Then Tandy set his brains on to simmer, and invented one of the simplest contrivances in the world for saving waste.
Yes, he had it at last, and in two years’ time he began to gain a competence, which was gradually increasing.
This little cottage down by the sad, sad sea, as sentimental old maids call it, was his own. He and Babs—or little Nelda, as we may now call her—had only been here for six months. The place was by no means a fashionable one, although many people came here in summer to seek for health on the glorious sands and rocks, and among the fields and woods that stretched northwards into the interior.
As for Ransey Tansey, Captain Weathereye had really done his best to secure the welfare of this half-wild lad, just as Miss Scragley tried to assist his wee sister.
Impressionable children learn very quickly, and in a year’s time Ransey was so much improved in manners that Miss Scragley rather encouraged his visits to the Hall than otherwise, especially when the Admiral and Bob came along with him.
Grand old lawns and shrubberies surrounded the Hall, and these ended in woods. There were artificial lakes and islands in them too. These islands were the especial property of many beautiful ducks; but one was so large, and surrounded by such a big stretch of water, that the only thing to make it perfect—so Ransey thought—was a boat or skiff. Eedie was of the same opinion; so was Babs and Bob.
“Isn’t it possible to build one?” thought Ransey. He felt sure it was; so did Eedie.
Before two months had passed, that skiff, with the assistance of Weathereye, was a fait accompli; and the old captain was just as proud of it as the children themselves.
The ducks didn’t have it all their own way now on the island. For here a wigwam was built, and almost every fine day—that is, when Ransey was not at his lessons—the children played at Crusoes and wild Indians, and I don’t know what all.
There was no end to Tansey’s imagination, no end to his daring, no end to his tricks, and in these last, I fear, Eedie encouraged him.