groan as if of a human being in pain. His heart thumped against his side, the perspiration broke out in great beads on his forehead ; he neither moved hand nor foot. Then ensued an agonizing silence, and next a voice, hoarse and broken with emotion, burst into a passionate prayer.

Johnny was braver now, and dragging himself along on his hands and knees, as quickly as his infirmities would allow, he made for the entrance, and thrust his head out. There was no moon, but the stars shone out bravely, and in their light he could see the figure of a man with his back towards him, rocking to and fro as if in the throes of despair, his face buried in his hands, and murmuring to himself. Who could it be ? Johnny essayed to speak, but his lips were parched and glued together, and his tongue rough and dry. He stared at the black shadow, as if it were some spirit. Between it and him there was a seat running across the boat ; he tried to reach it, in order to pull himself along the more easily, but could not. Suddenly the figure moved its head. In a momentary flash of summer lightning Johnny recognized his father's face !

He sought to speak, but could not, while his eyes eagerly devoured his every movement. He saw him drop his hand down to the seat beside him, he saw him raise his arm with something that glittered in the silver light, he heard a click, and then, as if by inspiration, the truth burst upon him. Hurling himself forward with the energy of despair, Johnny caught his father by the arm. There was a flash, a report, and then he felt something graze his fingers ; but he heeded it not. Seizing a pistol from his father's hand, he threw it with all his strength into the sea, and then sank fainting into the bottom of the boat. Black grew the clouds, higher rose the wind, beating up the waves into angry contention ; sheets of scud chased one another across the lowering heavens, and warned those whose business lay upon the waste of waters, that a tempest would soon fall upon them.

The Saucy sack, left to herself, was heeling over in the trough of the sea, in a perilous fashion; but still Joe Barton, for it was he, sat with his face in his hands ; still Johnny lay silent and motionless in the bottom of the boat. Presently a great green wave came curling along, and dashing against the boat's side, wetted both to the skin. It roused Joe from his stupor, it roused Johnny from his insensibility; in another moment they were in one another's arms. Still the wind freshened, still the waves rose higher and higher: those two, clasped in that close embrace, heeded them not, for the mercy of God was in their hearts, and storm and tempest had no terrors for them. It blew a gale that night and morning, and a large ves sel went ashore on Harmouth sands, but by Heaven's goodness no lives were lost.

Through the long dreary hours of darkness the wives of the Harmouth fishermen lay sleepless and uneasy in their beds, for their good men were out on the angry sea, earning bread for them and the children. The hoarse voice of the wind and the angry roar of the waves sent a thrill to their hearts as through the weary hours of that terrible night they heard them shrieking and battling out in the gloom, and many a prayer stole up through the black sky, on its mission of suppli cation to die ear of the Unseen. When the morning sun broke bravely through the drifting clouds, and the luggers came trooping home, there was a heartfelt shout of thanks giving to see the toilers of the night arrive safely in harbour. Huge were the breakfasts eaten, sound was the sleep that followed, for it had been a hard fight between man and the elements.

Later in the day a knot of men were lounging on the shore. " Where's The Saucy sack i " asked one. " Ain't Joe Barton turned up yet ? " said another, while old Murtoch, the patriarch of the group, mumbled out, "She ain't drawed up, she ain't at anchor. I'm blessed if 1 don't think she's gone down head first." This inaugurated a conversation about Joe, and various and singular were the reasons given for his continued absence. While they were engaged in this discussion, a man, bareheaded and breathless, rushed frantically down over the pebbles, his face pale as death, his eyes almost starting out of his head. When he reached the group, he stopped, and remained speechless. " Hullo, Silas, what's wrong, lad ? " inquired one. " You look dazed, man," said another. " The bank ! " he whispered hoarsely.

" Well, what of the bank ? " asked old Murtoch, im patiently. " It's broke," he gasped, and then, without vouchsafing any further information, rushed away as quickly as he had come. The news __„ hrought fell like a thunderbolt in the midst of those to whom he had told it ; for a moment they seemed stricken dumb and incapable of moving hand or foot, and then hastened up to the town to find if the bearer of these evil tidings had spoken the truth. Alas ! it was but too true ; the County Bank, being unable to meet a run upon its resources on the previous day at the chief market-town, where its head office was, had been compelled lo stop payment, and close all its branch establishments. Considerable assets, however, were expected, the number of shareholders being amply sufficient to cover all liabilities.

It was some time before the Harmouth fishermen could be made to understand that, if they were only patient, they would have nearly all their money back. They stood in a body outside the bank door till the darkness sent them home, worn out and sad at heart, to bed. There went out no boats that night from Harmouth to fish! The morning following the day on which the bank had stopped, a small craft was seen some distance out, making its way for the shore as well as it could with a broken mast and a ragged sail. All eyes were strained towards it. Whose could it be? Where was it coming from? Old Murtoch, shading his eyes with his hand, gazed silently out over the watery space. Then in a moment he dropped his arm, exclaiming, " Well, bless my heart, if it ain't The Saucy sack, with Joe and the kid aboard."

Immense was the astonishment ; some said, " it couldn't be;" but by-and-by, sure enough, the once trim little craft, none the better for her buffeting in the late storm, glided in past the pier-head, Joe at the tiller and Johnny making himself useful in hauling in the sails. They both looked pale and weary, but the shout of welcome with which they were received roused them, and a gratified smile pleasantly lit up both their faces. When The Saucy sack had been made fast, Joe and his boy came ashore. All were eager to tell him the news, but none liked to, for it was well known that all his savings were invested in the County Bank shares, and, he being a shareholder, every single penny of his must thus be swallowed up. But he seemed tounderstand their whispering, and, taking Johnny's hand, he merely said quietly, " I know all about it, it's been and ruined me, but that's neither here nor there," and then moved off towards home.

But ere he had gone many steps he took Johnny up in his arms, crutch and all, and carried him to the cottage, and up to his bed in his own tiny room. He would not undress him, for already was the poor little man in a heavy slumber, but laying him down tenderly on the outside of the counterpane, that great, strong man fell on his knees, and with his face resting on the hands of his sleeping child, thus remained for a long, long time. What he thought, what he prayed, what thanksgivings burst from his very soul, only the Book wherein his life is written can reveal. It was one of those seasons in the existence of a man when the days that are gone are lived over again, and the lessons they have taught are realised in their true meaning. And when the tempest of bitter reflection is passed, the clouds roll back, the sky breaks into promise of fine weather, and he nerves himself with fresh courage for the future, bring it sunshine or storm.

Thus taking heart, Joe Barton raised himself from his knees, no longer the craven and coward, afraid to meet the ills of life, but ready to grin and bear them. A few short hours had made him an altered man. And who had been the mysterious agent in the hand of Providence that had wrought his reformation ? His poor little deformed child, who through the night of storm and danger had been near him with lion heart and dauntless nerve, who had taught him how Heaven extends its mercy even unto him who would take his own life. A few words more. Years passed on ; the expected call to meet its liabilities had been made by the Bank, and Joe's goods and chattels had all been put up to auction and sold, but he neither grieved nor grumbled; he set himself manfully to work once again, and though his hair grew grey, and he was not quite so hearty and strong as of yore, yet all were willing to lend him a hand, and he soon began to find his circumstances once more improving.

But for one thing he would have been happy and con tented : since that dreadful night of storm and disaster, Johnny had never been thoroughly well, his back had grown rounder, and every day he seemed to suffer more and more pain. Joe grew very anxious : every spare moment was dedicated to his child. One day he took him to London to see a great doctor, and when he came back he looked ten years older, for there was a gloomy prophecy gnawing at his heart. From that day Johnny was never allowed to leave his bed. He was a good, patient little fellow, but he would have no nurse but his dear old daddy; and his thin pale face used to light up the moment Joe entered the room ; and as his father sat down by him he would put his hand into his horny palms, and smile as if he were supremely happy. One morning, on his return from fishing, Joe came in to breakfast, and as usual bounded upstairs to see his boy.

Johnny was lying on his back, his, eyes turned expectantly towards the door. The window was wide open, and a delicious soft breeze from the sea came playing in through it, and toyed with his hair. The sick child was going to his rest, there could be little doubt about that ; his eyes were unnaturally bright, his cheek strangely flushed ; in a few moments the ebb of the tide must set in. Joe sat down beside him, and then, as was his wont, Johnny put his hand in his, and said in a soft and feeble voice — " Dear daddy, I'm going home. The doctor was right when he told you I weren't good for long. I feel as if I hadn't got no blood in my body, and my back feels so strange. Hold me up in your arms, daddy; I want to whisper to you." Joe felt inclined to resist for a moment, for he was alarmed, and would have gone for the doctor, but the child's manner kept him by his side.

Putting his arm round Johnny, he brought the weary head close to his shoulder. The dying child nestled eagerly to him, and pressing his lipsagainst thebig bushy whiskers, continued — " Daddy, don't lose heart again. Promise me that, won't you ? Remember, daddy darling, the secret. I — I've kept it ; you keep it too, won't you ? " Pressing his hands to his father's face, he looked eagerly into his eyes, passed his fingers over the rough, sunburnt cheek, and murmuring, " The secret ! remember ! " in a moment was dead. They laid him in the corner of the churchyard, under the yew-tree, by his mother, and on Sunday mornings, after service, Joe has now to stand alone and gaze on the spot where rest the two beings he loved so well. But his secret is buried there too. What secret ? That having received a letter to acquaint him of impending ruin, and found its information correct, he had sought to escape meeting his disaster by himself destroying the life that a merciful Creator had given him.

How he was saved from this crime has been told, and the secret that was is a secret no longer. " We sacrifice to dress till household joys And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, And keeps our larder lean ; puts out our fires, And introduces hunger, frost, and woe, Where peace and hospitality might reign." — Cowpcr. [TONILEDGE LIGHTHOUSE stood on a high promontory, familiarly known to the sailors who passed up and down the Channel as the Eagle's Beak. The great elevation at which it was situated enabled its powerful lights to be seen at an im mense distance, even on the darkest and stormiest nights. And wide was the berth given them ; for, stretching away from the base of the cliffs beneath the lighthouse, some half a mile out to sea, was a long ledge of sunken rocks, concerning whose murderous exploits with unwary ships many a sad tale could be told.

The extreme member of the reef was called the Witch's Comb — a name originating in its shape at the top — which once or twice during the year was just left visible above the surface of the waters by the vagaries of the tide. Stern and relentless its rocky teeth looked, with the morning sun shining over the sparkling sea only to find its rays fall dull and unreflected on the green and slimy sides, that went down sheer into dark depths, wherein the goodliest vessel that ever floated would have found a grave spacious enough to hold it three times over. Up to the feet of the cliffs the water was fathoms deep; in fact, Stoniledge reef rose from the bottom of the sea like a submarine chain of mountain peaks. Gazing down from the grassy downs above on to the placid waters beneath, their face as smooth as a looking-glass, it was difficult to imagine that but a few inches below the smiling surface an unseen enemy only waited his opportunity to deal death and destruction to gallant ships and their living freights.

But he had had enough of spoil in his time ; and after one winter, during which he had been more than usually busy and successful, the lighthouse was established, a proceeding which was hailed with universal joy among seafaring people, to whom, though a somewhat tardy boon, it was none the less grateful. Attached to the lighthouse was a cottage, in which lived Martin More, the keeper, and Joe Torrit, his under hand, with whom he shared the labours of cleaning, lighting, and watching the three great lamps that shone out so brightly at night from Stoniledge cliffs. A respon sible and anxious duty it was, and one for which men of the highest character in every respect were only chosen. Martin was an old man-of-war's man, and as fine a speci men of the British tar as you could wish to see. Just turned fifty, his eye was as clear and his carriage as erect as if he were only twenty.

In fact, the authorities chose him almost at once from amongst a host of competitors, so much were they prejudiced 111 his favour by his per sonal appearance. A right good fellow he was, looking upon life in its cheeriest aspect, and giving himself anxiety about only one person, his little daughter Nellie. How shall I describe the child, with her lovely face, her winning ways, her weakness of character ? She was a very Marie Stuart in short frocks and pinafores, whom everybody loved even when she was naughty. I am but a poor hand at drawing a portrait, and will content myself with saying, that she was the most extraordinary combination of good ness and naughtiness I ever met with in the journey of life. Sometimes she would seem devoted to her father, anxious to anticipate his every wish, ready to run here, there, anywhere in obedience to his command ; at others she would stay by herself in the little kitchen of the cot tage, where, ever since her mother's death, she had presided over the pots and pans and culinary operations, and look quite angry if anybody disturbed her.

In fact, it was not at all surprising that the one or two friends who came over from Sandbeach occasionally to see Martin, declared that Nellie was an incomprehensible little mystery; and even Martin himself would shake his head, and declare " the child's ways beat me altogether." He was a fond and foolish father, far too much so, and the consequence was, that the young lady grew to regard herself as a very perfect piece of juvenile anatomy. Only a few words of Joe Torrit, who completed the family party at the lighthouse cottage. He was the only son of a widowed mother, who lived at Sandbeach, a fishing village some four miles off, a sober, industrious fellow, to whom Martin was much attached, and in whom he placed the greatest confidence. Between them, as I said before, was divided the responsibility of looking after the Stoniledge lights, which not only required cleaning, trimming, and oiling during the day, but had to be watched all the night through, lest any accident should happen to them.

Summer or winter, human eyes kept watch and ward beneath the blaze of light that flashed from the Eagle's Beak. Nellie's gravest fault was her vanity. Though she was but thirteen, she gave herself as much anxiety about her bonnets and dresses as the most fastidious lady of fashion. When I say bonnets, I mean bonnets. Hats she had long discarded as a great deal too juvenile, and in their stead she used to contrive the nattiest little bonnets ima ginable, to the intense delight of Martin, who always treated her as a woman, and called her his "missus." And yet, despite all her labours, she had only one opportunity in the week of exhibiting her handicraft to public gaze, and that was on Sundays, when the venerable old grey pony was enticed by the most fraudulent means from his peaceful grazing on the grassy cliffs, with much ex penditure of persuasive words by Martin, and knowing dodges by Joe, to undergo the labour of carrying the young lady and her papa in a ricketty old gig over to Sandbeach to church.

Peeping Tom had an immense objection to even this one day's duty out of the seven, and would frequently exhibit a very strong inclination to make off, gig and all, to his favourite haunts and pas tures green; but ultimately, though compelled into sub jection, he would have his revenge by blundering along over the road at a pace that a respectable donkey would have been ashamed of; and on more than one occasion he had exhibited his appreciation of the sanctity of the day by performing devotional exercises on the most flinty portions of the highway, to the sad disfigurement of his knees. However, every Sunday, as regular as clockwork, Martin and Nellie might be seen in the pew just under the pulpit in Sandbeach parish church, he in his best uniform, she spick and span as a new pin. Oh, Nellie, Nellie ! if you had thought more of what you had come into the house of God really for, and less of the bonnets and dresses and ribbons about you, the father who so doted on you would never have come to the trouble he did.

At the particular time of which I am writing, Martin had held the post of keeper at Stoniledge for nearly six years, and no complaint of any kind or description had ever been made against him. On the contrary, every quarter, when his salary was remitted him, a letter would accompany the cheque, expressing the highest approval and satisfaction of the authorities. A glad smile would light up his face when he received these flattering com munications, and taking Nellie on his knee — a proceeding she sometimes objected to, on the ground that it was not sufficiently dignified — he would smooth her hair with his hand, and whisper proudly to her, — " They don't think so badly of the old father, missus, them great lords and gentlemen up in London. It's what comes of a man doing his dooty. I've tried to do mine, and so I means to continue till my time comes."