Terry
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Rosa Mulholland >> Terry
"Of course we're going out to sea," he said, "but why shouldn't we come
back again?"
[Illustration]
"What's to bring us back?" said Terry. "We've no oars or sails, and if we
had we're not big enough to use them."
"The tide is going out," said Turly, "and it's taking us. When it begins to
come in it will bring us back."
"Oh, it won't come back for hours and hours! And how can we tell where we
are going?"
Turly was quiet now, and came to sit with Terry in the bottom of the boat.
"It's the only way to keep it steady," said Terry. "Let us ask God to take
care of us!"
"Of course He will; He walked on the sea. Aren't we silly not to have
thought of that before?"
They both slipped on their knees and cried out loudly:
"God! God! Come to us and bring us back to shore!"
Still the boat kept drifting away outward, while the shore they had left
got farther and farther into the distance.
They were very cold by this time, but fortunately the day remained calm and
clear, and there were still some hours to come of winter daylight.
At last, after a period that seemed to them a whole day long, Turly turned
his head and gave a wild shout of triumph.
"Hurrah!" he cried; "here's my continent."
Terry looked round, and there, truly, was land on the other side of them to
which their backs had been turned while they were straining their eyes
towards home.
"It's an island," said Terry. "Nurse often said there were islands out
here. How are we going to catch on to it?"
"The tide is taking us slap up against it," said Turly. A few minutes later
they went bang into a rock; the boat made a somersault, flung the children
high and dry, and "ran off with itself, laughing", as Turly said
afterwards.
When they were able to pick themselves up, and to look around, they
perceived that the rock on which they were perched was right in the little
harbour of an island. There was still daylight enough to see the houses on
the island and the people walking about the beach. No one noticed them for
some time, and at last they took off their hats and waved them, and
shouted.
Then they saw a man in the dress of a fisherman look up and stand staring
at them as if he did not believe they were human children.
"I suppose he thinks we're mermaids," said Terry. "I hope he won't, because
then he might leave us here all night."
"We haven't got fishes' tails," said Turly; "anyone could see that. I don't
believe he's such a stupid. See, he's pointing us out to another man! Oh,
they'll come for us in a boat! And then it will be fun to have discovered
an island."
"I think it's quite an old island," said Terry. "We haven't discovered
it."
"Now don't you go and spoil things," said Turly. "I mean to discover it."
They soon saw that the fishermen were really coming for them, and not a bit
too soon, for the tide was rising round their rock, and, besides, they were
so cold and hungry that their courage was nearly exhausted.
"Now, will ye tell me where did the pair of ye come from?" said one of the
men. "Is it down out of heaven ye are, or up out of the sea? By my word I'm
not sure at all about takin' the like o' ye into my boat."
"Hold your tongue, man," said the other. "Don't you see the childher's
teeth are chatterin' out of their heads with the cold. Come in here, little
lady and gentleman, and then ye can tell us what bad ship threw you out of
it to where ye are."
"It wasn't a ship; it was a boat," said Turly. "And it was a queer boat.
First it ran away with us, and then it threw us out and made off with
itself."
"We got in to look at it only," said Terry. "It was tied to a rock, and the
rope got loose and the tide carried us away."
"Well then, but some poor body's blessin' was over ye, or ye weren't here,"
said the first man. "It's three miles from main shore, and there's a storm
comin' on."
"We called God," said Terry.
"It's good for ye that ye did," said the man. "Thank Him now that ye've got
your feet on dry land again."
They had scarcely touched the shore when the storm began to whistle, and
soon to roar, and big waves hurled themselves on the island. It was quite
certain they could not return to Trimleston that night. One of the
fishermen took them home to his own cabin, where there was a good fire of
turf, and a kind woman and some little children. They got a good supper of
potatoes and herrings, which, after their long fast, was found to be most
delicious.
The little fisher-children came round them, smiling at them, examining them
all over, touching their clothes. They had never seen anything so nice as
this little lady and gentleman. There were six little fishermen and
fisherwomen, all in red flannel frocks and bare feet. Nonie, the eldest,
who was eight years old, could not cease admiring the strangers.
"Where were ye?" she asked suddenly, after a long, worshipful silence, with
her eyes fixed now on Terry and now on Turly.
"Oh! isn't she sweet?" cried Terry. "What do you mean, Nonie?"
"Where were ye before?" stammered Nonie.
"Oh, miss," said the mother, laughing, "she wants to know where ye live,
for she never seen the like o' ye before!"
"We live over on the other shore, in a big house, Nonie; and I hope you
will come to see us there. I'm sure Gran'ma will want you to come."
And then, when she thought of what Gran'ma at that moment was doing, Terry
broke down and began to cry bitterly.
"Oh, Mrs. O'Neill, you don't know how dreadful it will be when we haven't
come home, and nobody knows what has become of us!"
"Well, dearie, as soon as ever the storm goes down a bit, it's Peter
O'Neill that'll be takin' you home to her."
"It's worse for me, you know, Mrs. O'Neill, because Turly is a boy; and,
besides, I am older. I am always getting into scrapes though I don't mean
it, and I suppose I must have gone wrong this time too."
"No, you didn't," said Turly; "I got into the boat and I made you come to
me."
"I oughtn't to have got in," said Terry, "I ought to have pulled you out."
"Then we should both have been drowned," said Turly, "for I should have
pulled and kicked, I know I should, and the boat would have gone over on
top of us."
"Oh, poor Gran'ma!" cried Terry.
"I tell you Nursey will pretend we're in bed," said Turly; and Terry
grasped at this idea and took a little comfort from it, remembering Nancy's
many successful little plots for screening the children and saving her dear
lady from anxiety and disturbance.
The beds in the fisherman's house were only of straw done up in bags, and
the bed-clothes were very light, but the children slept soundly and found
everything as comfortable as possible. Terry was wakened by a little kid
licking her face, and started up in great astonishment and delight. It was
a pet kid, and had rushed into the house as soon as the door was opened.
The breakfast was potatoes and goat's milk. The little fisher-children ate
with them, and were very merry as they peeled their potatoes and sipped the
milk from their tin mugs. But Terry and Turly could scarcely understand
what they said, even when they spoke English.
"What are they saying, Mrs. O'Neill?" asked Terry, completely puzzled,
while Nonie and her little brothers and sisters chattered to one another.
"Sure it's Irish they're talkin'," said their mother. "It's what we always
talk together, and anything else comes strange to them."
"Irish? But we are Irish too. Why don't we talk Irish?" cried Terry.
Here Peter O'Neill came and said that the weather was looking better, and
the boat was ready, and if the little lady and gentleman would come, he
would take them across that bit of sea home to their Granny.
The children felt it hard to leave the island and their new friends without
having seen more of them, but the thought of Gran'ma's pain of mind and
Nurse Nancy's misery hurried them off, and they were soon in the boat. This
was a very different crossing from the last, seeing that they were cared
for by two stout fishermen, and pulled along by four strong oars.
"But, after all, God did very well for us, now didn't He, Mr. O'Neill?"
said Terry.
"He did the next thing to a miracle," said O'Neill; "but you'd better not
be doin' any more thricks behind your Gran'ma's back, or maybe God would
turn round and punish ye."
"I won't; indeed, indeed, I never will," said Terry.
Meanwhile poor Nurse Nancy had spent a dreadful day and night since Bridget
had rushed home to her with the news that the children had disappeared and
were not to be found. All the evening and through the night men were out
searching for them in every direction. No one noticed the disappearance of
the boat till next morning, and it was feared that the children had fallen
down some steep rocks, and had either been killed by the fall or drowned.
Bridget was nearly out of her senses, knowing that she had neglected the
children; and poor old Nancy was so ill from the shock and fear that she
would perhaps have died, only that she had Madam to think of.
When Granny's tea-time came and the children did not appear, Madam
naturally asked what was delaying them.
"Oh, then, indeed, madam, you mustn't expect to see them to-night! They've
been gettin' into mischief, and I can't bring them here to you."
Gran'ma was shocked.
"Now, Nancy," she said, "are you not too severe upon them, and for the
first fault? They have been doing so beautifully."
"Well, madam, I beg you'll leave them to me," said Nancy, making a great
struggle to speak as if nothing had happened worse than seemed from her
words. "I hope it will be all right with them to-morrow, and then they can
come in and ask your pardon."
"What did they do, Nancy?" asked Madam.
"Oh, they'll tell you themselves, I hope," said poor Nancy, striving to
satisfy her mistress without telling a positive untruth.
So the dear old lady went to sleep that night without having suffered
anything worse on the children's account than a little regret that they
had been punished by having their tea in the nursery, and being sent to bed
early.
Nancy could not rest, but spent the night wandering up and down the avenue
and on the road, watching for the return of messengers, who were continuing
the search about the rocks and all over the country, with the help of
lanterns. But day broke without bringing any sign of the children.
At last, in the dawn, the owner of the runaway boat came down to the beach
and missed his property. In an instant the truth flashed on him. The
children and the boat must have gone away together.
He sent for Walsh and Lally, who had just returned from different quarters,
hoping to hear when they arrived at the house that the children had already
got home.
"They're drowned," said the man. "My boat's gone with them, and where would
it be but to the bottom of the sea in that storm?"
"Then you may go up to the house yourself with that news," said Walsh; "for
it's not me that's goin' to carry it."
"Nor me," said Lally.
The three men stood gazing out to sea with tears in their eyes. Bridget,
looking as white as a ghost, appeared and joined them.
"Nancy has to stay with Madam," she said. "She's at her wits' end to know
what to tell her next. For heaven's sake, is there no news at all from
anywhere?"
The men looked at her. They did not like to say, "It's your fault", so they
only shook their heads.
Presently Walsh said:
"There's a boat missin'."
Bridget screamed, and began to beat her breast and clap her hands.
"Whisht! will you," said the boatman. "We're bad enough without that. Give
us peace to think a bit. If they were drowned they would ha' been washed in
by this. The early tide would ha' brought them, for the boat couldn't carry
them far without upsettin'."
"I'll run away! I'll run away!" shouted Bridget.
"Run then," said Lally. "It isn't you we're thinkin' of, but the poor ould
lady, and the father and mother that's out in Africa."
At this moment a white speck appeared on the sea. A ray of sunlight had
struck across the twilight and made it visible; then something larger and
darker was seen behind it moving with it.
"Would it be a boat?" said Lally, as all eyes were strained watching this
appearances.
"Then you may well ask, for a boat it is!" said the boatman. "If it isn't
the angels that's bringin' them childher home, by my word, I don't know
what it is!"
A few more minutes of eager watching assured them that Terry and Turly were
returning, if not visibly in the custody of angels, at least in the care of
two sturdy oarsmen, who were pulling towards the shore.
As they came near enough to be well seen and heard the children stood up in
the boat and cheered and waved their handkerchiefs to their friends.
Bridget waited for no more, but ran with the good news to the House.
Poor old Nancy had made an excuse to get away from Madam for a few minutes
and was leaning against the door-post, scarcely able to stand, and with a
face of the most intense misery. When she saw Bridget running towards her,
waving her apron, she knew the news must be good.
"They're all right!" screamed Bridget, ever so far away. "They're comin'!
They're comin'!"
Hearing this, Nurse Nancy first of all knelt down in the hall and thanked
God. Next she went back to Madam and told her that she thought the children
had been punished enough, and should be allowed to come to her as usual at
tea-time. She was not a minute too soon with the news, for Granny had
already begun to get a little suspicious and uneasy.
[Illustration]
In a very short time afterwards Terry and Turly came racing up the avenue
and into the house and up the stairs in search of Nurse Nancy, who brought
them into the nursery and cried over them, and was far too happy at seeing
them again to think of scolding them.
The children cried too, and told her their adventures.
"Oh, Nursey, dear," said Terry, "this is really the last time we'll ever do
anything wild! We should have been drowned, only God took care of us. We
will never do wild things again, I assure you."
"Not till the next time," said Nurse Nancy grimly; but this was the nearest
approach she made to scolding.
In the midst of this little scene Granny's bell rang violently, and Nurse
Nancy hastened away to see what was the cause of the unusual sound.
"Nancy!" cried Madam, "let me see the children immediately. I have
wonderful news for them. Their father and mother will be here with us
to-night!"
Very soon Terry and Turly were dancing round Granny in delight, all trouble
forgotten, and nothing thought of but the joy that was in store for them.
All the house was in a bustle of preparation. Fires were lighted in rooms
that had been deserted, and the maids went about making everything look
cheery and pretty. Cook came up to Granny's room to take orders for the
evening dinner, and Terry and Turly were to be permitted to dine with the
grown people.
In due time the father and mother arrived, both quite young people, and
looking more like the grown-up brother and sister of Terry and Turly than
their parents. That was a delightful evening when all were gathered round
the fire in Granny's room, and the children, one on Father's knee and the
other in Mother's arms, listened to stories of many a "happening thing", in
which they seemed to share without getting into disgrace.
It was some time before Mother learned all the curious adventures of her
girl and boy at Trimleston House, only a few of which have been taken note
of and preserved for this book. Terry told her all.
"Well," she said, "I am now going to stay at home and take care of my
children. They shall ride with me, walk with me, play with me, and I will
teach them their lessons myself. I think they are too full of wild life and
spirits to be manageable by either schoolmistress or governess. Give me two
years, Granny, and see what I shall make of them."
"Don't make them too well-behaved, my dear," said good old Madam, looking
wistfully at the little group of happy faces. "I have found them charming
in these holidays. If there was any trouble, Nancy did not tell me."
"Nursey had an awful time with us!" said Terry, shaking her head.
"And oh, Mother," cried Turly, "if we are going to have lessons, will you
have Nonie over from the island to teach us Irish?"
"What island?" asked Granny. "And who is Nonie?"
Then the story of the runaway boat had to be told for the first time to
Granny, who cried a little, but said she would not fret about it now, as
Father and Mother were happily come home.
THE END