Michael Penguyne Part 2

Paul and Michael had performed most of their destined task: the net had been spread along the rocks to dry, and two or three rents, caused by the fisherman's foes, some huge conger or cod-fish, had been repaired.

A portion of their fish had been sold to Abel Mawgan, and the remainder had been salted for their own use, when Paul, who had been going about his work with less than his usual spirit, complained of pains in his back and limbs. Leaving Michael to clean out the boat and moor her, and to bring up the oars and other gear, he went into the cottage to lie down and rest.

Little perhaps did the strong and hardy fisherman suppose, as he threw himself on his bunk in the little chamber where he and Michael slept, that he should never again rise, and that his last trip on the salt sea had been taken--that for the last time he had hauled his nets, that his life's work was done. Yet he might have had some presentiment of what was going to happen as he sailed homewards that morning, when he resolved to tell Michael about his parents, and gave him the account of his father's death which has been described.

The young fisher boy went on board the "Wild Duck," and was busily employed in cleaning her out, thinking over what he had heard in the morning. Whilst thus engaged, he saw a small boat coming down from the head of the harbour towards him, pulled by a lad somewhat older than himself.

"There is Eban Cowan, the miller's son. I suppose he is coming here. I wonder what he wants?" he thought. "The 'Polly' was out last night, and got a good haul, so it cannot be for fish."

Michael was right in supposing that Eban Cowan was coming to their landing-place. The lad in the punt pulled up alongside the "Wild Duck."

"How fares it with you, Michael?" he said, putting out his hand. "You did well this morning, I suspect, like most of us. Did Abel Mawgan buy all your 'catch'? He took the whole of ours."

"No, granny and Nelly started off to Helston with their creels full, as they can get a much better price than Mawgan will give," answered Michael.

"I am sorry that Nelly is away, for I have brought her some sh.e.l.ls I promised her a month ago. But as I have nothing to do, I will bide with you till she comes back."

"She and granny won't be back till late, I am afraid, and you lose your time staying here," said Michael.

"Never mind, I will lend you a hand," said Eban, making his punt fast, and stepping on board the "Wild Duck."

He was a fine, handsome, broad-shouldered lad, with dark eyes and hair, and with a complexion more like that of an inhabitant of the south than of an English boy.

He took up a mop as he spoke, whisking up the bits of seaweed and fish-scales which covered the bottom of the boat.

"Thank you," said Michael; "I won't ask you to stop, for I must go and turn in and get some sleep. Father does not seem very well, and I shall have more work in the evening."

"What is the matter with Uncle Paul?" asked Eban.

Michael told him that he had been complaining since the morning, but he hoped the night's rest would set him to rights.

"You won't want to go to sea to-night. It's blowing hard outside, and likely to come on worse," observed Eban.

Though he called Paul "uncle," there was no relationship. He merely used the term of respect common in Cornwall when a younger speaks of an older man.

Eban, however, did not take Michael's hint, but continued working away in the boat till she was completely put to rights.

"Now," he said, "I will help you up with the oars and sails. You have more than enough to do, it seems to me, for a small fellow like you."

"I am able to do it," answered Michael; "and I am thankful that I can."

"You live hard, though, and your father grows no richer," observed Eban.

"If he did as others do, and as my father has advised him many a time, he would be a richer man, and you and your sister and Aunt Lanreath would not have to toil early and late, and wear the life out of you as you do. I hope you will be wiser."

"I know my father is right, whatever he does, and I hope to follow his example," answered Michael, unstepping the mast, which he let fall on his shoulder preparatory to carrying it up to the shed.

"I was going to take that up," said Eban; "it is too heavy for you by half."

"It is my duty, thank you," said Michael, somewhat coldly, stepping on sh.o.r.e with his burden.

Slight as he looked, he carried the heavy spar up the pathway and deposited it against the side of the house. He was returning for the remainder of the boat's gear, when he met Eban with it on his shoulders.

"Thank you," he said; "but I don't want to give you my work to do."

"It's no labour to me," answered Eban. "Just do you go and turn in, and I will moor the boat and make a new set of 'tholes' for you."

Again Michael begged that his friend would not trouble himself, adding--

"If you have brought the sh.e.l.ls for Nelly and will leave them with me, I will give them to her when she comes home."

Nothing he could say, however, would induce Eban to go away. The latter had made up his mind to remain till Nelly's return.

Still Michael was not to be turned from his purpose of doing his own work, though he could not prevent Eban from a.s.sisting him; and not till the boat was moored, and her gear deposited in the shed, would he consent to enter the cottage and seek the rest he required.

Meantime Eban, returning to his punt, shaped out a set of new tholes as he proposed, and then set off up the hill, hoping to meet Nelly and her grandmother.

He must have found them, for after some time he again came down the hill in their company, talking gaily, now to one, now to the other. He was evidently a favourite with the old woman.

Nelly thanked him with a sweet smile for the sh.e.l.ls, which he had collected in some of the sandy little bays along the coast, which neither she nor Michael had ever been able to visit.

She was about to invite him into, the cottage, when Michael appeared at the door, saying, with a sad face--

"O granny! I am so thankful you are come; father seems very bad, and groans terribly. I never before saw him in such a way, and have not known what to do."

Nelly on this darted in, and was soon by Paul's bedside, followed by her grandmother.

Eban lingered about outside waiting. Michael at length came out to him again.

"There is no use waiting," he said; and Eban, reluctantly going down to his boat, pulled away up the harbour.

CHAPTER THREE.

Paul continued to suffer much during the evening; still he would not have the doctor sent for. "I shall get better maybe soon, if it's G.o.d's will, though such pains are new to me," he said, groaning as he spoke.

The storm which had been threatening now burst with unusual strength.

Michael, with the a.s.sistance of Nelly and her grandmother, got in the nets in time.

All hope of doing anything on the water for that night, at all events, must be abandoned; the weather was even too bad to allow Michael to fish in the harbour.

Little Nelly's young heart was deeply grieved as she heard her father groan with pain--he who had never had a day's illness that she could recollect. Nothing the dame could think of relieved him.

The howling of the wind, the roaring of the waves as they dashed against the rock-bound coast, the pattering of the rain, and ever and anon the loud claps of thunder which echoed among the cliffs, made Nelly's heart sink within her. Often it seemed as if the very roof of the cottage would be blown off. Still she was thankful that her father and Michael were inside instead of buffeting the foaming waves out at sea.

If careful tending could have done Paul good he would soon have got well. The old dame seemed to require no sleep, and she would scarcely let either of her grandchildren take her place even for a few minutes.

Though she generally went marketing, rather than leave her charge she sent Michael and Nelly to buy bread and other necessaries at the nearest village, which was, however, at some distance.

The rain had ceased, but the wind blew strong over the wild moor.