Anxiously did Ruth Dotropy await the return of Captain Bream to Yarmouth, and patiently did she refrain, in the meantime, from questioning Mrs Bright as to her history before marriage, for that good woman’s objection to be so questioned was quite sufficient to check her sensitive spirit. But poor Ruth’s enthusiastic hopes were doomed1 to disappointment at that time, for, only a few days after the captain’s departure, she received a letter from him, part of which ran as follows:—
“Dear Miss Ruth,—I am exceedingly sorry and almost ashamed, to be obliged to say that I am unable to return to Yarmouth for some weeks at least. The fact is that I have for a long time been engaged in a piece of business—a sort of search—which has caused me much anxiety and frequent disappointment. My lawyer, however, now thinks he has hit on the right clue, so that I have good hope of being successful. In the meantime will you do your best to comfort the Miss Seawards in my absence, and explain to them that nothing but necessity could make me leave them in the lurch2 in this fashion,” etcetera.
“How very provoking!” exclaimed Ruth, with a pretty little frown on her innocent face after reading the letter to her stately mother.
“Why provoking, dear?” asked Mrs Dotropy. “Surely we can enjoy the fine air of Yarmouth without Captain Bream, and although the dear Miss Seawards are very fond of him, they will not pine or lose their health because of his absence for a short time. Besides, have they not that wonderful theological library to divert them?”
“Yes, mother—it’s not that, but I was so anxious to find out—”
She stopped short.
“Find out what, child?”
“Well now, mother, I can not keep it from you any longer. I will tell you my little secret if you promise not to reveal it to any living soul.”
“How absurd you are, Ruth! Do you suppose that I shall go about the streets proclaiming your secret, whatever it is, to Tom, Dick, and Harry3, even if it were worth telling, much less when it is probably not worth remembering? Of course I might let it slip, you know, by accident and when a thing slips there is no possibility of recovery, as I said once to your dear father that time when he slipped off the end of the pier4 into the water and had to be fished up by the waist-band of his trousers with grappling-irons, I think they called them—at all events they were very dangerous-looking things, and I’ve often argued with him—though I hate argument—that they might have gone into his body and killed him, yet he would insist that, being blunt, the thing was out of the question, though, as I carefully explained to him, the question had nothing to do with it—but it is useless arguing with you, Ruth—I mean, it was useless arguing with your father, dear man, for although he was as good as gold, he had a very confused mind, you know. What was it we were talking about?—oh yes!—your secret. Well, what is it?”
With a flushed face and eager look, Ruth said, “Mother, I cannot help being convinced that Mrs Bright the fisherman’s wife, is no other than Captain Bream’s lost sister!”
“If you cannot help being convinced, child, it is of no use my attempting to reason with you. But why think of such nonsense? If she is what you suppose, she must have been a Miss Bream before marriage.”
“So she was!” exclaimed Ruth, with a look of triumph. I have found that out—only I fear that is not proof positive, because, you know, although not a common name, Bream is by no means singular.
“Well, but she would have been a lady—or—or would have had different manners if she had been Captain Bream’s sister,” objected Mrs Dotropy.
“That does not follow,” said Ruth, quickly. “The captain may have risen from the ranks; we cannot tell; besides, Mrs Bright is very refined, both in manner and speech, compared with those around her. I was on the point one day of asking if she had a brother, when she seemed to draw up and cut the matter short; so I have had to fall back on my original plan of trying to bring the two face to face, which would at once settle the question, for of course they’d know each other.”
“Dear child, why make such a mystery about it?” said Mrs Dotropy; “why not tell the captain of your suspicion, and ask him to go and see the woman?”
“Because it would be so cruel to raise his expectations, mother, and then perhaps find that I was wrong. It would disappoint him so terribly. But this reference to a ‘search’ in his letter makes me feel almost sure he is searching for this lost sister.”
“Foolish child! It is a wild fancy of your romantic brain. Who ever heard,” said the mother, “of a lawyer being employed to search for a sister? Depend upon it, this captain is in search of some deed,—a lost will, or a—an old parchment or a document of some sort, perhaps referring to a mismanaged property, or estate, or fortune, for things of that kind are often seen in the newspapers; though how the newspapers come to find out about them all is more than I can understand. I’ve often wondered at it. Ah! your dear father used to say in his facetious6 way that he was “lost in the Times,” when he wanted to be let alone. I don’t mean advertised for as lost, of course, though he might have been, for I have seen him lose his head frequently; indeed I have been almost forced to the conclusion more than once that the Times had a good deal to do with your father’s mental confusion; it told such awful lies sometimes, and then a month or two afterwards would flatly contradict them all by telling the truth—at least it was probably the truth since it was the opposite of the lies; but it’s of no use talking, I always find that. What were you saying, child?”
“Well, mother, I was going to say,” answered Ruth, with a sigh, “that I must just have patience and be content to wait.”
“Now you talk like the dear, good, sensible little thing that you are,” said Mrs Dotropy, rising; “run, put on your hat and I’ll walk with you by the sea, or go visit the fisher-folk if you like—or the Miss Seawards.”
In this amiable7 frame of mind the mother and daughter set off to the shore.
Ruth’s patience was indeed tried more severely8 than she had anticipated, for, whatever the search was in which Captain Bream had engaged, it compelled him to remain in town much longer than he had intended.
Meanwhile the Evening Star returned to port, and David Bright, with Billy, Joe, and the rest of the crew, went to enjoy themselves in their various ways during their brief holiday.
Mrs Bright chanced to be spending the afternoon with Mrs Joe Davidson and her wonderful “babby” when the skipper and mate walked in upon them. There were two little shrieks10 of joy; then the two wives were enfolded, and for a few seconds lost to view, in the stupendous embrace of the two fishermen, while the babby was, for the moment, absolutely forgotten! But she took care not to be forgotten long. On recovering from her first surprise she gave utterance11 to a howl worthy12 of a seaman’s daughter. Joe immediately seized her in his arms, and half smothered13 her in a fond embrace, to which, apparently14, she did not object.
Meanwhile little Billy stood looking on approvingly, with his hands in his pockets and his booted legs wide apart.
“I wonder when somebody’s a-goin’ to pay some sort of attention to me,” he said after a minute or two.
“Why, Billy, I didn’t see ye,” cried Mrs Joe, holding out her hand; “how are ye, puss in boots?”
“If it was any other female but yourself, Maggie, as said that, I’d scorn to notice you,” returned Billy, half indignant.
“My darling boy!” cried Mrs Bright, turning to her son and enfolding him in her arms.
“Ah! that’s the way to do it,” responded Billy, submitting to the embrace. “You’re the old ooman as knows how to give a feller a good hearty15 squeeze. But don’t come it too strong, mother, else you’ll put me all out o’ shape. See, daddy’s a-goin’ to show his-self off.”
This last remark had reference to a small bundle which David Bright was hastily untying16.
“See here, Nell,” he said, with a strange mixture of eagerness and modesty17, “I’ve joined ’em at last old girl. Look at that.”
He unrolled a M.D.S.F. flag, which he had purchased from the skipper of the mission smack18.
“An’ I’ve signed the pledge too, lass.”
“Oh! David,” she exclaimed, grasping her husband’s right hand in both of hers. But her heart was too full for more.
“Yes, Nell, I’ve had grace given me to hoist19 the Lord’s colours in the Short Blue, an’ it was your little book as done it. I’d ha’ bin20 lost by now, if it hadn’t bin for the blessed Word of God.”
Again Nell essayed to speak, but the words refused to come. She laid her head on her husband’s shoulder and wept for joy.
We have said that David Bright was not by nature given to the melting mood, but his eyes grew dim and his voice faltered21 at this point and it is not improbable that there would have been a regular break-down, if Joe’s blessed babby had not suddenly come to the rescue in the nick of time with one of her unexpected howls. As temporary neglect was the cause of her complaint it was of course easily cured. When quiet had been restored Mrs Bright turned to her son—“Now, Billy, my boy, I must send you off immediately.”
“But what if I won’t go off—like a bad sky-rocket?” said the boy with a doubtful expression on his face.
“But you’ll have to go—and you’ll be willing enough, too, when I tell you that it’s to see Miss Ruth Dotropy you are going.”
“What!—the angel?”
“Yes, she’s here just now, and wants to see you very much, and made me promise to send you to her the moment you came home. So, off you go! She lives with her mother in the old place, you know.”
“All right, I know. Farewell, mother.”
In a few minutes Billy was out of sight and hearing—which last implies a considerable distance, for Billy’s whistle was peculiarly loud and shrill22. He fortunately had not to undergo the operation of being “cleaned” for this visit, having already subjected himself to that process just before getting into port. The only portions of costume which he might have changed with propriety23 on reaching shore were his long boots, but he was so fond of these that he meant to stick to them, he said, through thick and thin, and had cleaned them up for the occasion.
At the moment he turned into the street where his friends and admirers dwelt, Ruth chanced to be at the window, while the Miss Seawards, then on a visit to her mother, were seated in the room.
“Oh! the darling!” exclaimed Ruth, with something almost like a little shriek9 of delight.
“Which darling—you’ve got so many?” asked her mother.
“Oh! Billy Bright, the sweet innocent—look at him; quick!”
Thus adjured24 the sisters ran laughing to the window, but the stately mother sat still.
“D’you mean the boy with the boots on?” asked Jessie, who was short-sighted.
“Yes, yes, that’s him!”
“If you had said the boots with the boy in them, Jessie,” observed Kate, “you would have been nearer the mark!”
In a few minutes, Billy, fully5 alive to his importance in the ladies’ eyes, sat gravely in the midst of them answering rapid questions.
“You’ve not had tea, Billy, I hope,” said Ruth, rising and ringing the bell.
“No, miss, I haven’t, an’ if I had, I’m always game for two teas.”
Soon Billy was engaged with bread, butter, cakes, and jam, besides other luxuries, some of which he had never even dreamed of before.
“What an excellent appetite you have!” said Jessie Seaward, scarcely able to restrain her admiration25.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Billy, accepting another bun with much satisfaction, “we usually does pretty well in the Short Blue in that way, though we don’t have sich grub as this to tickle26 our gums with. You see, we has a lot o’ fresh air out on the North Sea, an’ it’s pretty strong air too—specially when it blows ’ard. W’y, I’ve seed it blow that ’ard that it was fit to tear the masts out of us; an’ once it throw’d us right over on our beam-ends.”
“On what ends, boy?” asked Mrs Dotropy, who was beginning to feel interested in the self-sufficient little fisherman.
“Our beam-ends, ma’am. The beams as lie across under the deck, so that w’en we gits upon their ends, you know, we’re pretty well flat on the water.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed Jessie; “but when that happens how can you walk the deck?”
“We can’t walk the deck, ma’am. We has to scramble27 along the best way we can, holdin’ on by hands and teeth and eyelids28. Thank ’ee, miss, but I really do think I’d better not try to eat any more. I feels chock-full already, an’ it might be dangerous. There’s severe laws now against overloadin’, you know.”
“No such laws in this house, Billy,” said Ruth, with a laugh. “But now, if you have quite done, I should like to put a few questions to you.”
“Fire away, then, Miss,” said the boy, looking exceedingly grave and wise.
“Well, Billy,” began Ruth, with an eager look, “I want to know something about your dear mother.”
She hesitated at this point as if uncertain how to begin, and the boy sought to encourage her with—“Wery good, Miss, I knows all about her. What d’ee want to ax me?”
“I want to ask,” said Ruth, slowly, “if you know what your mother’s name was before she was married?”
Ruth did not as the reader knows, require to ask this question, but she put it as a sort of feeler to ascertain29 how far Billy might be inclined to assist her.
“Well, now, that is a stumper!” exclaimed the boy, smiting30 his little thigh31. “I didn’t know as she had a name afore she was married. Leastwise I never thought of it or heerd on it, not havin’ bin acquainted with her at that time.”
With a short laugh Ruth said, “Well, never mind; but perhaps you can tell me, Billy, if your mother ever had a brother connected with the sea—a sailor, I mean.”
“Stumped again!” exclaimed the boy; “who’d have thought I was so ignorant about my own mother? If she ever had sich a brother, he must have bin drownded, for I never heerd tell of ’im.”
“Then you never heard either your father or mother mention any other name than Bright—I mean in connection with yourselves?” said Ruth in a disappointed tone.
“Never, Miss, as I can reck’lect on. I would willin’ly say yes, to please you, but I’d raither not tell no lies.”
“That’s right my good boy,” said Mrs Dotropy, with a stately but approving nod, “for you know where all liars32 go to.”
“Yes, ma’am, an’ I knows where liars don’t go to,” returned Billy, looking up with pious33 resignation, whereat the Miss Seawards and Ruth burst into a laugh.
It must not be supposed that Billy meant to be profane34, but he had taken a dislike to Mrs Dotropy, and did not choose to be patronised by her.
As poor Ruth found that it was useless to pursue her investigations35 in this direction further, she changed the subject to the North Sea fishery, with the details of which her little friend was of course quite conversant36. Then she proposed to accompany Billy home.
“I want to make the acquaintance of your father,” she said.
“Ah! he’s a true blue now, he is,” said Billy.
“Was your father not always a true blue?” asked Ruth, as they went along the street together.
“Well, it ain’t right for me to say ought agin my father—but—he’s true blue now, anyhow.”
And Ruth found that the reformed drunkard was indeed “true blue,” and very glad to see her; nevertheless she obtained no information from him on the subject she was so anxious about—not because he was uncommunicative, but because Ruth, being very timid, had not courage to open her lips upon it.
The shades of evening were beginning to descend37 when she rose to leave. Both father and son offered to escort her home, but she declined the offer with many thanks, and went off alone.
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1
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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2
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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5
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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6
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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7
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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9
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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11
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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12
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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13
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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14
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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15
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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16
untying
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| untie的现在分词 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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18
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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19
hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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20
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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21
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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22
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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adjured
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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28
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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smiting
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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32
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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33
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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34
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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