CHAPTER VI
A PAIR OF SHOES AND STOCKINGS
The tide was running down, and Dickory made a swift passage to the town.Seeing on the pier the man from whom he had borrowed the rope, hestopped to return him his property, and thinking that the good people ofthe town should know that, no matter what had befallen Major Bonnet, hisdaughter had not gone with him and was safe among friends, he mentionedthese facts to the man, but with very few details, being in a hurry toreturn with his message.
Before he turned into the inlet, Dickory was called from the shore, andto his surprise he saw his mother standing on the bank in front of amass of bushes, which concealed her from her house.
"Come here, Dickory," she said, "and tell me what you have heard?"
Her son told his doleful tale.
"I fear me, mother," he said, "that Major Bonnet's ship has gone onsome secret and bad business, and that he is mixed up in it. Else whydid he desert his daughter? And if he intended to take her with him,that was worse."
"I don't know, Dickory," said good Dame Charter reflectively; "we mustnot be too quick to believe harm of our fellow-beings. It does look bad,as the townspeople thought, that Major Bonnet should own such a shipwith such a strange crew, but he is a man who knows his own business,and may have had good reason for what he has done. He might have beensailing out to some foreign part to bring back a rich cargo, and neededstout men to defend it from the pirates that he might meet with on theseas."
"But his daughter, mother," said Dickory; "how could he have left her ashe did? That was shameful, and even you must admit it."
"Not so fast, Dickory," said she; "there are other ways of looking atthings than the way in which we look at them. He had intended to takeMistress Kate on a little trip; she told me that herself. And mostlikely, having changed his mind on account of the suspicions in thetown, he sent word to her to return to her home, which message she didnot get."
Dickory considered.
"Yes, mother," he said, "it might have been that way, but I don'tbelieve that he went of his own accord, and I don't believe that hewould take Ben Greenway with him. I think, mother, that they were bothstolen with the ship."
"That might be," said his mother, "but we have no right to take such aview of it, and to impart it to his daughter. If he went away of his ownaccord, everything will doubtless be made right, and we shall know hisreasons for what he has done. It is not for us to make up our minds thatMajor Bonnet and good Ben Greenway have been carried off by wicked men,for this would be sad indeed for that fair girl to believe. So remember,Dickory, that it is our duty always to think the best of everything. Andnow I will go through the underbrush to the house, and when you getthere yourself you must tell your story as if you had not told it tome."
Before Dickory had reached his mother's cottage Mistress Kate Bonnetcame running to meet him, and she did not seem to be the same girl hehad left that morning. Her clothes had been dried and smoothed; even herhat, which had been found in the boat, had been made shapely andwearable, and its ribbons floated in the breeze. Dickory glanced at herfeet, and as he did so, a thrill of strange delight ran through him. Hesaw his own Sunday shoes, with silver buckles, and he caught a glimpseof a pair of brown stockings, which he knew went always with thoseshoes.
"I am quite myself again," she said, noticing his wide eyes, "and yourmother has been good enough to lend me a pair of your shoes andstockings. Mine are so utterly ruined, and I could not walk barefooted."
Dickory was so filled with pride that this fair being could wear hisshoes, and that she was wearing them, that he could only mumble somestupid words about being so glad to serve her. And she, wise girl, saidnothing about the quantities of soft cotton-wool which Dame Charter hadbeen obliged to stuff into the toes before they would stay upon thesmall feet they covered.
"But my father," cried Kate, "what of him? Where is he?"
Now Dame Charter was with them, her eyes hard fixed upon her son.
Dickory, mindful of those eyes, told her what he had to tell, saying aslittle as possible about Major Bonnet--because, of course, all that heknew about him was mere hearsay--but dilating with much vigour upon theshameful conduct of Madam Bonnet; for the young lady ought surely toknow what sort of a woman her father's wife really was, and what shemight expect if she should return to her house. He could have said evenmore about the interview with the angry woman, but his mother's eyeswere upon him.
Kate heard everything without a word, and then she burst into tears.
"My father," she sobbed, "carried away, or gone away, and one is as badas the other!"
"Dickory," said Dame Charter, "go cut some wood; there is none readyfor the kitchen."
Dickory went away, not sorry, for he did not know how to deport himselfwith a young lady whose heart was so sorely tried. He might havediscovered a way, if he had been allowed to do so; but that would nothave been possible with his mother present. But, in spite of her sorrow,his heart sang to him that she was wearing his shoes and stockings! Thenhe cheerfully brought down his axe upon the wood for the dinner'scooking.
Dame Charter led the weeping girl to the bench, and they talked longtogether. There was no optimist in all the British colonies, nor forthat matter in those belonging to France or Spain, or even to the Dutch,who was a more conscientious follower of her creed than Dame Charter.She sat by Kate and she talked to her until the girl stopped sobbing andbegan to see for herself that her father knew his own business, and thathe had most certainly sent her a message to go on shore, which had notbeen delivered.
As to poor Ben Greenway, the good woman was greatly relieved that herson had not mentioned him, and she took care not to do it herself. Shedid not wish to strain her optimism. Kate, having so much else upon hermind, never thought of this good man.
When Dickory came back, he first looked to see if Kate still wore hisshoes and stockings, and then he began to ask what there was that hemight now do. He would go again to the town if he might be of use. ButKate had no errand for him there. Dickory had told her how he had beenwith Mr. Newcombe at her home, and therefore there was no need of hersending him another message.
"I don't know where to go or where to send," she said simply; "I amlost, and that is all of it."
"Oh, no," cried Dame Charter, "not that! You are with good friends, andhere you can stay just as long as you like."
"Indeed she can!" said Dickory, as if he were making a response inchurch.
His mother looked at him and said nothing. And then she took Kate outinto a little grove behind the house to see if she could find some ripeoranges.
It was a fair property, although not large, which belonged to the WidowCharter. Her husband had been a thriving man, although a little inclinedto speculations in trade which were entirely out of his line, and whenhe met his death in the sea he left her nothing but her home and someinconsiderable land about it. Dickory had been going to a grammar-schoolin the town, and was considered a fair scholar, but with his father'sdeath all that stopped, and the boy was obliged to go to work to do whathe could for his mother. And ever since he had been doing what hecould, without regard to appearances, thinking only of the money.
But on Sunday, when he rowed his mother to church, he wore good clothes,being especially proud of his buckled shoes and his long brown hose,which were always of good quality.
They were eating dinner when oars were heard on the river, and in amoment a boat swung around into the inlet. In the stern sat MasterMartin Newcombe, and two men were rowing.
Now Dickory Charter swore in his heart, although he was not accustomedto any sort of blasphemy; and as Miss Kate gazed eagerly through theopen window, our young friend narrowly scrutinized her face to see ifshe were glad or not. She was glad, that was plain enough, and he wentout sullenly to receive the arriving interloper.
When they were all standing on the shore, Kate did not think it worthwhile to ask Master Newcombe how he happened to know where she was. Butthe young man waited for no questions; he went
on to tell his story.When he related that it was a man fishing on a pier who had told himthat young Mistress Kate Bonnet was stopping with Dame Charter, Katewondered greatly, for as Dickory had met Master Newcombe, what need hadthere been for the latter to ask questions about her of a stranger? Butshe said nothing. And Dickory growled in his soul that he had everspoken to the man on the pier, except to thank him for the rope he hadborrowed.
Martin Newcombe's story went on, and he told that, having been extremelyangered by the conduct and words of Madam Bonnet, he had gone into thetown and made inquiries, hoping to hear something of the whereabouts ofMistress Kate. And, having done so, by means of the very obliging personon the pier, he had determined that the daughter of Major Bonnet shouldhave her rights; and he had gone to his own lawyer, who assured him thatbeing a person of recognised respectability, possessing property, he wasfully authorized, knowing the wishes of Mistress Kate Bonnet, to go toher step-mother and demand that those wishes be complied with; and ifthis very reasonable request should be denied, then the lawyer wouldtake up the matter himself, and would see to it that reasonable raimentand the necessities of a young lady should not be withheld from her.
With these instructions, Newcombe had gone to Madam Bonnet and had foundthat much disturbed lady in a state of partial collapse, which hadfollowed her passion of the morning, and who had declared that nothingin the world would please her better than to get rid of her husband'sdaughter and never see her again. And if the creature needed clothes oranything else which belonged to her, a maid should pack them up, andanybody who pleased might take them to any place, provided she heard nomore about them or their owner.
In all this she spoke most truthfully, for she hated her step-daughter,both because she was a fine young woman and much regarded by her father,and because she had certain rights to the estate of said father, whichhis present wife did not wish to recognise, or even to think about. SoMartin Newcombe was perfectly welcome to take away such things as wouldrender it unnecessary for the girl to now return to the home in whichshe had been born. Martin had brought the box, and here he was.
It was not long before Newcombe and the lady of his love were walkingaway through the little plantation, in order that they might speak bythemselves. Dickory looked after them and frowned, but he bravelycomforted himself by thinking that he had been the one into whose armsshe had dropped, through the blackness of the night and the blackness ofthe water, knowing in her heart that he would be there ready for her,and also by the thought that it was his shoes and stockings that shewore. Dame Charter saw this frown on her son's face, but she did notguess the thoughts which were in his mind.