CHAPTER XVII.
LOST AT SEA.
The autumn was unusually warm and pleasant, without any frost to injurethe flowers until the middle of October. Hal enlarged his green-housearrangements, and had a fine stock of tuberoses. He had learned a gooddeal by his experiments of the past year.
He had been careful not to overwork; since he was improving, and tookevery thing moderately. But at last it was all finished,--the coldframes arranged for spring, the plants housed, the place tidy and inorder.
The loss of the school had been a severe disappointment to Hal. He wascasting about now for some employment whereby he might earn a little.If Mr. Sherman would only give him a few days' work, now and then,they could get along nicely; for Granny was a most economical manager,and, besides, there was eighty dollars in the bank, and a very smallfamily,--only three of them.
Hal came home one day, and found Granny sitting over a handful of fire,bundled in a great shawl. Her eyes had a frightened look, and therewas a blue line about her mouth.
"Why. Granny dear, what is the matter?" he asked in alarm, stoopingover to kiss the cold wrinkled cheek.
"I d-d-don't know," the teeth chattering in the attempt to speak. "Ib-b-lieve I've got a chill!"
"Oh, so you have, poor dear child!" and Hal was as motherly as the oldgray hen outside. "You must go to bed at once. Perhaps you had betterbathe your feet, and have a bowl of hot tea."
"And my head aches so! I'm not used to having headache, Hal."
She said this piteously, as if she fancied Hal, who could do everything in her opinion, might exorcise the pain.
"I'm very sorry, dear," stroking the wrinkled face as if she had been ababy. "Now I'll put some water on to heat."
"O Hal, I'm so cold! 'Pears to me I never shall be warm again."
"Yes, when I get you snug in the bed, and make you some nice tea. Whatshall it be,--pennyroyal?"
"And a little feverfew."
Hal kissed the cold, trembling lips, and went about his preparations.The water was soon hot; and he put a little mustard in the pail withit, carrying it to the bedside in the other room, and leading poorGranny thither.
The place was steaming presently with the fragrance of pennyroyal. Halpoured it off into a cool bowl, and gave Granny a good drink, thentucked her in the bed, and spread the shawl over her; but still shecried in her pitiful voice,--
"I'm so cold, Hal!"
After the rigor of the chill began to abate, a raging fever set in, andGranny's mind wandered a little. Then Hal was rather alarmed. Grannyhad never been down sick a day in her life, although she was not sovery robust.
"Dot, darling, you must run for Dr. Meade," Hal said, as the child camehome from school. "Granny is very ill, I am afraid."
Dr. Meade was away, and did not come until eight in the evening.
"I fear it is going to be a run of fever, Hal," he began gravely."At her time of life too! But we'll do the best we can. There isconsiderable fever about."
Hal drew a long breath of pain.
"You will be the best nurse in the world, Hal;" and the doctor smiled,placing his hand on the boy's shoulder re-assuringly.
Hal winked away some tears. They lay quite too close to the surface fora man's nature.
"I'll leave her some drops, and be in again in the morning. Don'tworry, my dear boy."
Granny could hardly bear to have Hal out of sight, and wanted to keephold of his hand all the time. Dot prepared the supper, but they couldtaste nothing beyond a cup of tea.
"Dot," he said, "you must go up stairs and sleep in my bed to-night. Ishall stay here to watch Granny."
"But it will be so--lonesome!" with her baby entreaty.
"It is best, my darling."
So Dot kissed him many times, lingering until after the clock struckten, when Hal said,--
"My birdie's eyes will be heavy to-morrow."
Granny was worse the next day. Indeed, for the ensuing fortnight herlife seemed vibrating in the balance. Everybody was very kind, but shecould bear no one besides Hal. Just a little delirious occasionally,and going back to the time when they were all babies, and her own dearJoe lay dying.
"I've done my best for 'em, Joe," she would murmur. "I've never mindedheat nor cold, nor hard work. They've been a great blessing,--theyalways were good children."
For Granny forgot all Charlie's badness, Joe's mischief, and Dot'scrossness. Transfigured by her devotion, they were without a fault. Ah,how one tender love makes beautiful the world! Whatever others mightthink, God had a crown of gold up in heaven, waiting for the poortired brow; and the one angel would have flown through starry skies forher, taking her to rest on his bosom, but the other pleaded,--
"A little longer, for the children's sake."
At last the fever was conquered. Granny was weak as a baby, and hadgrown fearfully thin; but it was a comfort to have her in her rightmind. Still Hal remarked that the doctor's face had an anxious look,and that he watched him with a kind of pitying air. So much so, thatone day he said,--
"You think she _will_ get well, doctor?"
"There is nothing to prevent it if we can only keep up her appetite."
"I always feed her," returned Hal with a smile, "whether she is willingto eat or not."
"You are a born nurse, as good as a woman. Give her a little of theport wine every day."
Then the doctor turned to the window, and seemed to glance over towardsthe woods.
"Quite winterish, isn't it? When have you heard from Joe?"
"Not in a long time. Letters do not come so regularly as they used. Ithink we have not had one since August. But he writes whenever he can,dear Joe. The last time we received three."
"Yes," in a kind of absent way.
When Dr. Meade started to go, he kept his hand for several minutes onthe door-latch, giving some unimportant directions.
"God bless you, Hal!" he said in a strained, husky tone, "and give yougrace to bear all the trials of this life. Heaven knows, there areenough of them!"
What did the doctor mean? Hal wondered eagerly.
That evening Mr. and Mrs. Terry dropped in for a friendly call.
"When did you hear from Joe last?" asked Mr. Terry.
"In August."
"Wasn't expecting him home, I suppose?"
"Not until next summer. Has any one heard?" and there was a quiver inHal's voice.
"I don't know of any one who has had a letter;" and Mr. Terry appearedto be measuring his words. "Joe was a nice bright lad, just as full offun as an egg is full of meat. Cousin Burton took a wonderful fancy tohim; though I suppose he'd have gone off to sea, any way. If it had notbeen Burton, it would have been some one else."
"Yes. Joe always had his heart set upon it."
"Father and Joe used to get along so nicely. We never had a boy weliked better. He was a brave, honest fellow."
It seemed almost as if Mrs. Terry wiped a tear from her eye. But Grannywanted to be raised in the bed, and some way Hal couldn't think untilafter they were gone.
He was thankful to see the doctor come in the next morning.
"Oh!" he exclaimed in a low tone, "you were talking of Joe yesterday:has anybody heard from him, or about him?"
The hand that clasped the doctor's arm trembled violently.
"Hal, be calm," entreated the doctor.
"I cannot! Oh, you _do_ know,--and it's bad news!"
"My dear boy--O Hal!" and he was folded in the doctor's arms.
"Tell me, tell me!" in a yearning, impatient tone, that seemed to crowdits way over sobs.
"God knows it could not have hurt me more if it had been one of my own!But he was a hero--to the last. There isn't a braver young soul up inheaven, I'll answer for that. Here--it's in the paper. I've carried itabout with me three days, old coward that I've been, and not dared totell you. But it's all over the village. Hush,--for Granny's sake. Shemust not know."
Hal dropped on the lounge that he and Granny had manufactured with somuch pride. He was stunned,-
-dead to every thing but pain, and that wastorturing. The doctor placed the paper in his hands, and went into theother room to his patient.
Yes, there it was! The words blurred before his eyes; and still heread, by some kind of intuition. "The Argemone" had met with a terrificstorm in the Indian Ocean; and, though she had battled bravely, windsand waves had proved too strong. All one night the men had laboredheroically, but in vain; and when she began to go down, just at dawn,the life-boats were filled, too few, alas! even if there were safety inthem. Nothing could exceed the bravery and coolness of the young secondmate. The captain lay sick below; the first mate and the engineer werepanic-stricken; but this strong, earnest voice had inspired every onethrough the fearful night. When it was found that some must be leftbehind, he decided to stay, and assisted the others with a courage andpresence of mind that was beyond all praise. The smile that illuminatedhis face when he refused to step into the already overladen boat waslike the smile of an angel. They who saw it in the light of the graydawn would never forget. One boat drifted in to Sumatra, the otherwas picked up by a passing vessel. But the few who remained must haveperished in any case, and among them no name so deserving of honor asthat of Joseph Kenneth.
Hal read it again and again. Joseph Kenneth! Was that dear, laughingJoe, with his merry eyes, and the sauciest trick of winking in thecorner of one; little Joe who had stood on his head, played circus,and, with the aid of a few old shawls, been lion, tiger, elephant,and camel; dear Joe, who had cuddled up in bed cold winter nights andalmost smothered him,--Hal; who had made ghosts out of the bolster, andfrightened Kit half to death! Why did he think of these foolish thingsnow? Oh, this brave Joseph Kenneth never could be their little Joe! Godsurely would not give Granny this pain and anguish to bear at the last!
A hand was laid on Hal's shoulder.
"Oh! it can't be true"--
"There's just one chance out of a thousand. Hal, it seems to methe saddest thing I ever heard, and yet so grand. You see what thepassengers said of him. Ah, I think he did not need to knock long atSt. Peter's gate!"
The doctor wiped his eyes.
"But--never to have him--come back"--
"He has drifted into a better port, my dear boy: that must be ourcomfort. We shall all cross the river by and by; and it is never sohard for the one who goes, as for those who stay and bear the pain andloneliness. And some time it will be sweet to remember that he gave hisbrave young life for others."
Hal's eyes were tearless, and there was a hard, strained look in hisface.
"Don't tell Granny now. She couldn't bear it."
"No;" and Hal's voice was full of pathetic grief.
"And oh, Hal, be comforted a little! I know there is an overwhelminganguish in it; but for the sake of those still left"--
"Yes." Hal's ashen lips quivered.
The doctor brushed away the soft hair tumbled about his forehead, andheld the cold hand in his.
"God has some balm for every ache, my boy."
Hal sat there until Granny called for something, every moment growingmore incredulous. But a heavy weight hung about his heart, even thoughhe refused to believe. It seemed as if there could not be despairingcertainty before to-morrow.
When Kit came home on Saturday night, and just threw his arms aroundHal's neck, sobbing as if his heart had broken, it gave a strangereality to the grief and sorrow.
"I heard it on Monday,--the loss of 'The Argemone.' How proud Joe wasof her! And my heart's been aching for you every day. The cruel thingof it all is, never to have him come home again."
Dot had to be taken into confidence then; but she was a discreet littlething, and quite to be trusted. She did not suffer so deeply, for Joewas only a pleasant dream to her; and she tried to comfort Hal with hersweet, winsome ways.
Granny _did_ improve slowly. She began to sit up in the rocking-chair,walk to the window and look out, and occasionally smile, in her faint,wan fashion. They would never hear the merry chirruping laugh again,Hal thought.
But all the details of life had to be gone through with, as usual.There was the poultry to be prepared for market; for this source oftheir income could not be overlooked. In fact, Hal and Dot were notquite as economical managers as Granny; and then every thing was veryhigh. They required more luxuries in sickness, and Hal would not stint.But, when this was gone, there would be the money for the flowers, andtheir little hoard in the bank still remained unbroken.
It was not any fear of want that troubled Hal. The old dreams andambitions seemed to be slipping away. Sometimes even the idea ofattaining to a green-house failed to charm; though he still loved hisflowers passionately, and they comforted him as nothing else could havedone.
One day Granny thought of Joe.
"Have we had a letter since my illness?" she asked.
"No," answered Hal faintly.
"Not since--let me see,--it was August."
Hal made no reply.
"Why--it's strange! He never did such a thing before! Hasn't any oneheard?"
"I believe not." Hal turned his head, and went on with some writing.
"Seems to me you take it pretty easy," said Granny, a little vexed."Joe never was the one to forget his home folks. Hal, something'shappened: mark my words!"
Poor Hal brushed away a tear.
Then Granny gave Dot a mysterious confidence, and asked her to inquireof Mr. Terry.
"He always wrote to them, and they must know."
Dot said, in return, that they had not received a letter.
Granny then began to worry in desperate earnest, and besieged everyvisitor with questions and surmises. Hal was in a sore strait. Ofcourse she must know sometime.
She made herself so nearly sick, that Dr. Meade saw the danger andharm, and felt that she had better know the truth.
"Will you tell her?" faltered Hal.
He undertook the sorrowful office. Tenderly, kindly, and yet it was acruel wound.
"Oh, it cannot be!" she cried. "God wouldn't take him from me now thatI'm old and sick and helpless! Let me see the paper."
They complied with her request, but the doctor had to read it. Her oldeyes could not see a word.
"Oh, oh! Drowned in the sea! And I never wanted him to go! My poordarling! who was always so bright, so happy, and who loved his poorold Granny so well! Let me go back to bed now: I don't want to live.They're all up in heaven,--_my_ Joe, and little Joe, and poor Dora.There is no use of staying here."
Hal soothed her with fondest love and caresses; but nothing couldchange the longing in her heart, the weary look in the eyes that seemedto be discerning the shore beyond, and the sad voice with its onerefrain, "Poor, dear Joe!"
After that she failed rapidly. Hal scarcely left her. She used to askhim to read all the old letters over again, from the first boyish pridethat so exulted in the trip to Albany. And she would recall some act oftenderness, or a gay prank at which they all had laughed.
One evening Hal felt unusually weary. There had been a warm rain fortwo days, with most un-December-like weather. A fire felt absolutelyuncomfortable. He generally slept down on the lounge now, to be nearif Granny wanted any thing. Before retiring he paid his flower-room avisit. Every thing was doing splendidly. So far business had not beenvery brisk; but that morning he had received an order for the nextweek,--Christmastide,--for all the flowers he could cut.
"Dear sweet children," he said, talking softly to himself. "If I couldonly have put some in _his_ coffin, and on his grave! but to think ofhim lying in the sea, with the endless music over his head, and theshells tangled in his hair. O Joe! it doesn't seem a bit true, and Inever can make it so."
Yet he knew in his heart that it was; and he tried to remember thatJoe was up in heaven, past all pain and care, ready to welcome them asthey came, one by one,--Granny first. It would be easier to give herup, because she was going to be with darling Joe.
He left the door against the hall open, it was so warm; then he tooka last look at Granny, and dropped on his couch. It was a long
whilebefore he fell asleep, and then he slumbered soundly. Once he awokewith a shiver, and reached out for the blanket he had thrown offearlier in the night.
The light in the window roused him at length. How oddly it looked,and oh, how cold! Why, the panes were frosted with a thousand fairydevices! And then Hal sprang up, hurried into his clothes, and ranto the flower-room. The windows were white with frost, and the thickpapers rolled to the top. Worst of all, the fire had gone out!
For a moment Hal stood in blank despair. His beautiful buds that wereto be out in a few days, his tender, delicate plants! How had ithappened? There must have been more ashes in the bottom of the stovethan he thought; and the fire, being weak, had not kindled at all. Hetore it out with eager hands. Not a spark remained. The stove was ascold as a stone.
But there was no time to waste in grief. Hal kindled his fire, and thenbegan to drench his plants. Something might be saved.
Presently Dot's little feet pattered up the stairs.
"How we all slept!" she said. "And oh, dear! its as cold as Greenland,after the beautiful summer weather. But Hal, dear, what is the matter?"
"My fire went out."
"Will it hurt the plants?"
"Some of them;" and his voice had a great tremble in it.
"Oh, it is too bad, Hal! doesn't every thing seem to happen to us?" andtears sprang to the fond eyes.
Hal gave a long, pained sigh.
"Can't you save any of them?"
"Yes: some, I think. It might have been worse."
Dot kissed him tenderly,--it was all she could do. Then she ran down,and began to prepare breakfast.
The sun was rising; and Hal dropped the papers to keep it dark for thepresent, and allowed his fire to come on gradually. At first he beganto take hope, for the flowers held up their heads crisply.
Alas! by noon they showed signs of drooping; and before night the budsof the tuberoses began to be slightly discolored. Poor Hal could havecried out of pure sorrow. He loved them all so dearly, and it almostseemed to him as if they suffered as well.
But the next day the ruin was plainly established. He went about withhis scissors, clipping here and there. The heliotrope displayed a massof blackened clusters; but it could be trimmed for new blossoming.Many of the more forward, choice rosebuds were ruined but the plantswere not deeply injured. The bouvardias were quite spoiled; but themignonette and alyssum were unharmed.
Hal cut a few the day before Christmas, and sent them over to Mr.Thomas. It was such a sore loss and disappointment, that it hung aroundhim like a heavy burden. They had been counting on the money with somuch pleasure.
"Never mind," exclaimed Dot cheerfully. "We will not have any extraChristmas. Granny will not be able to sit up, and there'll be no onehome but Kit."
Hal brushed away a tear. To tell the truth, he felt miserably lonesome,and sick at heart. Every day the sense of loss grew upon him. He hadgiven up hope for Granny; though she was no worse, and perhaps hadimproved a little in appetite. But then she did not care to get well.And the faces lost out of the home group made such a sad break.
They had received two more hopeful little notes from Charlie; but, ifshe was happy and prosperous, would she not be weaned away, like theone other. Joe, in his deep sea-grave, had always been tender and true.
"Christmas isn't much to us now," Hal answered, recalling the oldgayety. "Yet it is too bad to put such black shadows in your life, mydarling."
"The sun has never been so bright for me, you know," Dot said, in hersweet, soft voice, in which there was not a touch of complaint. "Itseems as if the path had grown shady before I came to it, so I don'tmiss the gayety. And, while I can have you and Granny, I'll be quitesatisfied."
"You are a comfort and a treasure. I'm so glad to have _you_, Dot,though you were a wee baby and always sick. Now and then a neighborused to say,--'What a blessing it would be if that child should die!'But Granny never thought so."
Dot nestled closer.
The morning had been cloudy, and about ten o'clock it commencedsnowing. They did their housework, and prepared their simple dinner.
"I had resolved to go to town to-day, and buy some Christmas," saidHal. "I believe we never were quite so blue before."
"I don't suppose Kit will be able to get home this evening," Dot saidslowly.
"No."
"Then we'll keep it by ourselves, Hal. It will not be so very bad."
"But to have no little gifts,--and Granny sick in bed"--
"It will not be a merry Christmas for us, dear; but there may besomething pleasant in it."
Hal sighed sorrowfully. Oh, for the sweet, lost childhood!
The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe; Or, There's No Place Like Home Page 19