Pat the Lighthouse Boy

by Evelyn Everett-Green

"He said Rupert was his name," answered Pat, looking up, "and we all know he must be a little prince—he looks so like one."

The lady smiled again, her tears were drying now. Eileen had come forward by this time, and had heard the last words. The lady stepped forward, and held out her hands to the lighthouse-keeper's wife.

"I have heard of your goodness to my boy," she said, in a quivering voice, "how can I thank you for it?"

"I do not want any thanks, my lady," answered Eileen, with her soft shy pride. "I would have done the same for any blessed baby cast up on our shores; and the darling has won his way to all our hearts—and it's a real prince of princes that he is—the bonny boy!"

"No, no—not a prince at all—only a very spoiled little boy, I am afraid," said the mother, with something between a sob and a laugh. "A little boy who badly wants his father and mother's care and training. But we had to leave him with my sisters when we were sent out to India in haste two years ago; and we have been there ever since. He was brought out to meet us as we came home; he came in my husband's yacht, which met us at Malta, and we were to come home to England in her. The child had hardly more than learned to know us well before that fearful night, when we thought we must go to the bottom before we reached port. Oh, how can I tell you the agony we suffered when we heard that the mast to which the child had been lashed for protection had been snapped clean off, and had gone overboard, and we running before the gale as our only chance, and expecting almost moment by moment to be sucked beneath the cruel waves! It only seemed then as though he had been the first. There was water below, and above the waves swept the deck every moment. I was lashed to another mast; but I was almost insensible from cold and exposure. I think I saw the light of the lighthouse above us as we passed half a mile off from it. I had just heard then that the child had gone, and nothing seemed to matter then, whether we lived or died. And then somehow we got round the headland, in the wake of a big steamer also in distress, and they helped us, though in need of help themselves, and at last we both weathered the storm together. But, oh! what days of misery those were when we thought we had lost for ever in this world the little son we had just received back after those long years of absence!"

Tears of sympathy were in Eileen's eyes; but she began to understand many things that had puzzled her before.

"Oh, my lady, I am so thankful to hear you speak so. I was grieved that the little boy spoke so little of you, and seemed to care so little whether his own father and mother came for him or not. Glad was I for sure that he was happy with us; but it didn't seem natural-like for him never to pine a bit for his mother. It made me afraid (you'll forgive me speaking so plain) that his parents had not cared for him as a child should be cared for, and that went to my heart; but now——"

"Ah, yes, you understand how it was—we had only had him with us for a bare ten days—and part of that time he was sea-sick and fretful, and could scarce be made to look at us. It was only the last few days that he was his bonny bright self, learning to love us and know us. No wonder he forgot us quickly after that fearful night. I cannot think how he lived in those boiling waves. Oh, I must see the brave man who saved him! The doctor who came over with us in our boat has told me how he injured himself in plunging after our darling. Oh, you must tell us what we can do for him—what we can do for you all—to show our gratitude. I did not know how to believe it when Mr. Deering told us that our little boy was alive and well, and very happy on Lone Rock in the care of the keeper of the lighthouse!"

"Bless him! He has been as happy as the day is long, and he and my Pat have played like brothers, if you will pardon my boldness in saying so."

"Nay, what is there to pardon; are they not brothers in the sight of our God?" said the lady, with a sparkle of tears in her eyes. "If you only knew what it was to me to hear how he had been cared for—my little boy, whom we were mourning as dead! Ah, you must let us be friends after this," she added, turning her sweet quivering face full on Eileen. "I cannot and I will not talk of 'rewards' to those who have shown themselves the best and truest of friends to my child, when only devotion such as he received could have saved his precious life. It would be a wrong to you and to me; but you must let us be your friends from this time forth. You must let us see what may be best done for your happiness and his. You saved his life by your skill and promptitude when he was brought ashore, as much as the brave sailor did who plunged into the waves to bring him out of the water. You must never think that I could forget that."