The Cornish Fisher Girl: A Story of Sunlight Bay
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:: Waiting for the London Coach.
FOUR miles from Milston Harbor lies a small cove known as Sunlight bay. On the tops of the cliffs above, in the course of years, a hamlet surrounded by cornfields had grown into existence, consisting of but one crooked street and one general shop; yet these strange straggling cottages were dignified by the name of Sunlight village.
The greater part of the inhabitants were hardworking men, either employed in Milston Harbor or as laborers at the numerous farms dotted about the country.
There were two houses situated on the beach, one a strongly-built four-roomed cottage, the other, about a quarter of a mile away from it, was made out of two old boats and various pieces of wreckage, etc. Here lived a man who went by the name of Evil Deane, a churlish, uncouth fellow; he, with a man named Wilson, who lived in the other cottage on the beach, owned a smart little cutter and two rowing-boats, the only boats in fact in Sunlight bay. These men made a very fair living by fishing, but not long before they had tried their hands at a little smuggling; at first, just sufficient brandy and tobacco for themselves, then enough for one or two other men, and so on, until they brought over more each time they made a run to the French coast. Drink, that terrible evil, was as yet almost unknown in Sunlight village, but was slowly and surely spreading among the once sober villagers. They guessed it was smuggled, but it suited their convenience to keep silent, for could they not buy it at half its value?
It was a singular friendship which existed between Wilson, or Captain, as most people called him, and Evil Deane. It was of over sixteen years' standing, ever since Wilson's wife died and left him with an infant then not a month old, at which time Deane was a mere lad. These two rough men contrived unaided to bring up the child, for no woman had been asked or allowed to enter either of the cottages.
Both were devoted to the baby. She passed half her time on the sea, either wrapped up in a blanket, peacefully asleep in an old box, or crawling about the deck with a piece of rope tied securely round her waist to prevent her falling overboard. She would gaze in wonder at the beautiful fish when her father and Evil Deane drew up the nets. As she grew older and her character became more bold and fearless, she was of great use in hauling in the sails and sorting the fish. Her winning ways and lively prattle made the time pass very pleasantly to the two rough men. And so the girl had grown up until she passed her sixteenth birthday. By the villagers, unlike her father and Evil Deane, Gwen was much liked; for though she had little intercourse with the cottagers, her innocent ways and joyous nature won for her a place in their hearts, and, moreover, her mother had left the memory of many acts of kindness behind her.
One hot day in August about noon, when the sun was pouring down his powerful beat on Sunlight village, and most people kept wisely indoors for an hour or two, Evil Deane, with his cap well over his eyes, came striding along the straggling street on his way to the beach below. After him in breathless haste ran Gwen, her bare feet hardly making a sound on the sandy path; she was attired in a bright blue silk dress, her father's last present, but as for shoes, stockings, or hat, she had none. As she reached Evil Deane she administered to him a hearty pat upon the back. He turned quickly round, but when he saw who it was his face relaxed into a smile.
“Where have you been all this morning and yesterday?” she cried. “We have been hunting for you everywhere."
“What am I wanted for? " he asked, stroking her curly hair; " anything up? "
“Yes, indeed! a most wonderful thing has happened; we have had a letter."
“A letter Where from? "
"From London, to say father's sister is dead, and begging him to take care of Alice, her little girl."
“He ain't a-going to I 'ope," said Evil Deane, with a frown; " she shan't come 'ere, if I can help it. 'Ow old is she? "
“She is only fourteen, and father says, if I don't like her when she comes, he'll soon send her away. I'm going to sit on the gate in the rye-fields to watch for their coming."
Away she flew through the fields of yellow corn, stopping now and then to gather the poppies and corn-flowers. In about half an hour the rye-fields were reached, and she leaned on the gate, from which could be seen the main road, along which the London coach would pass on its way to Milston Harbor. Here she remained patiently, singing to herself snatches of sea songs that she had heard her father or Evil Deane sing, making the while a pretty garland of the corn-flowers and poppies she had gathered. In an hour's time up came Evil Deane, holding in his hand a huge piece of bread and cheese.
“Getting tired of waiting, Gwen?" he asked, giving her the bread and cheese.
"You've taken your time," she answered, laughing; “I thought you'd bring me something, though. I'm so hungry, and thirsty too."
"I do so wish I could read," Gwen added, after a moment's silence.
“Why?" asked Deane, with a scowl.
“Because then I could find out where God lives, and read all the wonderful things in the Bible. Will Smith's wife told me this morning that her Davy, who died last week, had gone to Heaven, where he will never cry any more, but wear a beautiful shining frock."
“I thought the Cap'n told you not to talk to the women in the village," he said.
"So he did, but when I ask him who made the stars and trees and everything, he always says God, but he doesn't tell me where He is and how to find Him, so I thought per'aps Will Smith's wife would know."
"I wish she'd been at the bottom of the sea, afore she'd stuck such rubbish into yer head. Ain't yer content as yer are? What more d'ye want? "
“I don't quite know, but I often think about God now, when you and father are away, He is so wonderful, and I should like to thank Him for making such lovely things. I would give Him the prettiest thing I have in return, even the big gold locket I had on my last birthday."
“Have yer got anything ready for 'em to eat?" Evil Deane asked, anxious to change the subject.
“Of course!" she answered, with a smile, which showed a big dimple in each cheek, “I got supper ready as soon as it was light this morning in case they should come home earlier. What do you think father will bring me? "
"Can't tell—lump o' sweet stuff; 'at with a long feather; or a shawl or shoes for the winter—there's such a many things to choose from."
Evil Deane patiently waited for an hour in the broiling sun, talking to Gwen and telling her stories and funny anecdotes, until, in the distance a distinct rumble of wheels was heard. Then she sprang off the gate, and they both ran into the main road. The old coach had stopped, and her father had got down from his seat outside and was helping out a pale-faced girl dressed in deep mourning. When they came up, Gwen sprang into her father's arms and almost squeezed him to death. “We’ve been watching such a long time, father," she cried. "Is that Alice? Why, I thought she'd be much bigger and prettier, and she's quite lame too;" then, seeing the tears in Alice's eyes, she gave her a hearty kiss, saying, "Don't cry; you shall have half the present father's brought me."
Evil Deane never gave the poor little desolate stranger any greeting whatever, but taking up her modest-looking trunk marched on in front without a word.
A grand repast had been prepared for the travelers; there were bread and cheese, new milk, shrimps, and a large lobster. “Will you have milk, father?" she asked, as they sat down.
“No; I don't feel quite the thing. I'll have some of my medicine, and so will Deane; pour us out a good dose, Gwen."
“Why, it smells like brandy," said Alice, speaking for the first time.
The two men exchanged glances but said nothing.
“Where are you going to put your cousin, Gwen?" her father asked, as the evening came on.
“She’s to sleep with me, father; there's lots of room."
The two girls went to bed early, for Alice was very tired. The hostess with childish delight helped to unpack the box. “What are these? she asked, holding up two handsomely-bound books.
“Dear mother gave them to me before she died," said Alice, in an unsteady tone; "one's a Bible and the other is a ‘Pilgrim's Progress.’”
“Can you read?" cried Gwen, with wide open eyes; "I can't. Then you can find out the wonderful things in the Bible, all about God, where He lives and perhaps how to find Him.”
“Oh dear I am glad."
“I’ll teach you to read," said Alice, in amazement, as she heard the frank but terrible confession of ignorance, "and tell you all I know in the morning. I'm going to say my prayers, now."
“Prayers?" said Gwen; "what do you mean?"
“Why, asking God for all I want and thanking Him for all His goodness."
“But He isn't here. He can't hear you."
“Oh yes! He can, quite well."
"Can He really? Then I'd like to thank Him too. Could He hear better if I opened the window, do you think? "
"No, no!" cried Alice, in blank astonishment; “didn’t your mother ever tell you about Him? "
“Mother died years ago, and father don't know the way to Heaven."
"I'll tell you in the morning," whispered Alice, as the Captain called out to them to go to sleep.
“I tell yer what, Cap'n," said Evil Deane as he was leaving, "you've done a bad day's work in bringing that pale-faced little girl 'ere. A spy on us, that's what she’ll be."
“She’s my own sister's child," the other answered, thoughtfully; "but still I shall send her off if it suits me."
"Then I 'ope it soon will," muttered Evil Deane, as he moved away.
Chapter 2:: Down by the Lobster Kraals.
THE sun had been shining brightly for hours the next morning before poor tired Alice awoke. She was just beginning to collect her thoughts and realize where she was, when her cousin, who had been up since early dawn, rushed into the room. “I thought you really must be awake by now," she said. “They’ve had breakfast and gone out ages ago. Yours is all ready! "
“Is it late?” asked Alice, beginning to dress.
“I should think so! most dinner-time. Look at the sun," replied Gwen, opening the window, and letting the sea-breeze steal into the room.
“What a lovely day!" exclaimed Alice; "how blue the sea is! how bright everything seems after hot London. How pretty the sun makes the water look! I hope uncle won't be angry with me for being late; he must think me so lazy when the weather is so fine."
“Angry?" said the other, laughing; "he's never angry, no more is Deane. You need not wear shoes and stockings here," she hastened to add, seeing Alice putting them on; “we won’t mind a bit."
“But I like to," replied Alice; "I should not feel half dressed unless I did."
“How funny!" cried Gwen, in a pitying tone; " I always feel so uncomfortable in them I can't run, jump, or climb nearly so well as I can without them."
“I’ll just thank God for taking care of me all night," said Alice, when she was ready to go down.
Gwen waited in silence until she had finished.
“I’d like to thank Him too," she said, kneeling by the side of the bed, and putting her hands together as she had seen the other do.
“‘Thank You, God, for all the wonderful things You've done. Please go on doing more wonderful things. Tell us where to find You.' Do you think He heard? “she cried, jumping up.
"Yes," said Alice, with a puzzled look on her face; "but you must always say, ' for Christ's sake, Amen,' at the end."
So the girl knelt down again and said it, and then they went down stairs.
She sat on the door-step, mending a hole in her father's net, while Alice had her breakfast. There was a plentiful supply of new milk on the table, bread, butter, and large brown shrimps, which had only been caught that morning.
“How delicious they are!" said Alice, helping herself to another handful; "and how fresh too!"
“They ought to be," laughed Gwen; "I caught them myself, before five this morning."
“What!" cried Alice, in amazement, "do you go shrimping? "
“Yes and fishing too. Only then they comes with me, 'cos it takes two of us to manage the boat, and haul in the nets. Do you like your breakfast?"
“Very much, only it seems so funny to have milk instead of tea."
“I’ve never tasted tea," said Gwen; "we never have any. When father can't take milk he takes his medicine. But I've heard about it. Father's been where it grows."
“Don’t they sell it in the shops here?" asked Alice.
“There is only one shop, and we seldom buy anything there. Deane brings back all we want from Milston Harbor, when he takes his fish to sell there twice a week."
“Do you know many girls in the village?" inquired Alice, after a minute's pause.
“One or two, but I never talk to them much, for father doesn't like it. I'm so glad you've come, and if you'll only tell me all about the things in the Bible, I'll show you how to climb, an' row, an' fish. Father's told me the names of such a number of stars, and I'll show you where the gulls build."
"I'll tell you gladly," said Alice, "but I can't understand how it is that you never heard it all before. Oh how lovely the sea looks!" she exclaimed, coming to the door; "how I wish dear mother were only here," and big tears rolled down her pale cheeks at the remembrance of her recent loss.
“Don’t cry, dear. Come on to the cliffs and into the cornfields," cried the other, not knowing how else to comfort her; "you haven't seen half yet."
“I should like to sit on the beach best," replied Alice; " it looks such a long way to the top of the cliffs, and so steep too! I was afraid every minute I should fall when we came down it yesterday."
“Call that steep?" her friend cried; "you should see the cliffs Deane an' I climb after birds' eggs. Hark! hark! there's father whistling for me. He's on top of the cliff."
Away she flew up the steep path to meet him, jumping and skipping along, while poor lame Alice watched anxiously below, fearing every moment to see her stumble and fall.
When the top was reached, throwing her arms round his neck and kissing him, she said, " Father, where's the present you promised to bring me from London? Is that it?" noticing he held a large parcel in his hand.
“Sure enough," said her father. “I was idiot enough to leave it in the coach yesterday, and so have been over to Milston Harbor to fetch it. What have you and Alice been talking about all the morning, little one?"
Gwen was too absorbed in the parcel to answer. “Whatever can it be?" said she. “It’s hard—it's not a frock or shoes. It's such a funny shape. Give me your knife to cut the string, I can't break it."
“No, no. Wait till after dinner, pretty one. I promised Deane that he should share the fun."
“Bother Deane! I can't wait. Suppose I must, though. I'll go an' get dinner ready now."
Away she bounded at a breakneck pace down the cliffs again. She could hardly eat any dinner, she was so impatient, and hurrying them so.
"Go and fetch Deane," her father suggested at last, much to her satisfaction.
“Had you not better put a hat on?" asked Alice, "you might get a sunstroke, it is so scorchingly hot."
“I only wear them in the winter," she cried, as she ran off. Her quick eye soon spied Deane sitting on the edge of one of the small boats, eating his mid-day meal of bread and cheese by the aid of a large clasp knife. “Come an' see what father's brought me from London!" she cried. “You can finish your dinner afterwards."
Deane laughed good humouredly, and putting it away in the boat followed her back to the cottage, and stood at the door while she eagerly untied the parcel.
A handsome looking-glass peeped from between the folds of soft paper. “O father! it does make me look pretty," she added, as she caught sight of her own face reflected in it.
Evil Deane laughed heartily at this simple remark.
"Deane," said the Captain, when the present had been admired, "I want a word with you this evening, so don't go off."
“Yes, Cap'n. You'll spy me down by the lobster kraals, 'tween nine an' ten."
After the girls were in bed and asleep the Captain lighted his pipe and stepped out into the moonlight, making his way along the sands towards the lobster kraals. He stood in silence until Deane had baited the last one, then said abruptly: "Is all ready for our run to-morrow, Deane?"
“No," said Deane, shortly; " we ain't a-goin' till the day after."
“What’s that for? Anything in the wind?" "Not 'xactly, only I can't abide that little girl you've brought from London."
“What on earth has that got to do with our run?"
"Just this, that I ain't easy in my mind, like. There's no use telling what she may stuff into Gwen's head—she suspects your medicine is brandy. Now I knows, and ye know, mate," he continued in a changed tone of voice, "it's nigh on the girl's seventeenth birthday, an' ye promised that I should marry her, so I thought ye might give her a hint to-morrow. I feels uncomfortable since that pale-face has come, and should be glad of the girl's promise afore we start on this little affair." "There's plenty of time," said the father, sadly; "her birthday's not till November. I'm not so anxious to see her married, I can tell you, man."
“She’ll never 'ear a cross word from my lips, Cap'n, as yer know."
"I don't fear that. I believe she's the only living thing you care for, Deane."
"You're about right there," answered Evil Deane, with a grin, as he lighted his pipe. After he had smoked a while in silence he remarked: " S'pose we take the little one with us, Cap'n, and lose her somewhere on the French coast. No one would be a bit the wiser, an' if we don't get her clear of this place, I'm sure mischief 'll come of it, 'cos I spied Dan's girl speaking to her this afternoon."
A frown settled on the Captain's face, but he replied hastily, " No, no I she's my own sister's child, and I've enough on my conscience without that."
Evil Deane turned on his heel dissatisfied. The Captain walked thoughtfully back, pausing every now and again to watch the bright moonlight as it shone on the calm water. “My own darling, how shall I part with her?" he thought to himself, as he stood for a moment on the doorstep of his cottage, with his face towards the sea, "Yet who would care for her like Deane does? "
Chapter 3:: The Wonderful Story.
GWEN," said Captain Wilson, as he was leaving the cottage the next morning, "don't wait dinner for me; I'm going to Milston Harbor on business, but come and meet me in the rye fields about four. I have something to tell you."
“Something to tell me, father? Is it a secret? Must I guard it as carefully as the bundles you keep under the kitchen floor?" she whispered.
“Hush! Hush! not so loud! “he answered, putting his hand over her mouth. " No, it's not exactly a secret, pretty one; but be sure and come, because to-morrow, if the wind keeps favorable, Deane and I are going fishing and I shall be away for a few days, and I shall be too busy to talk to you this evening."
“You’ll see me near the old gate, father."
Her father gazed fondly into her bright eyes and stroked her yellow hair. A heavy sigh escaped him as he turned away. The bare idea of giving her up to Deane made his heart ache.
“Would you like to come and see where the gulls build?" Gwen asked Alice when her father was out of sight.
“I should like to lie on the beach and watch the sea, it is almost too hot to walk," said Mice.
"That's because you wear shoes and stockings and a hat," laughed her friend; "still, if you'd rather rest, perhaps you would tell me about God as you promised."
So Alice fetched her Bible and read the story of the Baby King born in a manger. The fisher girl's eyes grew big with astonishment as she listened, and when Alice got to where Herod sought His life she could scarcely contain her anger. But when the end came—the agony on the cross—and Alice explained in a subdued voice that it was for her that He suffered the humiliation and pain, she sobbed out, with the hot tears running down her cheeks, “What an awful death to die! Is there nothing we can give Him or do for Him in return? Did He die for us all?"
“Mother said for all,' " answered Alice; " only they must ask God to forgive them and wash them in Christ's precious blood. Oh, how I wish mother were here! She could explain it all so beautifully.
"Tell me about Christ all over again, "said Gwen. Alice complied willingly, and answered to the best of her ability the numerous questions.
When at last they went in to their dinner, already an hour past the usual time, Gwen scarcely `'touched anything, and could talk of nothing else but the Baby King born in a manger.
“Oh, how wonderful it all is!" she cried for the twentieth time. “Do tell me just once more! Begin from the very beginning!"
Alice smiled and, opening her Bible, read chapter after chapter.
“I can't get over it," Gwen said at length. “I never heard anything like it before. No one ever told me I was a sinner. They always say I'm an angel. I do love Jesus for dying for us. It does seem wonderful that He is able to wash all our sins away and save us."
"Yes," said Alice softly to herself. “‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.' Do you believe on Him, dear? "
“Yes, indeed! now I've heard about Him. Doesn't everyone? Father and Deane 'll be so pleased to hear about it; I'm sure they don't know or they'd have told me."
“I’m not so certain," said Alice sorrowfully. "But isn't it time you started to meet uncle, dear?"
“Yes!" cried Gwen, springing up, "it's past four, I forgot all about it."
She ran up the path on to the cliffs above, and through the cornfields as fast as she could. Her father was standing by the gate watching for her. “Father! I've such wonderful things to tell you, about Christ who was born in a manger, and died to save sinners," she cried, panting.
A terrible frown gathered on her father's face. "I'll soon stop your cousin from such talking," he said. “Did she tell you that your father, who loves you better than all the world, was as wicked as he could well be?"
“Of course not!" cried the girl, as she threw her arms round his neck. “How could she, when you're always so kind and good? But even if you were ever so bad, you could still ask Christ to forgive you and wash you in His precious blood, because Alice said He came to save sinners. Did you ever bear anything half so wonderful before, father? "
Her father vouchsafed her no answer, but struck angrily at the unoffending rye that was in reach of his foot. At last he said, “I suppose you don't care to hear what I've got to tell you now?”
“Yes, I do."
So her father began in a hesitating and uncertain voice to tell her what was in his mind. He sighed as he watched her bright face and innocent eyes fixed expectantly on him.
“It’s some four years ago now," he said. “Picture to yourself a terrible stormy night, pretty one, and a little boat out at sea overtaken by a squall, most a mile from land. Two men were in her, an old and a young one. Well, the storm was so violent that the boat was turned bottom upwards, and the men were struggling for dear life in the water. The young man could swim, but the old one very little. But instead of the young man thinking of saving his own life and leaving the other to drown, he just swims up to him and pilots him with great difficulty up to a jagged bit of rock, and holds him there for nigh on five hours. If it hadn't been for the young man's strong arm that terrible night, the old man would have been carried back again by the fierce waves that broke repeatedly over them.
“When the day broke, and the gale had abated a bit, exhausted as he was, the young man managed to reach the shore and brought out another boat, and never left the old man until he was safe in bed, wrapped in warm blankets.
“Well, the next day the old man felt so grateful that he offered the young one anything he had in return. 'You shall have the smart little cutter that I've just bought,' said he.
"But the young one shook his head. I want something more than that.'
"The old one looked at him in amazement and thought over all the things he possessed. Well,' he said at last, thoroughly puzzled to think what the young man was after, `whatever it is you shall have it. Speak out, man.'
"But his astonishment knew no bounds when he heard the request, ‘I want your daughter.'
“I can't give her to you.
“I can bide a bit.' The young man pleaded so hard that the other gave way at last, for the five terrible hours in the water were fresh in his memory, you see. You'll be seventeen in November. Do you understand, little one?" the Captain asked, looking wistfully into her face “Yes, father, I think I do. I remember the night quite well, and how frightened I was. But I don't want to leave you an' live in Deane's cottage. Besides, he's so old. Why, it's only a little while ago that he gave me rides on his knee. Can't he marry Alice instead of me? "
“He’s not old, chick; he's only a little turned thirty, and can't endure the sight of Alice."
Thus her father talked and entreated her so that, at last, she unwillingly enough consented, but only on condition that Deane was to live in their cottage and not take her away from her father.
As they strolled slowly back through the cornfields, her father unfolded to her many little schemes he had planned for her happiness when she should be married. But so full was she of the wonderful story that Alice had been telling that her replies were vague. Her blue eyes wandered dreamingly over the fields of corn that looked so glorious in the rays of the setting sun.
“Christ walked in the cornfields. I wonder if they looked like these?"
“Can’t tell," Said her father, gruffly. “Oh! there's Alice yonder. What's she been in the village for? I won't have her go there gossiping. I wish I'd never brought her here, putting all this nonsense into your head. She's only been here two days and made all this mischief already."
"Don't be cross, darling," coaxed his daughter. "I should never have known about the Baby King born in a manger if she hadn't come; and if you'll only let her tell me more about the wonderful things in the Bible, I'll marry Deane and do anything you like."
Her father smiled at her beseeching manner, “Well, well, get supper ready, little one," he said; when they reached the beach, “while I say a few words to Deane. If the wind only keeps favorable we must be off. No fish, no money!"
Evil Deane was busy about the cutter when the Captain came up. “What did the little 'un say?" he inquired, eagerly; "did the news vex her?"
The Captain lighted his pipe and related the afternoon's conversation.
“Promised, 'ave she? “cried Evil Deane, with a beaming countenance; " that's somethin' like! Good!"
“The wind's a-gettin' up nice," he said as he followed the Captain in to supper; “everything’s in order."
When the Captain passed Gwen's chair he patted her yellow head with a more tender touch than usual. The girl hailed him with delight and began instantly to tell him about the wonderful story, much to Evil Deane's disgust.
Chapter 4:: "I'll Serve God Now."
VERY peacefully passed the days while the two men were away. The girls wandered in the cornfields or down by the seashore for hours and hours, and a color given by the fresh air and sea breeze slowly crept into Alice's pale cheeks.
Gwen cared to talk of little else but the wonderful story. Over and over again she made Alice tell it, and never tired of listening. After a while Alice read to her the "Pilgrim's Progress," and explained it to her as well as she was able. One day as they sat on the rocks eating their dinner of bread and cheese, Gwen exclaimed, after a quarter of an hour's silence, in which she had been thinking deeply, “Am I in the city of Destruction?'"
No," said Alice with a smile, “you’re going on pilgrimage."
“Is father or Deane there? I'm sure they can't be; they are both such good men."
“Deane may seem good, but I fear he is there," said Alice slowly; "but don't look so scared, dear. We must try and be Mr. Evangelist to him and point him out the way to the wicket gate. Perhaps God sent me here to tell you how you can serve Him by trying to make Deane a better man. Mrs. White says he is very wicked; that if it were not for his bringing brandy into the village and selling it so cheap the men wouldn't drink as they do, and beat their wives and children."
"Then brandy must be that stuff father calls medicine," said Gwen in horror, as something of the truth began to dawn upon her. "You know you said it smelt like it the first day you came. Deane scarcely ever takes any, I'm sure, and I've never seen him drunk. Why didn't Mrs. White tell me about it, I wonder?"
“Mrs. White says he can stand a good deal, and drinks all day long. And he's so cruel, too, she says. That's why he's called 'Evil Deane,' I suppose."
“I never thought of that before," said Gwen. "I don't think he's cruel. Does `evil' mean cruel, Alice?"
"It means everything that's bad," said Alice. "Just fancy living with a man who drinks and is cruel. Think how horrible! What shall you do, Gwen?"
“Do? I can't do a thing, because I've promised that I would marry him."
The girls talked all the afternoon over this question, and Gwen planned many ways of inducing her father and Deane to give up the drink.
“I’d no idea of all this," she said sadly. “Now I know what's in those bund—. Oh," and she stopped herself hastily and looked anxiously at her companion.
But Alice pretended not to have heard, and was gazing over the sea. "Look at that white speck in the distance! Is that a bird?" she asked.
Gwen, springing up, cried, " Of course not. You can't half see! It's the cutter—she'll be in within an hour an' a half. She's making straight for the bay. I'll go an' get something for them to eat."
Away she bounded, leaving lame Alice to follow at her leisure. At the time mentioned the cutter was in, and the two men came up the beach looking very tired and evidently out of sorts.
"Never mind, Cap'n, better luck next time!" said Evil Deane, brightening up as he caught sight of Gwen standing at the cottage door. “We should ha' been foolish to risk it with them custom-house men on the look-out."
Late that night, long after Alice had fallen asleep, Gwen lay thinking of the conversation they had had in the morning. Deane in the City of Destruction how dreadful it seemed to her! “I’ll warn him to-morrow," she thought. “I’ll beg him to give up the drink. Alice said we could serve God by trying to make him better—we were to act the part of Mr. Evangelist to him, and point out the way to the wicket gate." She lay still for a time and tried to sleep, but could not. “Suppose to-morrow should be too late? Deane might be gone out in the cutter fishing. He might be drowned; lots of things might happen." All kinds of dangers came into her mind, until she could bear it no longer, but crept out of bed and dressed. “I’ll serve God now," she thought, “lest I become like Mr. Slothful."
She stole into her father's room, as she went along, and gazed mournfully at him as he lay asleep, with the bright moonlight shining across his face. She took up the bottle that stood by his side to ascertain how much was in it. "Not a drop, an' it was half full when he went to bed. Oh, my dear father!" she murmured, “an’ I always thought it was medicine till Alice came!"
She kneeled down and said a little prayer for him, and then made her way to Evil Deane's cottage, or rather hut. It was a beautiful night, almost as bright as day, and the tide was low, so she chose the sands in preference to the shingly beach, though her bare feet were pretty well hardened to the stones. She knocked once or twice at the door, but receiving no answer, lifted the latch and entered.
Evil Deane lay dressed on his rough bed, sound asleep. Gwen kneeled by him and shook him with both hands. “Smuggled?” he muttered, with a chuckle; “prove it, my fine fellow, prove it!" “Get up!” the girl cried, shaking him more violently. "Get up, Deane, God is very angry with you." The last shake woke him. “Halloo," he cried, “who’s that?”
“Me, Deane," said Gwen, "I've come to warn you, like Pilgrim was warned, to flee from the wrath to come!’ You're in the City of Destruction; Alice says you are! If it wasn't for you the people in the village wouldn't get so drunk. You've brought a fearful curse on us with your horrible brandy that father always made me believe was medicine. You must leave the place! an' do good an' not harm."
Evil Deane sat up. "I can't understand you. You ain't come to tell me all this in the middle o' the night, 'ave yer? Is the Cap'n took bad? What's up?"
"Father's not ill! I came to tell you how angry God is with you for all the wicked things you've done. I always thought you were so good! Oh, Deane! Dear Deane! do give up 'the drink! “she implored, trying to choke down a sob.
“Have you ever seen me drunk?” the man, asked fiercely. “If folks will take too much I can't 'elp it, can I?”
“Yes, you can! You shouldn't bring it into the place, and sell it so cheap. Father wouldn't let me come the last four times you've been out fishing. You didn't go fishing at all. You went to fetch the brandy from somewhere—now I know what's in those bundles, and why father wouldn't let me go. You don't get drunk, Mrs. White told Alice, 'cos you can stand a lot, an' you're always taking drink all day long. I've come to be a Mr Evangelist to you. I wouldn't have come in the night, only I couldn't sleep, I was so afraid of being like Mr. Slothful. Make haste and pack up your things an' go. An' yet I don't want you to go away," she added, inconsistently, while her sobs became more violent.
Evil Deane felt her hot tears fall on his hand.
"'Twas a good man a-running away from a bad city, an' not t'other way, I reckon," he said, kindly, as vague memories of his boyhood and the sound of a sweet gentle voice telling him of holy things floated dimly through his mind. “You’re over excited. Come, stop crying. I can't a-bear it. Who's been a-tellin' you all these tales—Alice, eh? I'll be a better man after tonight, though. Folks shall call me 'Good Deane' in future. Come, dry your eyes, my pretty, an' I'll walk back wi' yer."
Gwen thanked him earnestly, and cheered up, rejoicing in the success of her entreaties. Evil Deane was rather silent on the way back, pretending to be very sad indeed, sighing heavily now and then. “Don’t be so miserable, dear old Deane," the girl cried, as she softly opened the cottage door, “God will forgive you if you ask Him, only you must always say for Christ's sake. Amen.' "
"Thank yer for comforting me, my pretty," the man answered, as he turned back.
When the door was closed, he looked up at the window of the room where he knew Alice was sleeping, and shaking his fist, muttered to himself, "You shall pay for this trouble. You're the cause of all this! But there'll be a reckoning-day atween us afore long."
However, for the next week or two Evil Deane's conduct was most exemplary. No brandy was to be seen in either of the cottages on the beach, yet once or twice Gwen fancied her father was rather unsteady in gait and confused in his head towards evening, but in answer to her anxious questions he always had an excuse ready. He was getting old, had worked too hard that day, etc.
And so the simple girl believed it and ceased to fret.
Chapter 5:: At the Edge of the Cliff.
THE harvest had been cut and gathered in and the farmers went about with expressions of great content on their faces, for the crops had been good and plentiful.
September was extraordinarily fine that year, the sun seemed as if he would never tire of pouring down his favors on Sunlight village and Sunlight bay.
Along the top of the cliff one bright evening came Alice with a big jug in her hand. She had been to a farm, about a mile distant, to fetch some milk, for the day had been so sultry that the morning's supply had turned sour. She walked slowly, for the heat was oppressive, stopping every now and again to refresh herself with a handful of delicious blackberries from a neighboring hedge.
“Wait, wait!" cried a voice behind her, and turning quickly round she saw Evil Deane striding towards her across the grass. A feeling akin to fear crept over her which she could not explain even to herself, for she had an innate dread of him, engendered by his evident dislike to her, which he took no pains to disguise. She knew that he wished she had never come, and yet he was in one sense somewhat afraid of her—afraid of what she might say to Gwen about him, for he could not easily deceive Alice, but it was easy enough to throw a cloak over his sins that would cover them well from the simple, unsuspecting Gwen.
With Alice it was different; she had seen enough of drink in busy London to dread it. And then he shrunk from her. He “hated her psalm-singing and hypocritical ways," he said.
Many a time he had urged the Captain to send her away, but without success. The Captain said he had a reason for keeping her there, and so he had—the reason being that he had an idea in his head that to be kind to Alice would atone for many of his former sins against his sister—that sister who had loved him so dearly in the days of his youth, and whose loving kindness he had not returned.
As Deane overtook Alice and walked beside her without speaking a word, she stole a glance at his forbidding face.
It's very warm," she ventured to remark, feeling that she must say something.
“’Ot enough," he replied, and said no more. He was busy thinking, and his thoughts boded no good to poor Alice. “I said there'd be a reckoning day between us afore long, and now it's come," he thought. “I’ve been a waitin' for a chance like this many's the day. One little push when we gets near the edge and it's all over. No one'll be none the wiser—the dead tell no tales, I reckon. And what could be more nat'ral than she should go too near the edge, lose her footing, and fall overboard. Yes, yes; I shan't be bothered with no explanations; the thing'll explain itself."
He took a step nearer to Alice, and the girl, all unconscious of danger, took a step nearer to the edge of the cliff. After a few minutes he took a step nearer still, and then another, and another, and every time Alice moved closer and closer to the edge in her anxiety not to be too near to him. He looked some yards ahead and saw a place where the chalk was much crumbled away, and decided that when they reached that spot lie would do it.
They were getting near the place, and he took his pipe out of his mouth and put it into his pocket. "Murderers have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone." The words flashed through his mind. He remembered where he heard them. It was in a Sunday school many years ago, before he came to live in Sunlight village. His 'own teacher, be remembered, had been ill, and a young lady had taken the class, and had gone home, poor thing! dispirited and out of heart, fearing that not one of the noisy boys had paid attention to the words she had said. Bitter were the tears she had shed over what she considered the afternoon's fruitless labor. But the seed had fallen into one rough heart, and though it had lain dormant for many years, yet in his hour of temptation it bore fruit. The words she had used, and the text she had chosen, came back to him now as if they had been uttered yesterday.
Thus came the fulfillment of God's beautiful promise, “So shall My word be that goeth forth out of My mouth, it shall not return unto Me void."
He stopped as they reached the spot where he had meant to push poor Alice over the cliff, and looked at her irresolutely a moment, then turned abruptly round, and ran as hard as he could in the opposite direction. Alice gazed after him in amazement, but not being able to assign any reason for his strange conduct, gave a sigh of relief at being rid of his unwelcome presence, and continued her journey homewards.
Evil Deane ran on for over a mile without stopping, and then, when the cliffs were less steep and jagged, climbed down to the sands below, and cooled his hot head in the fresh seawater.
“Oh, dear!" he said to himself, as he rested against a rock for a moment, “I feel no 'ow. I can't make it out! I never felt so uncomfortable afore!" He took a deep draught from his flask. “Oh, my! I feels all creepy and crawly like. I won't try that dodge on again, I reckon. Strange that I ain't thought on them words for years. Murderers.... have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone.'
It do make a chap feel queer to think on it!"
He lit his pipe, and walked slowly back. A flutter over head and a flapping of wings caused him to look up. Clambering up the cliff, in a most perilous position, was Gwen, the last rays of the setting sun shining full on her, making her yellow hair glisten like gold. Evil Deane shaded his eyes with his hand, and gazed anxiously at her, for she came now to a terribly dangerous part of the cliff, and was fearlessly attempting to ascend it. He dared not call out, lest, startled, she should lose her hold, slip backwards, and be dashed to pieces.
“I warned her not to go up so high!" he exclaimed, agonized, as he watched her climb higher and higher. The perspiration began to gather on his forehead, and his knees trembled under him.
“Supposing—" But no, no! he would not think of it! yet the thought forced itself upon him. What if instead of the body he had intended should be lying on the beach, mangled and lifeless, another one should be there of which also no explanation would be needed. An exclamation of horror escaped him, and for the first time in many years his lips moved in prayer to God.
"O Lord!” he broke forth, "save her! save her!"
He covered his face with his hands, and stood still for some minutes. When he at length found courage to glance up, the sun had sunk, and only a rich, red glow remained, shedding its glory over the white cliffs, and Gwen, safe and sound, and quite unconscious of the anxiety she had occasioned to the watcher below, was rapidly descending.
As she came nearer he noticed she carried something doubled up in her dress, and he guessed rightly it was a gull.
“Been risking yer life for one o' them foolish things," he said, as she alighted on the beach.
“Poor darling!" she replied, taking the fluttering bird out of her dress; “it has broken its wing and leg too, and was screaming so. I wonder how it got hurt? How pale you look! What's the matter?"
“Nothing," answered Deane, “only you struck me all of a heap like, seeing you up that height; it's awful dangerous. Don't go there no more, Gwen. You gave me quite a turn; you might have fell and been dashed to atoms, and then what should we ha' done? Think on it, Gwen, only think on it!"
“Why, Deane, I've climbed nearly as high many times before. Your forehead's quite wet; what's up with you today? You do seem funny."
“‘Nough to make me feel funny," said Deane, wiping the perspiration off his head.
When they reached his cottage he set the gull's broken leg while Gwen held it for him, but refused her pressing invitation to supper, saying he must go and see to the lobster kraals. As he watched her out of sight he resolved in his heart that he would try and lead a better life and be more worthy of her, and for a whole week afterwards he kept from drink. But the craving for the spirits was too strong for him, he could not resist it; so he took a little—just a little—not to “feel so empty like."
But with his good resolutions came the terrible memory of his walk with Alice along the top of the cliff, and with it those words that were always in his mind when he was sober—"Murderers... have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone." “I’m a murderer at 'art," he told himself” It's no good me a-trying."
So the struggle to resist the evil was but a short one, and the “just a little” became daily more and more, and finally conscience, resolutions, everything was quenched in the fiery liquid, and he became worse than before.
Gwen soon grew to know what was the cause of his uproarious mirth, followed by fits of gloomy despair. There were days in which they hardly saw him, when he would absent himself altogether; and days when he was so noisy and troublesome that they could do nothing with him.
Surely the fields in Sunlight village were white already to harvest, and God had seen it and sent there a reaper to gather the fruit unto life eternal —a reaper who was but a child God had chosen and sent into His vineyard, there to labor for Him in the heat of the day. Oh, happy child! to have been thus chosen. Press on, then, in thy faith so firm and simple!
Chapter 6:: The Peril of Father and Deane.
OCTOBER passed away, and November set in clear and bright, bitterly cold, with hard frosts and much snow. Still Sunlight village escaped the depressing London fogs. Things had not been prosperous in the village during the last month, for Captain Wilson and Evil Deane had made an extra lucky run, and brandy was cheaper and more plentiful than ever. It was a distressing sight to see the poor, ill-fed, half-clad children, and to know all the time that their fathers earned good wages, but preferred to squander them in drink, rather than provide the necessary clothes and food for the helpless mites depending on their care. Oh! drunkards will have a deal to answer for when the last great reckoning day comes. And yet this terrible evil, which was so quickly bringing misery, desolation, and ruin into more than half the cottages in the village, was not of many years' growth; it was barely nine months since the enemy first entered the hamlet in the shape of two kegs of the best cognac. It began its deadly work as soon as it landed, though almost imperceptibly for a few months; but lately it had been fearfully inflaming the hearts and dulling the reason of its wretched slaves. It so enthralled the poor creatures that at times they even turned a deaf ear to the children's bitter cry for bread.
Alice and Gwen watched with sad hearts the terrible evil, but felt almost powerless to prevent it. Gwen coaxed and begged her father to take no more; and thus entreated, he would not drink for a week or two, but he always broke out again. As the girl's birthday drew near, which was also to be her wedding-day, her face began to wear an anxious expression.
" I feel," she said to Alice, " what with father's promising me to Deane, and all the wonderful things you've told since you came, that soon my heart must break. When I think of the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and the wonderful stories in the Bible, my head seems to go round and round; it seems to be too big for me. I seem to have had so many troubles lately, and to have grown so old. I heard the other day folks say that father and Deane smuggle the drink over. I don't quite know what it means, Alice."
Alice explained it as well as she could, and added, with a sigh, " I almost wish I had not told you half the things I have; you might be singing and dancing about now, as you used to when I first came."
“Yes," the other answered, " an' father an' Deane might have gone down the broad way that Jesus said leads to destruction, without anyone to try and save them, while I was singing and dancing the precious time away. I feel I must save them; I can't rest till I do. Do you think God hears me when I pray, because I ask Him to help me so often?"
“Yes, I think so; He is sure to answer sooner or later."
The days flew by until it was less than a fortnight to Gwen's birthday; little preparation was needed, as Evil Deane was to live in their cottage. Her father bought her a new silk dress, and several other things equally unsuited to her position.
Sunlight village boasted no church or place of worship, so the marriage was to take place in Milston Harbor. Gwen took scarcely any interest in the simple arrangements; she could hardly understand it.
"Deane," the Captain said one night, “we must make another run before this little affair comes off."
“Gwen," he said two days later, “mind you set the light burning in the window when it grows dark till we come back. Deane and I are going fishing."
"Fishing, father? Are you sure you're going fishing? May I come? I haven't been for such a long time," the girl said wistfully laying her head on his shoulder.
"No, no, darling! it's not fit weather for you," her father answered, patting her yellow head tenderly. “You keep the house and freshen things up a bit against your wedding day, pretty one."
“It’s no good putting me off like that, father," his daughter sighed. “I wish you wouldn't go. Oh, I wish you wouldn't! Don't bring any more bundles home; there's nothing but a curse wrapped up in them! I know all about them now, an' it makes me quite ill to think of it. We're answerable for all the misery in the village this winter. You know we are, father; we brought it here first."
“What nonsense, child! You don't know what you're talking about. This is Alice's teaching again, I'll be bound. There, go and play!" and the Captain kissed her hastily and departed, for the conversation was not to his taste.
So the two men put out to sea in the smart little cutter. For the first three days after their departure the snow fell heavily at intervals, but the fourth night the wind rose and a tremendous gale sprung up.
The two girls never slept during that night, for Gwen, though well used to rough weather, could not sleep when her father and Deane were out in it. All night long the wind hissed and howled around the cottage, and, even when the day broke, never abated its fury. The huge waves dashed on to the beach with a deafening roar; no glimpse of the sun broke through the dark and lowering clouds.
As soon as it was light Gwen ran on to the top of the cliff to see if she could observe any signs of the cutter. Back she came to Alice with a scared look on her white face.
I can see her!" she gasped, "but her mast is broken off, an' she seems to be drifting on to the rocks instead of making for the bay. What can father and Deane be about, I wonder? Something must have happened; anyway, we must try an' send help to them, or they'll be dashed to pieces. You run an' tell the men in the village, while I try and drag the small boat down."
Away sped poor Alice as fast as her lameness would allow her, while Gwen, thanks to the sloping beach, managed to get the boat near to the water's edge. Soon the villagers came running over the frozen snow and stood watching the cutter as she drifted towards the dangerous rocks, but not one would go to the rescue.
“My dear," an old man said in answer to Gwen's frantic appeal, “we couldn't reach her in that small boat. She wouldn't live two minutes in this rough sea."
"You'd venture fast enough if anyone you loved was in danger," said Gwen bitterly; “it’s only because it's poor father an' Deane."
No one answered, for they knew the girl spoke the truth. Presently a stalwart young fellow was observed running down the path leading from the cliffs.
“I say," he cried, as he neared the little knot of people, “is Gwen in the cutter?"
He threw off his jacket as he spoke and stepped towards the boat.
“No, no!” said Gwen, moving forward, "but my dear father and Deane are. Do save them, Ben! do try! they'll be on the rocks in another minute or two!"
"It's a bad job, but I ain't going to risk my life for Evil Deane," said the young fellow, putting on his jacket again; “it’s through him our home's ruined. Father an' mother both drink like fish, now he sells them brandy so cheap. And—and—"
It's no good a-quarrelling with our bread-an' butter," struck in a middle-aged man, with a dissipated countenance, " none of us 'ud be able to have a little drop o' comfort if it war'n't for him. If I was younger, I'd try and save him myself, that I would."
“Hear, hear!" said a number of voices, but no one offered to venture.
Nearer and nearer came the cutter, passing in safety two or three dangerous rocks, but the next instant she was dashed against a large, jagged one, and began rapidly to sink. A moment more and two human beings were thrown into the water, struggling for life with the angry waves that fought and dashed against each other in their fury.
A few minutes of intense agony to Gwen on the beach, who gazed in speechless terror at the appalling sight, and the two were distinguished clinging on to the jagged rock which had sunk their ship—clinging on in spite of the boisterous waves, which threatened every moment to draw them back into the foaming sea.
“It’s all up wi’ em," said a man, “they haven't a chance; they can't hold out many minutes longer."
Gwen's eyes seemed almost to start out of her head with terror. “Will no one help them? Oh, Alice I pray, pray! beg God to help. I must try an' save them," she cried, pushing the boat nearer the water. “Oh, Ben! you can row and swim better than any one! Make haste, don't hesitate! Oh, my father my poor father!"
She gave the boat a frantic push as she spoke, and leapt in. It was too late to pull the boat back, so without more ado Ben sprang in after her, for he would not allow her to go alone.
The people watched with drawn breath as the little boat rose for a moment on a huge wave, and then disappeared again. “She’s gone! she's gone!" shrieked one of the women; but it appeared again, and continued its course in a most miraculous manner. The distance to the rock where the two men were clinging was not far, and once out of the breakers, though the tide was against them, they were able to make some progress.
The veins stood out on Ben's forehead and arms like cords; he was a splendid rower, and pulled with a will. Gwen could handle an oar almost as well, but her strength began to give out before the desired point was reached, and her stroke became slow and unsteady. The story of Peter's walking on the water flashed across her mind, and Christ's beautiful words—" O ye of little faith." “He’ll help me," she thought, "if I cry unto Him. You helped Peter, Lord," she prayed,” help us, we're most spent!"
She felt certain that her prayer was heard, and pulled with renewed strength. Oh, how her heart throbbed with thankfulness when, after ten more perilous minutes, they drew near to the two exhausted men. Ben threw out a rope, and first her father, and then Deane were hauled in.
"Now for the shore!" cried Ben.
Evil Deane, exhausted and drenched as he was, insisted on taking an oar.
"Father seems very ill," Gwen said in a frightened voice, looking anxiously at the old man.
“He’s just recovered from a drunken fit, that's what ails him," said Ben bluntly.
"This ain't no time for talk," put in Evil Deane, his teeth chattering from the cold, “look out for them rocks ahead, Gwen."
It was a less difficult matter to reach the shore, for the tide lent them its powerful aid, yet many a time they had a narrow escape of being dashed against the rocks.
Gwen murmured prayer after prayer to God for help with a sweet child-like faith, believing that He would bring them safely back. The throng on the beach had considerably increased in spite of the frozen snow and biting wind; many of the women were weeping, and all watched the little boat with keen anxiety as it rose and fell like a cork on the foaming waves.
Poor Alice knelt on the beach and prayed as she had never prayed before, with her face hidden in her trembling hands.
The men stood ready to seize the boat and haul her up the instant they should be able to reach it; intense excitement prevailed.
"If it hadn't been for Gwen an' young Ben, where'd they be now?" said one of the women.
"Ah, where, indeed?" another made answer.
"Here she is now, my lads!" cried a man, as a big wave dashed the boat to the shore.
It was instantly seized by half a dozen strong fellows and dragged a yard or two up the beach. The wet and exhausted occupants were helped out. The Captain, chilled to the bone, staggered towards his cottage; his head was a little confused even now, so heavily had he been drinking. Evil Deane was just in time to catch Gwen as she was falling unconscious to the ground. The events of the last few months, added to the excitement and exhaustion of the morning, had unstrung her nerves, and for the first time in her life she fainted.
A murmur of pity and distress rose among the spectators as Evil Deane carried her to the cottage, her yellow hair dripping wet, while Alice hastened before them to get hot blankets ready.
Towards evening the extreme pallor of her face gave way to a hectic flush, and her mind began to wander. They sent over to Milston Harbor for a doctor, who told them that she had brain fever. Three days after was Gwen's birthday, the day that should have been her wedding day; the sun shone brightly over the frozen snow, the air was clear and invigorating, and the pale blue sky cloudless, but poor Gwen lay restlessly tossing to and fro, talking to herself. Now it was the wonderful story, now some scene in the "Pilgrim's Progress," now she thought that father and Deane were in the raging sea; then she would beseech her father to give up the drink and pray incoherent prayers to God on his behalf until the tears ran down the old man's cheeks, and he was forced to quit the bedside.
She was well cared for; no princess could have been better nursed. Evil Deane, her father, and Alice waited on and watched over her with deep and loving devotion.
Chapter 7:: Answered Prayer.
FATHER! Father!" called a weak voice, and a yellow head sank back wearily upon the pillow, exhausted by the fatiguing effort of supporting its own weight for a moment, while pale-faced Gwen looked round the room.
Captain Wilson stepped quickly to the bedside, and taking the wasted hand in his, said gently, “What is it, my pretty one?"
“Where has Alice an' Deane gone?”
“Alice has fallen asleep by the fire, darling, and Deane's gone to Milston Harbor to get you a bit of tea?”
“Tea, tea! What for? We never have tea."
“No; but the milk has disagreed with you lately, so Alice thought you might fancy some tea."
“Father," the girl said, after a few minutes' silence,” you seem changed somehow; what is it? "
"Ay, ay," the old man said, laying his head down on the pillow beside her; “I am changed, and, God helping me, I mean to lead a changed life for the future. No more smuggling and drink, no more cursing and swearing. Thanks be to God, your terrible illness has brought me to my senses, and I see myself as I am, a lost and undone sinner; and Alice, bless her pointed me out the way to the Fountain, where I can get my sins washed away. But," he added, musingly, half to himself, “poor Deane doesn't see it as clearly as I do; he can't believe that Christ is able and willing to save him. I am afraid that in his misery and despair he'll do himself some mischief. But there, darling, you mustn't talk anymore; try and sleep a bit."
“God has answered my prayer. I asked Him to make you give up the drink, father," the girl said, closing her heavy eye-lids. Soon her feeble fingers relaxed their hold of her father's hand, and she sank back into a deep sleep.
As the days flew by she gained strength slowly but surely, her hollow cheeks filled out a little, and a healthy color crept into them again. During her long and tedious convalescence, Evil Deane was invaluable in amusing her; many a long talk they had together; Evil Deane would allow no one to speak to him of religion but Gwen. Almost every day she would entreat him to read the wonderful story (as she still called it) to her, and listened with rapt attention, while he laboriously pored over the long words. She would tell him about the thief on the cross, and how willing God was to forgive all who came unto Him through Christ.
“Ah!" Evil Deane would cry out, “but not me! I'm too bad; a murderer at 'art, that's what I am."
"But, Deane," the girl said, “If I, father, and Alice can forgive and love you, don't you think God can?”
This would give him new hope, and he would go away comforted for the time being, but the next day he was as down-hearted and desponding as before. He had managed to get some regular work in Milston Harbor since the loss of the cutter, for he felt he must do something, and loading and unloading the ships was just the work he liked.
“Gwen," he said one Sunday, as she sat by the window, propped up with pillows, " tell me what you was a-saying last week."
The girl took her eyes off the heavily-falling snow and answered with a smile, "I was only trying to repeat a hymn that Alice knows, but I never can remember more than one verse. It's—
"I love to tell the story,
More wonderful it seems
Than all the golden fancy
Of all our golden dreams.
I love to tell the story,
It did so much for me,
And that is just the reason
I tell it now to thee."
“You seem to feel sure about it all," said Deane, as he smoked away at his pipe, “ain’t you got doubts? S’pose’t ain't all true what's in the Bible; all folks don't believe it."
"Doubts!" cried Gwen, opening her blue eyes wide with astonishment, " there's no room for doubts, it's all as plain as can be; it's so plain that it says that even a wayfaring man, though a fool, cannot err therein.' I don't know what you mean. Alice says Christ came to save sinners, and that's us, Deane, sure enough."
"Sure enough," muttered Deane, and he sat in silence till Alice and the Captain came in and put an end to the conversation.
The months dragged wearily by; the winter was not a happy one for any of them, for Evil Deane was very wretched; he seemed as if he could find no rest for his soul; he grew thin, and his face wore a troubled, care-worn expression never there before. He came in to sit an hour or two with Gwen every evening after his work was done, and she always greeted him with something new that Alice or her father had read to her during the day. Now it was, " Fancy, Deane, it says in the Bible, the hairs of our head are all numbered;' " or, " Just think, Deane, that if people didn't praise Christ for all His goodness the very stones would cry out and praise Him.' Only think how wonderful!" But what he liked best to hear her exclaim was, “Oh, Deane! it says in the Bible that though our sins are as scarlet, He will make them white as snow.' “She knew this best, and used to repeat it frequently.
After all traces of the snow had passed away, and the cornfields began to look green, and the earth rejoiced because the glad Spring had come again, Evil Deane was observed to become more quiet and contented, and his terrible fits of despair became less frequent. He explained the cause one evening when the Captain, Alice, and Gwen had walked across the fields to meet him as he returned from work.
"You step on with Alice," he said to the Captain. “Do you know," he said to Gwen, "I'm more settled in my mind like, and if I could only reckon on God's forgiving me all, I should be quite comfortable."
"You should think how much God loves you," said Gwen, pushing the bright curls of her face, “then you would believe He would forgive you all. He gave His only Son to save us. He loves you and wants you to believe in His forgiveness through what Christ has done for us."
"Does He now? Then I think I can believe He will forgive me all."
They neither spoke for some time after, and they walked through the cornfields almost in silence, but just as he left her to go to his own cottage, he said, " I reckon I shan't be faithless no more, but believing. I believe He'll forgive me all now, that I do."
One more peep at Sunlight village after ten years have rolled by. It is fast ceasing to be a village now. Numbers of houses have sprung up between it and Milston Harbor; there are six or seven shops in the High Street; it boasts a place of worship, and there is some talk of a fish market even being held there. The inhabitants, too, have vastly improved during these ten years; most of those that drank have gone back to their old sober, industrious ways, since the terrible curse was removed from their midst. But it had left its mark nevertheless, for in more than one home there is a vacant place caused by the drink; and though the remaining inmates of these cottages now drink nothing but water, in some instances good resolutions have come too late, for they cannot bring the dead to life. Some will always have the heart-breaking memory that one of their number died a drunkard's death. But brave young Ben has suffered most; his home has been utterly ruined. He cannot bear the sight of the demon; his father last year fell over the cliff while drunk and incapable. But, through the mercy of God, Ben has been saved, and has become an active Christian worker. One house on the beach still remains, the other has been pulled down long ago. There are three or four fishing-smacks and many smaller boats drawn up on the beach, five of which belong to Deane. He works hard, for there are a good many depending on him for bread now; but he likes it, and even manages to put by a small sum for Gwen and the bouncing baby-boy, who rejoices in the name of Peter James Andrew Deane.
It is a delightful evening, the close of a hot summer day; the setting sun throws its red glory over "Grandfather," as he sits in his big arm-chair outside the cottage door. There is a peaceful expression on the old man's face, as he gazes dreamily at the distant horizon, and listens to the soft murmur of the calm sea as it rises higher and higher. In a few more years he will be going home, and patiently he waits every day for the Master's summons to come. Beside his chair stands Alice, grown into a gentle, pleasant-looking young woman. She takes a class in the newly-formed Sunday school, and is ever ready to nurse the sick and help the poor, bearing in mind our Lord's words, who said, "Whosoever will be great among you, let him be your servant." Her busy fingers are now engaged in knitting a tiny sock, while her eyes wander every now and again to Gwen, who is seated on the edge of a boat, a little way off, with her boy on her knee; the two heads of yellow curls mingle, as the young mother pours into his ear the story of the Baby King born in a manger, and finishes by singing in her clear treble the verse—
"I love to tell the story,
More wonderful it seems
Than all the golden fancy
Of all our golden dreams."
Evil Deane looks up from the net he is mending, and gazing from his boy's bright eyes to his wife's joyous, trustful face, he bursts out in his deep bass, with his heart overflowing with thankfulness to his Maker—
"I love to tell the story,
It did so much for me,
And that is just the reason
I tell it now to thee."