Part 35 (1/2)

Helen, anxious to please him in everything, showed him where to put his mark.

He did so; and she signed her name as his witness.

”And now, Mr. Welch,” said she, ”do not you fret about the loss of the s.h.i.+p; you should rather think how good Providence has been to us in saving us three out of so many that sailed in that poor s.h.i.+p. That Wylie was a wicked man; but he is drowned, or starved, no doubt, and there is an end of him. You are alive, and we are all three to see Old England again. But to live, you must eat; and so now do pray make a good breakfast to-day. Tell me what you can fancy. A cabbage?”

”What, you own it is a cabbage?”

”Of course I do,” said Helen, coaxing. ”You must excuse Mr. Hazel; these learned men are so crotchety in some things, and go by books; but you and I go by our senses, and to us a cabbage is a cabbage, grow where it will.

Will you have one?”

”No, miss, not this morning. What I wants this morning very bad, indeed, it is--I wants a drink made of the sweet-smelling leaves, like as you strewed over my messmate--the Lord in heaven bless you for it.”

”Oh, Mr. Welch, that is a curious fancy; but you shall not ask me twice for anything; the jungle is full of them, and I'll fetch you some in five minutes. So you must boil the water.”

She scudded away to the jungle, and soon returned with some aromatic leaves. While they were infusing, Hazel came up, and, on being informed of Welch's fancy, made no opposition; but, on the contrary, said that such men had sometimes very happy inspirations. He tasted it, however, and said the smell was the best part of it, in his opinion. He then put it aside to cool for the sick man's use.

They ate their usual breakfast, and then Welch sipped his spiced tea, as he called it. Morning and afternoon he drank copious draughts of it, and seemed to get suddenly better, and told them not to hang about him any longer; but go to their work: he was all right now.

To humor him they went off in different directions; Hazel with his ax to level cocoanut trees, and Helen to search for fruits in the jungle.

She came back in about an hour, very proud of some pods she had found with nutmegs inside them. She ran to Welch. He was not in the boat. She saw his waistcoat, however, folded and lying on the thwart; so she knew he could not be far off and concluded he was in her bower. But he was not there; and she called to Mr. Hazel. He came to the side of the river laden with cocoanuts.

”Is he with you?” said Helen.

”Who? Welch? No.”

”Well, then, he is not here. Oh, dear! something is the matter.”

Hazel came across directly. And they both began to run anxiously to every part whence they could command a view to any distance.

They could not see him anywhere, and met with blank faces at the bower.

Then Helen made a discovery.

This very day, while hanging about the place, Hazel had torn up from the edge of the river an old trunk, whose roots had been loosened by the water was.h.i.+ng away the earth that held them, and this stump he had set up in her bower for a table, after sawing the roots down into legs. Well, on the smooth part of this table lay a little pile of money, a ring with a large pearl in it, and two gold ear-rings Helen had often noticed in Welch's ears.

She pointed at these and turned pale. Then, suddenly waving her hand to Hazel to follow her, she darted out of the bower, and, in a moment, she was at the boat.

There she found, beside his waistcoat, his knife, and a little pile of money, placed carefully on the thwart; and, underneath it, his jacket rolled up, and his shoes and sailor's cap, all put neatly and in order.

Hazel found her looking at them. He began to have vague misgivings. ”What does this mean?” he said faintly.

”'What does it mean!'” cried Helen, in agony. ”Don't you see? A legacy!

The poor thing has divided his little all. Oh, my heart! What has become of him?” Then, with one of those inspirations her s.e.x have, she cried, ”Ah! Cooper's grave!”

Hazel, though not so quick as she was, caught her meaning at a word, and flew down the slope to the seash.o.r.e. The tide was out. A long irregular track of footsteps indented the sand. He stopped a moment and looked at them. They pointed toward that cleft where the grave was. He followed them all across the sand. They entered the cleft, and did not return.

Full of heavy foreboding he rushed into the cleft.

Yes; his arms hanging on each side of the grave, and his cheek laid gently on it, there lay Tom Welch, with a loving smile on his dead face.