Have you a mother?"
"Oh, yes, we has a mother, but only she's gone dead. The parson saidshe'd gone to heaven; but I don't know, you know. Wish she'd come back,though," he added with a sigh.
"I'm so sorry," said Miss Scragley, patting his hand.
"Oh, don't ye do that, mum, and don't talk kind to me, else I'll cry. Ifeels the tears a-comin' now. Nobody ever, ever talks kindly to me andBabs when at home, 'cepting father, in course, 'cause we're on'y commoncanal folks and outcasts from serciety."
Ransey Tansey was very earnest. Miss Scragley had really a kind heartof her own, only she couldn't help smiling at the boy's language.
"Who told you so?"
"W'y, the man as opens the pews."
"Oh, you've been to church, then?"
"Oh, yes; went the other Sunday. Had nuthin' better to do, and thoughtI'd give Babs a treat."
"And did you go in those--clothes?"
"Well, mum, I couldn't go with nuthin' on--could I, now? An' thepew-man just turned us both out. But Babs was so good, and didn't cry abit till she got out. Then I took her away through the woods to hearthe birds sing; and mebbe God was there too, 'cause mother said He waseverywhere."
"Yes, boy, God is everywhere. And where does your mother sleep,Ransey?"
"Sleep? Oh, in heaven. Leastways I s'pose so."
"I mean, where was your gentle mother buried?"
"Oh, at sea, mum. Sailor's grave, ye know."
Ransey looked very sad just then.
"You don't mean in the canal, surely?"
"Yes, mum. Father wouldn't have it no other way. I can't forget;'tain't much more'n a year ago, though it looks like ten. Father, yeknow, 'ad been a long time in furrin parts afore he was capting o' the_Merry Maiden_."
The lad had thrown himself down on the grass at a respectable distancefrom Miss Scragley, and his big blue, eyes grew bigger and sadder as hecontinued his story.
"'Twere jest like this, mum. Mother'd been bad for weeks and so quietlike, and father _so_ kind, 'cause he didn't never touch no rum whenmother was sick. We was canal-ing most o' the time; and one night westopped at the `Bargee's Chorus'--only a little public-house, mum, asperhaps you wouldn't hardly care to be seen drinkin' at. We stoppedhere 'cause mother was wuss, and old dad sent for a doctor; and I putJim into the meadow. Soon's the doctor saw poor mother, he sez, sez he,`Ye'd better get the parson. No,' he sez, `I won't charge ye nuthin'for attendance; it's on'y jest her soul as wants seein' to now.'
"Well, mum, the parson came. He'd a nice, kind face like you has, mum,and he told mother lots, and made her happy like. Then he said aprayer. I was kind o' dazed, I dussay; but when mother called us toher, and kissed me and Babs, and told us she was goin' on to a happierland, I broke out and cried awful. And Babs cried too, and said, `An'me too, ma. Oh, take Babs.'
"Father led us away to the inn, and I jest hear him say to the parson,`No, no, sir, no. No parish burial for me. She's a sailor's wife;she'll rest in a sailor's grave!'
"I don't know, mum, what happened that night and next day, for me andBabs didn't go on board again.
"Only, the evenin' arter, when the moon and stars was ashinin' over thewoods and deep down in the watur, father comes to me.
"`Ransey,' sez father, `fetch Jim; we're goin' on.' And I goes andfetches Jim, and yokes him to and mounts; and father he put Babs upaside me, 'cause Jim's good and never needs a whip.
"`Go on, Ransey,' sez he, an' steps quietly on board and takes thetiller.
"Away we went--through the meadows and trees, and then through a long,quiet moor.
"Father kep' the barge well out, and she looked sailin' among thestars--which it wasn't the stars, on'y their 'flection, mum. Well, wewas halfway through the moor, and Babs was gone sound asleep 'cross myarm, when I gives Jim his head and looks back.
"An', oh, mum, there was old dad standin' holdin' the tiller wi' onehand. The moon was shinin' on his face and on his hair, which is greykind, and he kep' lookin' up and sayin' somethin'.
"Then there was a plash. Oh, I knew then it was dead mother; and--and--I jest let Jim go on--and--and--"
But Ransey's story stopped right here. He was pursing up his lips andtrying to swallow the lump in his throat; and Miss Scragley herselfturned her head away to hide the moisture in her eyes.
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Grief does not stay long at a time in the hearts of children. It comesthere all the same, nevertheless, and is quite as poignant while it doeslast as it is in the breasts of older folks. Children are like thetraditional April day--sunshine and showers.
"I think, mum," said Ransey after a while, "it is time for us to bundleand go."
Miss Scragley watched the lad with considerable interest while he struckhis little camp. First he scattered the remains of his fire and ashescarefully, so that there should be no danger to the wood. Then heprepared to hide his ship.
"Did you make that pretty ship?" said Eedie.
"Oh, yes; I can make beautiful ships and boats, 'cause I seed lots on'em w'en father took me to Southampton. Oh, that seems millions andmillions o' years ago. And ye see, miss," he added, "I'm goin' to be asailor anyhow, and sail all over the wide world, like father did, andby-and-by I'll be rich enough to have a real ship of my own."
"Oh, how nice! And will Babs go with you?"
"As long as Babs is quite little," he answered, "I can't go to sea atall, 'cause Babs would die like dead mother if I went away."
He had Babs in his arms by this time, and it was evident enough that theaffection between these two little canal people was very strong indeed.
Seated on his left shoulder, and hugging Ransey's head towards her, Babsevidently thought she was in a position to give a harangue.
She accordingly addressed herself to Eedie:--
"My bloder 'Ansey is doin' to drow a big, big man. As big as dad. Mybloder 'Ansey is doin' to be a sailor in s'ips, and Babs is doin'. 'Oo_mufn't_ [mustn't] take my bloder away from Babs. 'Oor mudder mufn't,and noboddy mufn't."
Meanwhile her brother was nearly strangled by the vehemence of heraffection. But he gently disengaged the little arm and set her on themoss once more. He speedily enveloped her in the shawl, and thenhoisted her on his back.
Next he hung his bag in front, and handed the fishing-rod to Bob.
"We must all go now, lady."
"Oh, yes, and we too must go. We have to thank you for a veryinteresting half-hour."
Ransey wasn't used to such politeness as this little speech indicated.What to say in reply did not readily occur to him.
"Wish," he said awkwardly and shyly, "I could talk as nice like as youand t'other young lady."
Miss Scragley smiled. She rather liked being thought a young lady evenby a little canal boy like Ransey.
"Oh, you will some day. Can you read?"
"Ye-es. Mother taught me to read, and by-and-by I'll teach Babs likeone o'clock. I can read `Nick o' the Woods' and the `Rev'lations o'Saint John;' but Babs likes `Jack the Giant Killer' better'n the Bible.An' oh," he added, somewhat proudly, "I got a letter to-day, and I couldread that; and it was to say as how father was comin' home in four days.And the postman cheeked us, and shook his head, threat'nin' like, and Ithrew a big turmut and broke it."
"What! broke his head?"
"Oh, no, mum, only jest the turmut. An' Bob went after him, and downwent postie. Ye would have larfed, mum."
"I'm afraid you're a bad boy sometimes."
"Yes, I feels all over bad--sometimes."
"I like bad boys best," said Eedie boldly, "they're such fun."
"Babs," said Ransey, "you'll hang me dead if you hold so tight."
"Well, dears, I'm going to come and see you to-morrow, perhaps, or nextday, and bring Babs a pretty toy."
"Babs," said the child defiantly, "has dot a dolly-bone, all dlessed andboo'ful." This was simply a ham-bone, on the ball of which Ransey hadscratched eyes and a m
outh and a nose, and dressed it in green moss andrags. And Babs thought nothing could beat that.
As she rode off triumphantly on Ransey's back, Babs looked back, heldone bare