My uncle must once get very drunk at St. John’s––this for a day and a night, during which I must not leave my quarters. These were times of terror––and of loneliness: for it seemed to my childish mind that when my uncle was drunk I had no friend at all. But ’twas all plain sailing afterwards––a sober, cheerful guardian, restless to be off to Twist Tickle. My uncle would buy new outfits for me at the shops, arrange the regular shipment of such delicacies as the St. John’s markets afforded according to the season, seek gifts with which to delight and profit me, gather the news of fashion, lie in wait for dropped hints as to the manners and customs of gentlemen, procure his allowance 53 of whiskey for the six months to come: in every way providing for my happiness and well-being and for such meagre comfort as he would allow himself.
Then off to Twist Tickle: and glad we were of it when the Lake got beyond the narrows and the big, clean, clear-aired sea lay ahead!
My uncle would instantly have thrashed me had I approached an oath (or any other vulgarity) in conversation upon ordinary occasions.
VI
THE FEET OF CHILDREN
Once of a still night at Twist Tickle (when I was grown to be eleven) my uncle abandoned his bottle and came betimes to my room to make sure that I was snug in my sleep. ’Twas fall weather without, the first chill and frosty menace of winter abroad: clear, windless, with all the stars that ever shone a-twinkle in the far velvet depths of the sky beyond the low window of my room. I had drawn wide the curtains to let the companionable lights come in: to stare, too, into the vast pool of shadows, which was the sea, unquiet and sombre beneath the serenity and twinkling splendor of the night. Thus I lay awake, high on the pillows, tucked to my chin: but feigned a restful slumber when I caught the sigh and downcast tread of his coming.
“Dannie,” he whispered, “is you awake?”