Noll's eager "Letters! and for me?" tickled the old sailor wonderfully.
"Yes, these be letters," he said, chuckling; "Jack, here, talks o' runnin' a smack down this winter purpose to bring yer mail!"
"'Tw'u'd take something bigger'n a smack," observed Mr. Snape, looking askance to see how Noll grasped the precious parcel.
"All yer frien's said as how I was to bring ye back on the 'Gull,'" called the skipper after him, as Noll went running across the sand toward the house.
"Oh, how I wish—No! I can't go, skipper; it's no use talking," Noll answered back as he gained the piazza, and there sat down to open his precious missives.
Five or six of his boy friends had agreed to surprise him each with a letter, and here they were, together with a kind note from Mr. Gray. What a comfort and pleasure they were! It was almost like seeing the writers' faces and talking with them, Noll thought.
Trafford came out upon the piazza while he sat there absorbed in their contents, and as he walked along toward the skipper, who stood waiting at the bottom of the steps, noted the boy's eager, delighted face, and wondered why the lad did not return to his friends, where, it was quite evident, he was much desired and longed for. Why did he stay on this dreary Rock? What was there here to make the place endurable for a boy of his age and tastes? He could not see.
Those were the last letters which Noll received. The "Gull" made one or two trips after that, but the first of November brought keen, sleety weather, and Skipper Ben came no more; so that for the long months ahead Culm Rock was to be shut out from the world entirely. The thought of being isolated from all assistance, in case of illness or trouble, oppressed Noll somewhat till he had accustomed himself to the thought, and then a vague dread of loneliness and homesickness in the dragging days of winter haunted him for a time. But getting bravely over these, and interested in his studies, he began to find that the November days were not so intolerable, after all.
Uncle Richard had surprised him one day by bringing in a writing-table, from one of the unoccupied rooms, and placing it opposite his own chair by one of the tall windows. "For your books, Noll," he had said; and from thenceforth the boy's well-worn school volumes had a place there, and study in the cold chamber was exchanged for the comfortable warmth of the library. It was not an unpleasant schoolroom, by any means, though the high, old window framed nothing but a great stretch of sea and sky,—both, this chilly month of November, often gray and misty.
Instead of the roar and din of the city which sounded about the dearly-remembered room at Hastings, there was the hoarse murmur of the tide on its rocks and pebbles, the wild whirling of the wind and its screaming around the corners and over the chimney,—not cheery sounds, any of them; yet, in the still afternoons, and the cozy quietness of long evenings when the lamp shed its mild light over the room, and the fire on the hearth shone redly, there was such calm and peace for books and study as Noll found both pleasant and profitable.