SILVERSANDS is one of the prettiest spots in all England; so pretty, that I fear I cannot give you half an idea of what it is like.
Can you imagine some beautiful red cliffs against which the sea is ever dashing; in summer days lapping round them in shining ripples and curling wavelets; in winter nights rising higher and higher in tempest tossed fury? But the foaming billows can never come near the old gray stone house, snugly nestled at the top in a sort of cleft, and it stands from year to year in perfect safety.
Its gables and oriel windows are clasped in the warm ivy's close embrace; so completely are they enfolded that it is only here and there that the gray stone peeps out.
A wooded hill rises suddenly behind it, and a belt of Scotch pines stand close to the house and sturdily resist all the rude attempts of northern blasts to shake the dwelling they guard; though their branches creak sometimes in the contest.
In the front of the house there is a terrace and small lawn, with a few flower-beds that are almost always gay; then nearer the edge of the cliff are rock-work and tempting winding paths.
To the right, going towards the road, are grassy slopes, and a beech avenue through which the carriage-drive winds; while to the left is the high cliff with its steep descent, its rocky sides cut with paths and steps leading down to the sea.
The pretty pink thrift shows its bright tufts in every available crevice among the rocks, as we now descend to the beach, which gives the village its name.
The sand is so white and fine that it sparkles like silver.
There the sunbeams dance and tremble in the clear pools among the bright green seaweed, and sea-anemones wave their feathery tufts on the sides of the rocky basins.
There also are wonderful caves and natural arches, through which at high tide the sea gurgles with a hollow sound.
Come with me to the beech avenue, and peep through that glade.
There, close at hand, gleam the white cottages of the village.
It is a long day's journey for our little travelers, and while they are being carried towards Silversands, we will call on our friends.
I don't know how many times grandmamma has been upstairs to look at the pretty room, containing two cots shaded with dimity.
Every arrangement speaks of her loving forethought, and now, after one final glance, she stands at the open window watching the boats skimming across the blue surface of the water.
A bunch of bright spring flowers gives a look of expectation to the dressing-table, and there is a restless quivering of light on the ceiling, caused by the reflection of the ever moving sea as its waves crest and shimmer in the sun.
Grandmamma Rutherford is a perfect picture of an old lady, with her sunny smile.
A cluster of silvery curls steal from under the closely plaited cap on her broad, smooth brow, and the rosy bloom of youth still lingers on her cheek.
With a light, active step she descends the staircase. We will enter the library with her and see Mr. Rutherford.
He is seated in the sunny bay-window, spectacles in hand, looking through the beech glade towards the village.
His gray hair and furrowed brow tell of a life of toil and care in his Master's service, but the deep calm resting on his face indicates "a mind at perfect peace with God." The open volume on the table beside him lies unheeded, as the voices of spring birds float in through the open window, for as he looks at the bright foliage and countless opening buds, he is thinking of another springtime, when all nature's resurrection will be everlasting, and there will be no more death.
“Barbara's thoughts seem to be in the same strain as mine to-day, Frances," he said, as a sweet, clear voice from the next room was heard singing, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." "Yet in my flesh shall I see God," he softly repeated, as each sweet cadence rose and fell.
The singing ceased, and a few minutes after Mr. Rutherford's youngest daughter came in with her bonnet on, saying, "Now, dear papa, I am going to meet our little ones.”
And giving a kiss to father and mother, she was presently seen gliding through the avenue.
Little children ran out from cottage doors to greet her, while their mothers looked up for the passing smile as she walked through their midst.
By the sick-bed she had often stood, bringing comfort with her presence; and the blind and aged listened for her coming as flowers wait for sunshine.
People often wondered what made her so full of quiet happiness; for to some it seemed a dull lot to be placed in a small country village, away from all town bustle.
But Barbara Rutherford lived in the enjoyment of that which the world can neither give nor take away.
It is five o'clock in the afternoon, and the train moves slowly into the little station at Silversands.
Katie's eager eyes soon caught sight of Aunt Barbara standing on the platform, and in another moment, with a joyful spring, the little arms are round her neck.
Timid little Geraldine clung tightly to Keats at the sight of the stranger; but there was something in Barbara's face that made the child's dark eyes seek it again and again, and when, with a loving smile and kiss, her new friend quietly drew the little hand within her own, the shyness all vanished, and by the time they reached the Farm, Geraldine was chattering almost as fast as Katie.
“There is grandmamma," said Katie, as they came in sight of the hall door, and breaking loose from the others as she ran on to get the first kiss.
What a welcoming there was, and how delightful to Katie to run through each well-known room explaining everything to Geraldine; so charming to watch the things being unpacked and when the bell rang for tea, to go down and sit one on each side of Aunt Barbara, while grandmamma poured out the tea behind the hissing silver kettle.
Mr. Rutherford smiled as he drew his chair in to join the happy group, saying, as he patted Geraldine's head, "We will soon put some roses into these pale little cheeks, I hope.”
A long time did the happy children lie awake after they were laid to rest; and all the remonstrances of nurse and Keats could not at first prevail to hush them into silence; they watched the stars peep out one by one, until the blue sky was spangled all over and the moon rose bright and clear.
After Geraldine had fallen asleep, Katie crept to the foot of her cot to look at the beautiful golden bridge the moonbeams had made across the bay, and thought how much she would like to be in one of the little boats that lay rocking to and fro in that pathway of light.
How charming to wake next morning, when the great bell sounded at seven o'clock, and hear the cows lowing in the distance, and the roll and murmur of the waves on the shore; everything feeling so delightfully strange and new.
Katie opened her eyes first, and then covered them with both hands, to shield them from the sunbeams which were streaming in, in a dazzling flood of light.
“Oh, Geraldine, wake up!" she said, slipping out of one cot and pattering across with bare feet to climb up into the other; "wake up, and look at the pretty blue sea and the boats and the flowers. Look! the roses are climbing right into our window.”
Katie ran on at such a rate that Geraldine, who was only half awake, felt quite bewildered. Then nurse came, and soon, fresh and rosy from their bath, they were dressed and ready to join Aunt Barbara, who was busy among her flower-beds, tying up and weeding, and filling her basket with flowers.
“I know you would like to have a peep into the dairy," she said, and giving Katie the basket to carry, and taking Geraldine's hand in hers, she led them along a narrow path from the avenue through the grass to the farm buildings at the back of the house.
Little Geraldine had never seen a dairy before, and looked wonderingly at the row of bright tin cans covered with rich cream.
The cook gave them some new milk, and then they stepped across the yard to look at the cows, three beautiful Guernseys: Cowslip, Meadow Queen, and Beauty, and two dear little calves called Dove and Daisy.
At eight o'clock the bell again sounded.
Grandmamma came out to meet them, and all went in to prayers, which were followed by breakfast.
When that was over, grandpapa took Katie on his knee and asked her what she was going to do all day.
“Oh, play on the beach first, please, grand-papa, because I want to show Geraldine my cave houses, and we can take our spades and buckets and dig on the sands.”