Book Two—Chapter Ten.
The Wanderers’ Return.
“I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high,
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
“It was a childish ignorance,
But now ’tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.”
Hood.
Scene: Glen Lyle in spring time. The larch trees already green and tasselled with crimson buds. The woods alive with the song of birds. The rooks busy at work on the tall, swaying elm trees. Two young men approaching Grayling House, arm in arm.
It was early on this spring morning, not long past eight of the clock. Douglas and Leonard had stayed at a little inn some eight miles distant on the night before, and started with the larks to march homewards, for even Douglas looked upon Glen Lyle as his home.
As they neared the well-known gate, Leonard became silent. Thoughts of his happy boyhood’s days crowded fresh and fast into his memory. Every bush and every tree brought up some sad yet pleasant reminiscence of days gone by—sad, because those old, old days were gone never to return.
“Come, old boy,” said Douglas cheerfully. “Aren’t you glad to be so near home?”
They were at the gate now.
“Glad,” said Leonard, yet strangely moved. “Douglas, what means all this? See, the walks are green, the blinds are mostly down. Only from one chimney does smoke issue. Oh, my friend! I fear something is wrong. I never thought my heart could beat so! But see, yonder comes old Peter himself.”
And down the path indeed the ancient servitor came shuffling.
His very first words reassured poor Leonard.
“The Lord be praised for a’ His mercy! Hoo pleased your father and mother and Effie will be!”
The joy-blood came bounding back to Leonard’s heart. He returned the ardent pressure of Peter’s hands.
“Oh!” cried Peter, “I want to do naething else noo but just lie doon and dee.”
“Don’t talk of dying, my dear Peter. Where are they?”
The old man wiped his streaming eyes as he answered,—
“At Grayling Cottage, St. Abbs. And you have na heard? Come in, come in, and I’ll tell you all.”
About three hours after this the two young men had once more left Glen Lyle, and were journeying straight, almost as the crow flies, for the cottage by the sea.
On the evening of the second day, having been directed to the house, they were walking slowly along the beach.
It was the gloaming hour.
Yonder in the horizon just over the sea shone the gloaming star.
“Just above yon sandy bar,
As the day grows fainter and dimmer,
Lonely and lovely, a single star
Lights the air with a dusky glimmer.
“Into the ocean faint and far
Falls the trail of its golden splendour,
And the gleam of that single star
Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender.”
Both young men stopped short at once. There was one figure on the beach, one solitary female figure.
“It is she,” half-whispered Douglas, pressing Leonard’s arm.
Then they advanced.
“Effie!”
“Oh, Leonard!”
Next moment she was sobbing on her brother’s shoulder. They were tears of reaction, but they washed away in their flood-gates the sorrow and the hope deferred of long, dreary years.
“How silly to cry!” she said at last, giving her hand to her brother’s friend with a bonnie blush.
“Right welcome you are, Douglas,” she added. “Oh, how glad I am to see you both!”
“There now, Eff,” said her brother, in his old cheery way, “no more tears; it must be all joy now, joy and jollity.”
Douglas ran off home now to see his father, and I pass over the scene of reunion betwixt Leonard and his parents.
“Dear boy,” said his father more than once that evening, “I don’t care for anything now I’ve got you back, and I don’t mind confessing that I really never expected to see you more.”
But in an hour or two in came Captain Fitzroy and Douglas.
Then somehow or other the household horizon took a cheerier tone; there was such an amount of indwelling happiness and pleasantry about the honest Captain’s face, that no one could have been in his company for five minutes without feeling the better of it.
About nine o’clock Captain Lyle got up and took down from its shelf a large volume covered with calfskin. It was,—
“The big ha’ Bible, ance his father’s pride.”
Solemn words were read, solemn words were spoken, and heartfelt was the prayer and full of gratitude that was said when all knelt down.
Family worship was conducted thus early, lest, as Lyle said, everybody should get sleepy. But this did not close the evening. For all sat around the fire long, long after that, and if the whole truth must be told, the cocks in the farmer’s yard hard by had wakened up and begun to crow when Douglas and his father bade good-night to the cottagers, and went slowly homewards along the beach.
You see there had been such a deal to talk about.
A day or two afterwards who should arrive at the cottage but Captain Blunt himself, and with him honest, kindly, rough old Skipper James. It is needless to say that the latter received a royal welcome.
“We can never, never thank you enough,” said Mrs Lyle, “for bringing back our boys.”
“Pooh!” said Skipper James, “my dear lady, that is nothing; don’t bother thanking me, mention me and my old ship in your prayers, when we’re on the sea.”
“That I’m sure we will never forget to do.”
Lyle and Fitzroy were walking together on the beach about a week after the wanderers’ return.
“I’ve been trying to get my boy to stay at home now altogether,” said Lyle.
“Well, and I’ve been trying mine.”
“But mine won’t; he says he was born to wander, and wander he will.”
“Just the same with mine.”
“And Leonard has given up his allowance, dear boy! He says he will work now for his living, and that the seamanship he has learned must stand as his profession. He is full of hope though, and I fear we’ll soon lose our lads again.”
“For a time—yes, for a time. Be cheerful, remember what I prophesied; all will yet be well, and if they really are born to wander nothing can prevent them.”
“What’s that about being born to wander?” said Captain Blunt, coming quietly up behind them. “Because,” he added, “here’s another.”
“What!” said Captain Lyle. “Are you going to sea again?”
“I’ve just left your lads,” replied Blunt, “and I’ve made them an offer that they both jump at. You see, I’ve made a bit of money, and though I have been in the merchant service all my life, I can’t say that ever I have seen the world in a quiet way. Had always, in port, to look after my men and cargo, and hardly ever could get a week to myself. So now, in a barque of my own, I’m going round the world for a bit of an outing, and your boys are going with me. I’ve offered them fair wage, and, depend upon it, I’ll do my best to make them happy, and I won’t come back without them. What say you two fathers?”
“What can we say,” said Lyle, grasping Captain Blunt’s rough horny hand, “but thank you?”
“And boys will be boys,” added Fitzroy, with a ringing laugh that startled the very sea-birds.
Two months after this our heroes had bidden their relations once more adieu, and were afloat on the wide Atlantic.
But before this the whole party had gone to the Clyde, where Captain Blunt’s barque was building, and in due form, with all due ceremony, Effie, with a blush of modesty and beauty on her sweet young face, had christened the ship.
And her name was the Gloaming Star.