Part 17 (1/2)

”Well-a-day! what will this world come to? I was used to hear say, in Queen Mary's days, that the great Council to London were busy undoing what had been done in King Harry's and King Edward's time: but I ne'er heard that the Lord had ta'en His Word in pieces, and laid up an handful thereof as done withal.”

”Barbara, thou hast the strangest sayings!”

”I cry you mercy, Mistress mine,--'tis you that speak strangely.”

”Come hither, and help me set this edge of pearl. Prithee, let such gear a-be. We be no doctors of the schools, thou nor I.”

”We have souls to be saved, Mistress Blanche.”

”Very well: and we have heads to be dressed likewise. Tell me if this cap sit well behind; I am but ill pleased withal.”

Heavy rapid steps came down the corridor, and with a hasty knock, Jennet put her head in at the door.

”Mrs Blanche! Mrs Clare! If you 'll none miss th' biggest sight ever you saw, make haste and busk [dress] you, and come down to hall.

There's th' biggest s.h.i.+p ever were i' these parts drove ash.o.r.e o' Penny Bank. Th' Master, and d.i.c.k, and Sim, and Abel 's all gone down to th'

sh.o.r.e, long sin'.”

”What manner of s.h.i.+p, Jennet?” asked both the girls at once.

”I'm none fur learnt i' s.h.i.+ps,” said Jennet, shaking her head. ”Sim said 'twere a Spaniard, and d.i.c.k said 'twere an Englishman; and Abel bade 'em both hold their peace for a pair o' gaumless [stupid] noodles.”

”But what saith my father?” cried excited Blanche, who had forgotten all about the fit of her cap.

”Eh, bless you!--he's no noodle: Why, he said he'd see 't afore he told anybody what 't were.”

”Barbara, be quick, dear heart, an' thou lovest me. Let the cap be; only set my ruff.--Jennet! can we see it hence?”

”You'll see 't off th' end o' th' terrace, right plain afore ye,” said Jennet, and summarily departed.

There was no loitering after that. In a very few minutes the two girls were dressed, Blanche's ruff being satisfactory in a shorter time than Barbara could ever remember it before. Clare stayed for her prayers, but Blanche dashed off without them, and made her way to the end of the terrace, where her sister presently joined her.

”She is a Spaniard!” cried Blanche, in high excitement. ”Do but look on her build, Clare. She is not English-built, as sure as this is Venice ribbon.”

Clare disclaimed, with a clear conscience, all acquaintance with s.h.i.+pbuilding, and declined even to hazard a guess as to the nationality of the ill-fated vessel. But Blanche was one of those who must be (or seem to be; either will do) conversant with every subject under discussion. So she chattered on, making as many blunders as a.s.sertions, until at last, just at the close of a particularly absurd mistake, she heard a loud laugh behind her.

”Well done, Blanche!” said her father's voice. ”I will get thee a s.h.i.+p, my la.s.s. Thou art as fit to be a sea-captain, and come through a storm in the Bay of Biscay, as--thy popinjay.” [Parrot.]

”O Father, be there men aboard yonder s.h.i.+p?” said Clare, earnestly.

”Ay, my la.s.s,” he replied, more gravely. ”An hundred and seventy souls--there were, last night, Clare.”

”And what?”--Clare's face finished the question.

”There be nine come ash.o.r.e,” he added in the same tone.

”And the rest, Father?” asked Clare piteously.

”Drowned, my la.s.s, every soul, in last night's storm.”