Part 13 (1/2)

Philip gave his hand and his oath, and then tried to turn away, for he knew that his face was reddening.

”Wait! There's another while your hand's in, Phil. Swear that nothing and n.o.body shall ever come between us two.”

”You know nothing ever will.”

”But swear to it, Phil. There's bad tongues going, and it'll make me more aisier. Whatever they do, whatever they say, friends and brothers to the last?”

Philip felt a buzzing in his head, and he was so dizzy that he could hardly stand, but he took the second oath also. Then the bell rang again, and there was a great hubbub. Gangways were drawn up, ropes were let go, the captain called to the sh.o.r.e from the bridge, and the bl.u.s.tering harbour-master called to the bridge from the sh.o.r.e.

”Go and stand on the end of the pier, Phil--just aback of the lighthouse--and I'll put myself at the stern. I want a friend's face to be the last thing I see when I'm going away from the old home.”?

Philip could bear no more. The hate in his heart was mastered. It was under his feet. His flushed face was wet.

The throbbing of the funnels ceased, and all that could be heard was the running of the tide in the harbour and the wash of the waves on the sh.o.r.e. Across the sea the sun came up boldly, ”like a guest expected,”

and down its dancing water-path the steamer moved away. Over the land old Bar-rule rose up like a sea king with h.o.a.r-frost on his forehead, and the smoke began to lift from the chimneys of the town at his feet.

”Good-bye, little island, good-bye! I'll not forget you. I'm getting kicked out of you, but you've been a good ould mother to me, and, G.o.d help me, I'll come back to you yet. So long, little Mona, s'long? I'm laving you, but I'm a Manxman still.”

Pete had meant to take off his stocking cap as they pa.s.sed the lighthouse, and to dash the tears from his eyes like a man. But all that Philip could see from the end of the pier was a figure huddled up at the stern on a coil of rope.

PART II. BOY AND GIRL.

I.

Auntie Nan had grown uneasy because Philip was not yet started in life.

During the spell of his partners.h.i.+p with Pete she had protested and he had coaxed, she had scolded and he had laughed. But when Pete was gone she remembered her old device, and began to play on Philip through the memory of his father.

One day the air was full of the sea freshness of a beautiful Manx November. Philip sniffed it from the porch after breakfast and then gathered up his tackle for cod.

”The boat again, Philip?” said Auntie Nan. ”Then promise me to be back for tea.”

Philip gave his promise and kept it. When he returned after his day's fis.h.i.+ng the old lady was waiting for him in the little blue room which she called her own. The sweet place was more than usually dainty and comfortable that day. A bright fire was burning, and everything seemed to be arranged so carefully and nattily. The table was laid with cups and saucers, the kettle was singing on the jockey-bar, and Auntie Nan herself, in a cap of black lace and a dress of russet silk with flounces, was fluttering about with an odour of lavender and the light gaiety of a bird.

”Why, what's the meaning of this?” said Philip.

And the sweet old thing answered, half nervously, half jokingly, ”You don't know? What a child it is, to be sure! So you don't remember what day it is?”

”What day? The fifth of Nov--oh, my birthday! I had clean forgotten it, Auntie.”

”Yes, and you are one-and-twenty for tea-time. That's why I asked you to be home.”

She poured out the tea, settled herself with her feet on the fender, allowed the cat to establish itself on her skirt, and then, with a nervous smile and a slight depression of the heart, she began on her task.

”How the years roll on, Philip! It's twenty years since I gave you my first birthday present I wasn't here when you were born, dear.

Grandfather had forbidden me. Poor grandfather! But how I longed to come and wash, and dress, and nurse my boy's boy, and call myself an auntie aloud! Oh, dear me, the day I first saw you! Shall I ever forget it?

Grandfather and I were at Cowley, the draper's, when a beautiful young person stepped in with a baby. A little too gay, poor thing, and that was how I knew her.”

”My mother?”