The Island of Gold Part 15

No Bob to meet him! no Babs! no dancing crane!

He hadn't had the heart to go in; he just ran right away to Captain Weathereye's, and he told him all.

Ransey had had to sling his hammock here the first night, and visit Miss Scragley's next day.

And Eedie was now ten years of age, and shy, but welcomed Ransey with a soft handshake and a bonnie blush, and in her little secret morsel of a heart admired him.

"Didn't I tell you I'd make a man of him, Miss Scragley? See how tall he is. Look at those bold blue eyes of his, and the sea-tan on his cheeks," said the captain.

No wonder that it was Ransey's turn to blush.

"Tell your father, dear boy, that in four or five days I'm coming down to B--to see him. A breath of the briny will do an old barnacle like me a power of good."

"That I will," the boy had replied.

Then, after saying good-bye, Ransey went off to see Mrs Farrow; and that good lady was indeed pleased, for she had always had an idea that those who went to sea hardly ever returned.

She had to put the corner of her ap.r.o.n to her eyes now; but, if she did shed a tear, it was one of joy and nothing else.

Well, it would have done your heart good to have witnessed the happiness of Ransey and Babs, as they wandered hand in hand along the golden sands. Bob, too, was so elated that he hardly knew what to do with himself at first. This joy, however, settled down into a watchful kind of care and love for his young master; and he used to walk steadily behind him on the beach as if afraid that, if he once let him out of sight, he might be spirited away and never be seen again.

The Admiral was quite a seafarer now, and wonderful and sweet were the morsels he found or dug up for himself on the wet stretches of sand.

The sea-gulls at first had taken him for something uncanny; but they now took him for granted, and walked about quite close to him, although at times, when this marvellous bird took it into his long head that a dance would do him good and increase his circulation, they were scared indeed, and flew screaming seawards.

But the Admiral didn't mind that a bit; he just kept dancing away till there really didn't seem to be a bit more dance left in him. Then he desisted, and went in for serious eating once more.

One beautiful day, while the dancing crane was holding a levee of sea-gulls, with a sprinkling of rooks, far seawards on the wet sands, while Mr Tandy was seated, smoking as usual, on a bench with his children near him, Bob uttered a defiant kind of a growl, and stood up with his hair on end from ears to rump. A gentleman dressed in blue, with sailor's cap on his head, and reading a newspaper, was approaching the seat, on which there was plenty of room for one more.

But it was not at him that Bob was growling. No, but at a beautiful Scottish collie which was walking by his side.

Bob rushed forward at once, and the two met face to face and heads up.

Scottie carried his tail defiantly high.

Young England would have done the same with his, had he had anything to show.

The conversation seemed to be somewhat as follows:--

"You and I are about the same size, aren't we?" said Bob.

"There isn't much to figure on between us, I think," replied Scottie.

"Lower your flag, then, or I'll shake you out of your skin."

"Scotland never lowered flag to a foreigner yet. Why don't you raise your standard? Why, because you haven't got one to raise. Ha, ha! what a fright you are! I only wonder your master lets you go about like that."

"Yah--ah--r-r--r-r--r-r!"

"Waugh--r-r--r-r--r-r--r!"

And there _was_ war next second.

Tandy rushed to the scene of action.

"I'm very sorry, sir," he said. "Which dog, do you think, began the fight?"

"I think they both began it," said the newcomer, laughing.

Scotland and England were having a terrible tulzie, as Scotland and England have often had in days long, long gone by.

They were rolling over each other, sometimes Bob above, sometimes Bob below, and the yellow sands were soon stained with blood.

Little Nelda was in tears, and the Admiral scray-scraying and dancing with joy.

"I think," said the stranger, "they've both had enough of it, and my proposal is this--I'll pull my dog off by the tail, and you do the same by yours."

"I'd gladly do so," said Tandy, laughing, "but, my dear sir, the fact is that my dog is like Tam o' Shanter's mare after she escaped from the witches--

"'The ne'er a tail has he to shake.'"

Dogs are just like men, however, and these two, seemingly satisfied that neither could kill the other, soon made it up, and presently they went galloping off together to the sea to wash the sand out of their s.h.a.ggy jackets.

Down sat the stranger between Ransey and his father. He rolled up his paper and lit his pipe, and soon the two were engaged in a very animated conversation.

Sailors all three. No wonder that the acquaintance thus brought about by their honest dogs ripened into friendship in a few days.

Captain Halcott--for so this new friend was named--had, some months before this, reached England after a very long and strangely adventurous cruise.

"Are you like me, I wonder?" he said to Tandy, as they sat smoking the calumet of peace together on a breezy cliff-top, while Ransey and his sister were fishing for curios in the pools of water left among the rocks by the receding tide. "Are you like me, I wonder? for I am no sooner safely arrived in Merrie England than I begin once more to long for life on the heaving billows."

"You're a free man, Captain Halcott; I've got a little family; and you're a somewhat younger man, as well."

"Yes, yes; granted. But, before going further, tell me what is your Christian name?"

"d.i.c.k."

"Well, and mine's Charlie. We're both seafarers; don't let us 'Mr'

each other, or 'captain' each other either. You're Tandy or you're d.i.c.k, I'm Halcott or I'm Charlie, just as, for the time being, the humour may suit us. Is that right?"

"That's right--ship-shape and seaman-fashion." Two brown fists met and were shaken--no mincing landlubber's shake, but a firm and hearty grip and wholesome pressure; a grip that seemed to speak and to say,--"Thine, lad, thine! Thine in peace or war; in calm or tempest, thine!"

How is it that sailors so often resemble one another? I cannot answer the question. But it is none the less true.

Tandy and Halcott appeared to have been cast in the same mould; the same open, bronzed, and weather-beaten faces, the same eyes--eyes that could twinkle with merriment one moment and be filled with pity the next.

Even Captain Weathereye himself, although older than either, and somewhat lighter in complexion, might easily have pa.s.sed as brother to both.