Part 20 (2/2)
Would it last alway? True, Uncle Richard was not cheerful yet, and he seemed to be carrying some heavy grief or sorrow about with him; but from his face the grimness and gloominess were gone, and Noll was sure that there must be some little change in his heart, else he would not care for the welfare of these Culm children.
A week or two elapsed before this new plan was put in operation, or rather before anything was done toward carrying it out. The skipper was hardly the person to intrust with the care of finding a teacher and looking up school-books, and for a time they were in doubt and perplexity. Then Noll proposed--what he had long been wis.h.i.+ng--to go to Hastings himself, and find such a teacher as was needed, procure the suitable books and furniture, and bring John Sampson back with him. It would require but a week's absence, and in that time all the business could be done, and some happy days be spent with Ned Thorn and old friends.
Trafford hesitated a long time. Who could tell what peril the boy might be in while crossing the sea? How could he lose him now? And, when once in the charmed circle of old friends and a.s.sociations, would he not dislike to return to gray and barren Culm Rock? But Noll went.
CHAPTER XXI.
IN PERIL OF THE SEA.
The day had dawned clear and brilliant, but as the afternoon waned, a gray curtain of ragged cloud slowly rose and hid the sun, and brought an early nightfall. The wind was strong, and the sea--calm and silvery but a few hours before--began to toss and thunder heavily. Hagar came from the pine woods with a great basket of cones, just as the early dusk began to settle over the windy sea and to wrap the forest in heavy shadow, and as the old woman crossed the narrow bar of sand which connected Culm Rock with the main-land, the wind swept over in such strong gusts, and with such blinding sheets of spray, that her safety was more than once endangered. But she reached the firm, unyielding Rock, with no worse misfortune than a drenching befalling her, and made her way to the warm and comfortable precincts of her kitchen, with many e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of delight and thankfulness. The first sound which greeted her ears on entering was the long-drawn, solemn voice of the organ.
”Wonder what Mas'r d.i.c.k's got on his heart dis yer night?” she muttered, bustling about to prepare supper; ”'tain't sech music as dat yer organ make lately. 'Pears like somethin' was de matter, anyhow.”
She prepared supper in the dining-room, muttering to herself about the lonesomeness and silence of the house since ”Mas'r Noll dun gone off;”
and when the solitary meal was in readiness, put her head in at the library-door and called her master to tea. When she had got back to her kitchen, and was standing in the open door, her grizzled head thrust out into the gathering gloom and tempest to watch the progress of the storm, she noticed that the music did not cease, but kept on in its slow and solemn measure, rising and falling and stealing plaintively in.
”Something's de matter, sure,” Hagar said, turning about and shutting the door; ”dat ain't de kind of music dat Mas'r d.i.c.k's made lately.
'Pears like he's 'stressed 'bout somethin'! But, Hagar, ye can't do nuffin but jes' trust de Lord, nohow. Ye'd better get yer own supper, ef yer Mas'r d.i.c.k don't tech his.”
She ate her supper and washed the dishes, and gave the little kitchen a stroke or two with her broom, and yet the music from the library came stealing in as sad-voiced and heavy as ever.
”'Pears as if he'd never eat his supper,” Hagar grumbled; ”de chile can't live on music, allers, nohow. Reckon he'll nebber hab much sperits till he eats more. But jes' stop yer talkin', chile, ye can't do nuffin' but trust de Lord.”
By and by the wandering notes ceased, and in the deep silence there came up the hoa.r.s.e and awful roar of the surf, with the wailing of the wind over the chimney, and filled the house with their echoes. Hagar heaped wood on the fire, drew her little low chair nearer the light and gladsome blaze, s.h.i.+vering and muttering as she did so. She had a great dread of cold and darkness, and the deep hush, broken by the clamor of the sea, made her afraid.
”De Lord's about,” said she, drawing her old woollen shawl close around her; ”de Lord's on de sea, an' 'pears like n.o.body need be feared when he holds it in his hand like as I holds dis yer silber ob Mas'r Noll's dat he lost under de rug in de dinin'-room,”--looking down at the s.h.i.+ning coin which she had picked up that morning, and wondering where the boy was at that moment. ”'Pears as ef de suns.h.i.+ne had been hid de whole time sence he went off to de city,” she muttered, gazing in the coals. ”Wonder ef Mas'r d.i.c.k misses him?
Wonder ef dis yer ole woman won't be tickled 'nuff to see him when de day comes? Ki! Hagar, ye knows ye will.”
The roar of the sea and the cry of the wind came in again, more lonesome, sadder than ever. The old negress s.h.i.+vered, peered about her into the dark corners of the kitchen, and crooned to herself,--a wild, monotonous air, set to words which came to her lips for the occasion:--
”Oh, Hagar, don't ye know De Lord's on de sea?
He rides on de waves, And de wind is in his hand,-- De Lord keeps dem all!
What ye feared of, Hagar? Kase, don't ye know de Lord's in it? 'Pears like ye done forget dat de whole time--Now!” and she broke into her rhymeless chant again. It was only a way she had got of setting her thoughts to music, drawing the words out very slowly, and weaving to and fro the while. When she had repeated her first lines, she kept on with her thoughts, peering over her shoulder at the flickering shadows which the fire cast on the wall behind her, s.h.i.+vering with awe at the clamor without, and chanting, waveringly,--
”Oh, Hagar, don't ye know De Lord's on de sea?
De wind blows, an' de sky is dark, An' de sea _cries like a little chile_, An' de boats will be blowed away; But de Lord is good, an' mornin' will come, An', oh, Hagar, sing hallelujah!
Fur de Lord is in it all!”
Here she stopped her chanting, and began to sing ”Hallelujah!” softly, ceasing her swaying, to look into the coals. The fire burned down to rosy embers, in which little blue-tongued flames darted up fitfully,--anon lighting up the room brilliantly, then dying away and leaving it almost in darkness,--while Hagar's crooning died away to a whisper. A little gray light still shone in at the kitchen-window, but it was fast flitting. The roar of the sea became thunder, the wind grew tempestuous. By and by the rain began to fall, sounding strangely soft and still, when compared with the din of wind and waves.
”G.o.d bress us!” said Hagar, ”dis yer is an awful night. Keep de boats off de Rock, Lord, and pity de sailors in dis yer awful storm!”
The old woman knew how the sea must look now,--yeasty, horrible, its white wave-caps s.h.i.+ning through the darkness and hurrying to topple over and thunder against the rocks. To her, as she sat crouched before the fire, it seemed to howl and scream and mourn hoa.r.s.ely, like some great voice rending the night with lamentation.
<script>