Old Mr. Tredgold. Маргарет Олифант
of, but we all do it, I suppose. That little boat, if that is what you’re thinking of, belongs to none of those names. It’s neither the Jones nor the Howard. It’s the Stella, after that little girl of mine, and it’s my boat, and you can take a cruise in it if you like any day when there’s no wind.”
“Oh, papa,” cried Stella, “is it really, really for me?”
“You little minx,” said the old man as she kissed him, “you little fair weather flatterer, always pleased when you get something! I know you, for all you think you keep it up so well. Papa’s expected always to be giving you something—the only use, ain’t it? of an old man. It’s a bit late in the season to buy a boat, but I got it a bargain, a great bargain.”
“Then it was Jones’s,” cried Sir Charles.
“Then Howard was the man,” cried his friend.
“That’s delightful,” cried Stella, clapping her hands. “Do keep it up! I will put all my money on Sir Charles.” And they were so kind that they laughed with her, admiring the skip and dance of excitement which she performed for their pleasure. But when it turned out that Mr. Tredgold did not know from whom he had bought the boat, and that the figure-head had been removed to make room for a lovely wooden lady in white and gold with a star on her forehead, speculation grew more and more lively than ever. It was Stella, in the excitement of that unexpected success, who proposed to run down to the pier to examine into the yacht and see if any solution was possible. “We have a private way,” she cried. “I’ll show you if you’d like to come; and I want to see my yacht, and if the Stella on it is like me, and if it is pretty inside, and everything. And, Kate, while we’re gone, you might order tea. Papa, did you say the Stella on the figure-head was to be like me?”
“Nothing that is wooden could be like you,” said Sir Charles graciously. It was as if an oracle had spoken. Algy opened his mouth under his moustache with a laugh or gape which made Stella long there and then to repeat Mrs. Seton’s elegant jest. She was almost bold enough in the flush of spirits which Sir Charles’s compliment had called forth.
“I wish Stella would not rush about with those men,” said Katherine, as the noise of their steps died away upon the stairs.
“Jealous, eh?” said her father. “Well, I don’t wonder—and they can’t both have her. One of them might have done the civil by you, Katie—but they’re selfish brutes, you know, are men.”
Katherine perhaps walked too solemnly away in the midst of this unpalatable consolation, and was undutifully irritated by her father’s tin-tinkle of a laugh. She was not jealous, but the feeling perhaps was not much unlike that unlovely sentiment. She declared indignantly to herself that she did not want them to “do the civil” to her, these dull frivolous young men, and that it was in the last degree injurious to her to suggest anything of the sort. It was hopeless to make her father see what was her point of view, or realise her feelings—as hopeless as it was to make Stella perceive how little fit it was that she should woo the favour of these rude strangers. Mrs. Seton might do it with that foolish desire to drag about a train with her, to pose as a conqueror, to– Katherine did not know what words to use. But Stella, a girl! Stella, who was full of real charm, who was fit for so much better things! On the whole, Katherine found it was better to fulfil the homely duties that were hers and give her orders about the tea. It was the part in life that was apportioned to her, and why should she object to it? It might not be the liveliest, but surely it was a more befitting situation than Stella’s rush after novelty, her strain to please. And whom to please? People who sneered at them before their faces and did not take pains to be civil—not even to Stella.
It did her good to go out into the air, to select the spot under the acacia where the tea-table stood so prettily, with its shining white. It was still warm, extraordinary for October. She sat down there gazing out upon the radiance of the sea and sky; the rocky fringe of sand was invisible, and so was the town and harbour which lay at the foot of the cliff; beyond the light fringe of the tamarisk trees which grew there as luxuriantly as in warmer countries there was nothing but the sunny expanse of the water, dazzling under the Western sun, which was by this time low, shining level in the eyes of the solitary gazer. She saw, almost without seeing it, the white sail of a yacht suddenly gleam into the middle of the prospect before her, coming out all at once from the haven under the hill. Someone was going out for a sail, a little late indeed; but what could be more beautiful or tempting than this glorious afternoon! Katherine sighed softly with a half sensation of envy. A little puff of air came over her, blowing about the light acacia foliage overhead, and bringing down a little shower of faintly yellow leaves. The little yacht felt it even more than the acacia did. It seemed to waver a little, then changed its course, following the impulse of the breeze into the open. Katherine wondered indifferently who it could be. The yachting people were mostly gone from the neighbourhood. They were off on their longer voyages, or they had laid up their boats for the season. And there had begun to grow a windy look, such as dwellers by the sea soon learn to recognise about the sky. Katherine wished calmly to herself in her ignorance of who these people were that they might not go too far.
She was sitting thus musing and wondering a little that Stella and her cavaliers did not come back for tea, when the sound of her father’s stick from the porch of the house startled her, and a loud discussion with somebody which he seemed to be carrying on within. He came out presently, limping along with his stick and with a great air of excitement. “I said they were only to go when there was no wind. Didn’t you hear me, Katie? When there was no wind—I said it as plain as anything. And look at that; look at that!” He was stammering with excitement, and could scarcely keep his standing in his unusual excitement.
“What is the matter, papa? Look at what? Oh, the boat. But we have nothing to do with any boat,” she cried. “Why should you disturb yourself? The people can surely take care of– Papa! what is it?”
He had sunk into a chair, one of those set ready on the grass for Stella and her friends, and was growing purple in the face and panting for breath. “You fool! you fool! Stella,” he cried, “Stella, my little girl. Oh, I’ll be even with those young fools when I catch them. They want to drown her. They want to run away with her. Stella! my little girl!”
Katherine had awakened to the fact before these interrupted words were half uttered. And naturally what she did was perfectly unreasonable. She rushed to the edge of the cliff, waving aloft the white parasol in her hand, beckoning wildly, and crying, “Come back, come back!” She called all the servants, the gardener and his man, the footmen who were looking out alarmed from the porch. “Go, go,” she cried, stamping her foot, “and bring them back; go and bring them back!” There was much rushing and running, and one at least of the men flung himself helter-skelter down the steep stair that led to the beach, while the gardeners stood gazing from the cliff. Katherine clapped her hands in her excitement, giving wild orders. “Go! go! don’t stand there as if nothing could be done; go and bring them back!”
“Not to contradict you, Miss Katherine–” the gardener began.
“Oh, don’t speak to me—don’t stand talking—go, go, and bring them back.”
Mr. Tredgold had recovered his breath a little. “Let us think,” he said—“let us think, and don’t talk nonsense, Kate. There’s a breeze blowing up, and where will it drive them to, gardener? Man, can’t you tell where it’ll drive them to? Round by the Needles, I shouldn’t wonder, the dangerousest coast. Oh, my little girl, my little girl! Shall I ever see her again? And me that said they were never to go out but when there was no wind.”
“Not to the Needles, sir—not to the Needles when there’s a westerly breeze. More likely round the cliffs Bembridge way; and who can stop ’em when they’re once out? It’s only a little cruise; let ’em alone and they’ll come home, with their tails be’ind them, as the rhyme says.”
“And I said they were only to go out if there was no wind, gardener!” The old gentleman was almost weeping with alarm and anxiety, but yet he was comforted by what the man said.
“They are going the contrary way,” cried Katherine.
“Bless you, miss, that’s