CHAPTER III.
A MEETING ON THE SANDS.
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet."
The little town of Silversands was built on the cliffs by the sea, soclose over the greeny-blue water that the dash of the waves was alwaysin your ears and the taste of the salt spray on your lips. Thepicturesque thatched fishermen's cottages lay scattered one aboveanother down the steep hillside at such strange and irregular anglesthat the narrow streets which led from the quay wound in and out like amaze, and you found your way to the shore down flights of wide stepsunder low archways, or by a pathway cut through your neighbour's cabbagepatch. It was not difficult to guess the occupation of most of theinhabitants, for fishing-nets of all descriptions might be seen hangingout to dry over every available railing; great flat skates and congereels were nailed to the doorways to be cured in the sun; rosy-facedwomen appeared to be eternally washing blue jerseys, which flutteredlike flags from the various little gardens; and the bare-headed,brown-legged children who gathered cockles on the sands, or angled forcrabs from the jetty, seemed as much at home in the water as on dryland. The harbour was decidedly fishy; bronzed burly seamen wereperpetually unloading cargoes of herrings which they stowed away intobarrels, or lobsters that were carefully packed in baskets to bedispatched to the neighbouring towns. There was a kind of open-airmarket, fitted up with rickety stalls where you might buy fresh cod andmackerel still alive and shining with all the lovely fleeting colourswhich fade so quickly when they are taken from the water. You couldafford to be extravagant in the way of shell-fish, if you liked suchdelicacies, since a large red cotton pocket-handkerchief full of cocklesand mussels only cost a penny, and whelks and periwinkles sold at ahalfpenny the pint.
At high water the quay was always agog with excitement, the coming in ofthe boats being accompanied with that hauling of ropes, creaking ofwindlasses, shouting of hoarse voices and general confusion both amongtoiling workers and idle loungers that seem inseparable from thebusiness of a port, while the occasional advent of an excursion steamerwas an event which attracted every looker-on in the harbour. All thetalk at Silversands was of tides and storms, of good or bad catches, theluck of one vessel or the ill-fortune of another, and to the fisher-folkthe affairs of the empire were of small importance compared with thearrival and departure of the herring-fleet. The schools gave a thinveneer of education, but it seemed to vanish away directly with thecontact of the waves, so that the customs and modes of thought of mostof the people differed little from those of their forefathers who slept,some in the churchyard on the edge of the cliff, with quaint epitaphs torecord their virtues, and some in those deeper graves over which nostones could be reared.
Standing apart from the old town was a modern portion which was justbeginning to dignify itself with the name of a seaside resort. To besure, it was yet guiltless of pier, promenade, band, or niggers; but, asthe owner of the new grocery stores remarked, "you never knew what mightfollow, and many a fashionable watering-place had risen from quite asmodest a commencement." There was already a row of shops withplate-glass windows and a handsome display of spades, buckets,shell-purses, baskets, china ornaments, photographic views, and otherarticles calculated to tempt the shillings from the pockets of summervisitors; there were several streets of lodging-houses near the railwaystation, as well as the long terrace facing the sea, dignified ratherprematurely by the name of "The Parade," and an enterprising tradesmanfrom Ferndale had opened a tea-room and a circulating library. Theproprietor of the bathing machines was doing a good business, and hadset up a stand with six donkeys; a photographer had ventured to erect awooden studio upon the beach, where he would take your likeness foreighteenpence; and the common was occasionally the camp of sometravelling circus, which, though _en route_ for a larger sphere ofaction, did not disdain to give a performance in passing.
Like a link between the old and the new, the ancient gray stone churchstood on the verge of the cliff above the harbour, looking out to sea asif it were always watching over those of its children who had theirbusiness in great waters, and sending up silent prayers on their behalf.In the square tower the bells had rung for seven hundred years, and theflat roof with its turreted battlements told tales of wild times ofBorder forays, when the people had fled with their goods to the one spotof safety, and watched the smoke of their burning farms, as thevictorious Scots drove away their cattle over the blue line of hillstowards the north.
But I think the great attraction of Silversands was its delightfulbeach. The sands were hard and firm, and covered in places with patchesof sea holly or horned poppies and the beautiful pink bindweed growinghere and there with its roots deep down among the clumps of stones.Above rose the cliffs in bold craggy outlines, their tops crowned by aheather-clad common which stretched far inland, while the low tidedisclosed attractive rocky pools where anemones, hermit crabs, seaurchins, jelly fish, mermaids' purses, starfishes, and all kinds offascinating objects might be captured by those who cared to look forthem.
The afternoon of the day following her arrival found Isobel wanderingalong this shore alone. Mrs. Stewart had been unfortunate enough to meetwith an accident that morning: slipping on the rocks she had twisted herankle severely, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that shehad managed to limp back to the lodgings.
"It's a bad sprain, too," said Mrs. Jackson, shaking her head as shehelped to soak cold water bandages. "You won't be able to put that footto the ground for a matter of ten days or more. It's a good thing now asI didn't sell the sofa, which I nearly let it go in the spring, as it dofill up the room so; but you can rest there nicely, and keep puttin' onfresh cloths all the time, though it do seem a pity, with your holidayonly just begun."
"I must try to be patient, and get it well as fast as possible," repliedMrs. Stewart.--"I'm afraid it will be very dull for you, Isobel, my poorchild, while I'm lying here. You will have to amuse yourself on thebeach as best you can. I certainly can't have you staying indoors on myaccount."
"It will be much duller for you, mother dear," said Isobel. "I shall beall right--I like being on the shore--but you won't have anything to doexcept read. What a good thing we brought plenty of books with us! I'mso sorry our sitting-room hasn't any view. I shall try to find all theshells and sea-weeds and things that I can, and keep bringing them in toshow you."
It was on a quest, therefore, for any treasures which she thought mightinterest her mother that Isobel strolled slowly along, looking withdelight at the gleaming sea, the red sails of the herring-fleet, and thelittle white yacht which came slowly round the point of the cliff,waiting for a puff of wind to take her to the harbour. The tide wascoming in fast, and the churning of the waves, as they ground the smallpebbles along the beach, had the most inspiriting and refreshing sound.She stooped every now and then to pick up a shell, or to clutch at agreat piece of ribbon sea-weed which was dashed to her feet by anadvancing wave; she had an exciting chase after a scuttling crab, andmissed him in the end, and nearly got drenched with spray trying torescue a walking-stick which she could see floating at the edge of thewater. She had filled her pockets with a moist collection of specimens,and was half thinking of turning back to retrace her footsteps to MarineTerrace, when from behind a crag of rock which jutted out sharply on tothe sands she heard a sound of children's voices and laughter. Movedwith curiosity she peeped round the corner, and found herself at theedge of a small patch of green common that ran along the shore betweenthe cliffs and the sea. It was covered with soft fine grass and littlelow-growing flowers; the broken masts washed up from a wreck madecapital seats; and, altogether, it appeared as pleasant a playground ascould well be imagined.
So, at any rate, seemed to think the group of boys and girls who wereassembled there, since they had set up some wickets, and wereenthusiastically engaged in a game of cricket, for which the short finegrass made an excellent pitch. It looked so interesting that Isobelstrolled rather nearer to the players, and finding
an upturned boat uponthe beach, she curled herself under its shadow, and settled down,apparently unnoticed, to watch the progress of the game. She could hearas well as see, and her ears were keenly alert to the scraps of livelyconversation which floated towards her.
"Have you found the ball?"
"Yes; under a heap of nettles, and stung my fingers horribly. Just lookat the blisters."
"Don't be a baby. Go on; it's your play."
"I can't hold the bat while my hands hurt so."
"Then miss your turn.--Come along, Bertie, and have your innings; Ruthdoesn't want hers."
"Yes, I do! I'm older than Bertie, so I must go in first. If you'd onlywait a minute, till I can find a dock leaf."
"We can't wait. How tiresome you are! Here, Bertie, take the bat."
"It's not fair! We were to go in ages, and I'm six months older than heis."
"You can have your turn after Joyce."
"Joyce! She's only nine, and I'm eleven."
"Then miss it altogether, and don't make yourself a nuisance!--Now then,Bertie, look out for a screw."
"It's a shame! I always seem to get left out of things!" grumbled thelittle girl, with a very aggrieved countenance, sitting down upon arusty anchor, and nursing her nettled hand tenderly.
"It's your own fault this time, at any rate," said a companion, withscant sympathy. "There are plenty of dock leaves growing under the cliffif you want them."
"Bravo, Bertie! Well hit!"
"Quick with that ball, Arthur!"
"Play up, Bertie!"
"Well run! Well run!"
"Oh, he's out! Hard luck!"
"Whose turn is it now?"
"Belle's."
"Where is she?"
"Here I am, ready and waiting. Now give me a good ball. It's Hugh's turnto bowl, and if he sends me one of his nasty screws or sneaks I shan'tbe friends with him any more."
Isobel gazed at the last speaker, entranced. There was no mistaking theapple-blossom cheeks and the silky flaxen curls of her fellow-travellerin the crowded carriage, though to-day the white silk dress and the bluehat were replaced by a delicate pale pink muslin and a broad-brimmedstraw trimmed with a gauze scarf. She looked even more charming thanever, like some fairy in a story-book or one of the very prettiestpictures you get upon chocolate boxes; she seemed to put all otherchildren round her in the shade, and as she stood there, a gracefullittle figure at the wicket, Isobel's eyes followed her every movementwith an absolute fascination.
The first ball was a slow one, and she hit it fairly well, but did notmake a run; the next she merely slogged; the third was high, and as shewisely let it alone, it cleared the wicket; the fourth was a full pitch:she tried to play it down, but unfortunately it hit the top of her bat,and went right into the long-stop's hands.
"Caught!"
"She's out!"
"What an easy catch!"
"Come along, Aggie, your innings."
The vanquished player put down her bat somewhat reluctantly, and walkedslowly away in the direction of the old boat. She sat down on the sandclose by Isobel, and taking off her hat, began to fan her hot face withit After stealing several glances at her companion, she at lengthvolunteered a remark.
"It was too bad, wasn't it," she said, "to be caught out first thinglike that?"
"Much too bad!" replied Isobel. "But I think they were horrid balls."
"So they were. Hugh always sends the most mean ones. Weren't you in thetrain with us yesterday?"
"Yes. I saw you first at the bookstall at Tiverton."
"Didn't you think the people in the carriage detestable? I nearly diedwith the heat and stuffiness."
"It was dreadfully hot and noisy."
"Noisy! I don't know which was worse--the baby or the banjo! You werebetter off sitting by the window, though that fat old man would keeptalking to you."
"He was rather kind," said Isobel; "I didn't mind him."
"I suppose you're staying at Silversands, aren't you?"
"Yes, at 4 Marine Terrace."
"We're in Marine Terrace too, at No. 12. We have the upstairs suite.They're not bad rooms for a little place like this, but they don't knowhow to wait. Mother says she wishes they'd build a hotel here. What's itlike at No. 4?"
"It's quite comfortable," replied Isobel. "We have a nice landlady."
"Are there only just you and your mother?"
"That's all."
"Have you no father?"
"He's dead. He was killed in the Boer War."
"Was he a soldier, then?"
"Yes; he was a captain in the Fifth Dragoon Guards."
"My father is dead too. Have you any brothers and sisters?"
"No. I never had any."
"Neither have I. I only wish I had. It's so lonely without, isn't it?"
"It is, rather; but I'm a great deal with mother."
"So am I; still, when she's at home she's out so much, and then I neverknow what to do."
"Don't you read?" said Isobel.
"I'm not fond of reading. I only like books when there's really nothingelse to amuse myself with."
"You were buying a book at Tiverton. Which one did you get? Is itnice?"
"It's just a school story. I forget its name now. I haven't looked at itagain."
"Then you didn't choose 'The Red Cross Knight' after all?"
"Oh, that's too like lessons! I've had all that with my governess, andabout King Arthur too. I'm quite tired of them. Have you a governess?"
"No," replied Isobel; "I do lessons with mother."
"How jolly for you! I wish I did. I'm to be sent to school in anotheryear, and I don't think I shall like that at all. When are you going?"
"Not till I'm thirteen, I expect."
"How old are you now?"
"Almost eleven."
"Why, so am I! When's your birthday?"
"On the thirteenth of September."
"And mine is on the tenth of October, so you're nearly a month olderthan I am. You haven't told me your name yet?"
"My name's Isobel Stewart."
"What!" cried the other, opening her blue eyes wide in the greatestastonishment. "That's _my_ name!"
"_Your_ name!" exclaimed Isobel, in equal amazement.
"Of course it is. _My_ name's Isabelle Stuart."
"How do you spell it?"
"I-S-A-B-E-L-L-E S-T-U-A-R-T."
"And mine's spelt I-S-O-B-E-L S-T-E-W-A-R-T, so that makes a littledifference."
"So it does. I'm called 'Belle,' too, for short. Are you?"
"No; never anything but Isobel."
"It's funny. We're the same name and the same age, and we're staying inthe same terrace. I think it is what you'd call a 'coincidence.' We cameto Silversands on the same day, too, and in the same railway carriage.We ought to be twin sisters. You're really rather like me, you know,only you're pale, and your hair doesn't curl."
Isobel shook her head. She had a very modest opinion of her ownattractions, and would not have dreamt of comparing her appearance withthat of her pretty companion, so very far did she think she ranked belowthe other's style of beauty.
"I should like to be friends, at any rate," she said shyly. "Perhaps Ishall see you again upon the shore. I'm afraid that's your mothercalling you. I think I ought to go home now too; I didn't mean to be outso long."
Isabelle Stuart sprang to her feet.
"Yes, it's mother calling," she said. "She's walked up with Mrs. Rokeby.I must fly. But I hope we shall meet again. I shall look out for you onthe sands. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye!"
Isobel stood watching her as she ran lightly away; then turning, shehurried home as fast as possible along the beach, for she was veryexcited at this strange meeting, and was anxious to give her mother afull and detailed account of it.
"I didn't ask her _her_ name, mother," she explained. "It was she whoasked me mine. You told me I'd better not speak to her; but she spoke tome first, and asked me ever so many questions. Isn't it queer that ournames should b
e just the same, and our ages too? You'll let us befriends now, won't you? I think she's the nicest girl I've ever met inmy life, and I can't tell you how much I want to know her."