by Joan Aiken
"Yus. And don't I jist wish I was back in England," Dido remarked with feeling. "But your pa says he'll put me on a boat from New Bedford, wherever that is."
"Near Nantucket. We may unload there before going home. But I don't suppose I shall be going home now," Dutiful Penitence said drearily. "There'd be nobody to look after me except Aunt Tribulation, Papa says, and I won't stay with her. Dear Mamma would never have allowed it. Maybe Cousin Ann Allerton will have me in New Bedford."
"What's wrong with Aunt Tribulation?" Dido asked. She had heard the name before.
"She's Papa's sister. She's dreadfully sharp and unkind! She lives in Vine Rapids now, but she came to stay once and upset me and Mamma. Mamma would never let Papa invite her again; she said Aunt Tribulation was an Amazon! Oh, she did upset us! She said dear Mamma was a fool and was bringing me up to be a crybaby. And that my clothes were ridiculously fussy.
"What does she look like?"
"I can't remember—quite. It was a long time ago—when I was three. I remember she scolded me dreadfully because I was afraid of her dog. She said I was a little wet goose."
"What kind of dog was it?"
"A s-spaniel."
"Hum," said Dido. "For a sea captain's daughter you certainly are a rum 'un, Dutiful. Scared of a spaniel? And, look here, whoever tied that handle to you musta been dicked in the nob, and I'm not going to lay my tongue round it every time. I'll call you Pen. Agreeable?"
"Yes, thank you," Penitence said shyly. "No one ever gave me a short name before. How old are you, Dido?"
"I've sorta lost count," Dido admitted. "With the long nap and all. Round about eleven, I reckon. What did you do all the time shut in that cupboard, Pen?"
"Oh, it wasn't bad. Come and see."
They lit the lamp, and Penitence showed Dido her little room. It was really a store cupboard with shelves all round, but one of them had been turned into a bunk. There were a few lesson books, writing materials, sewing things, and rows and rows of empty jelly bottles.
"I did lots of lessons," Penitence explained, "and I read the Bible and learned a hymn every day. Shall I say one?"
"Not jist now, thanks," Dido answered promptly. "Croopus, ain't you good, though? Didn't you never get fed up?"
"Oh, no. I kept a journal—but it wasn't very interesting," Penitence confessed. "And I worked on my sampler." She held up an extremely large square, embroidered in cross-stitch with a ship and whales and gulls and a long piece of poetry beginning, "Mysterious Magnet! Ere thy use was known, Fear clad the Deep in horrors not its own." It was nearly finished.
"I'd sooner have done roses and doves," Penitence went on, "but dear M-Mamma thought it would please Papa if it had sea things. I began it when I was six."
"Well!" said Dido. "I'd ha' been blue-deviled in here. Specially when it's such prime fun on deck."
Penitence shivered. "I couldn't bear to go on deck. That dreadful sea! I know I'd fall in! And all the cross, rough men, and the horrid smells and dirt. Mamma always said it was dangerous up there. You won't try to make me go, will you?"
"Bless you, no. It ain't my affair. Anyhows, we can have a bang-up time in the cabin now you've decided to come out and be civil."
"Will you teach me that game with the feathered thing? And play tunes on your pipe?"
"Course I will. Us'll have rare fun."
"You don't think Mamma would mind?" Penitence said hesitantly. "She said playing games was a sin."
"Croo—" Dido began, but bit the words back.
Her own parents, as she recalled, had never seemed particularly kind or fond of her, but at least they were quite sensible; all that was said of Mrs. Casket, however, seemed to suggest that the woman had been an utter fool. Musta been queer in her attic, Dido thought. "Reckon she knows better now?" she suggested gruffly. "Lawks, if you never played, what did you do at home?"
"Helped with the housework."
"Well, I done that too. But I played arterward."
"After I'd done my tasks, Mamma used to let me sit on her lap while she read the Bible," said Penitence. Her composure faltered. "If—if I'd been extra good she used—she used to sing a h-hymn—"
Here, breaking down altogether, Penitence threw herself on the bed, buried her head in the quilt, and cried. She cried very much indeed.
Dido looked at her worriedly. There was little consolation to offer. Foolish, Mrs. Casket may have been, but her daughter had plainly thought the world of her.
"Don't take on so," Dido said after a while, with awkward sympathy. "Want a hankersniff? I've got one."
But as Penitence made no reply, just went on crying and shivering and choking, Dido knelt down on the floor by her, feeling oddly grown-up and capable and protective, and put an arm round her.
"Cheer up," she muttered. "I'll keep an eye on you. It won't work out so bad. You'll see."
The small, silvery head rubbed against her.
"Will you? Will you really?"
"That I will."
"And when we get home to Nantucket? Will you stay with me then? So's Papa don't leave me all alone with Aunt Tribulation? Please? Please! Mamma once said she couldn't bear for me to be brought up by Aunt Tribulation. She said Aunt Tribulation was a T-T-Tartar!"
The thin arms came round Dido's neck in a tight hug, so that she could hardly breathe.
"Well—maybe," Dido said reluctantly. "Just for a little while. Till your pa gets you fixed up with somebody else—"
"Oh, you are kind! You're so much braver than I am. I'm scared of everything. But you've even been in the sea! If you'll—if you'll stay with me it will be much better. Will you promise?"
"All right," Dido said, sighing.
"Would you—would you sing something now? That song you were singing before?"
"All right," said Dido again. She began to sing in a small gruff voice:
"Who'll buy my sweet lavender?
Three bunches a penny!
Fresh picked in Sevenoaks this morning,
Three bunches a penny!"
She stroked the tousled head. It lay heavily on her shoulder, and before long drooped in sleep.
Dido sat and stared at the lamp, which they had forgotten to turn out. Presently its yellow flame swelled and wavered in a blur of tears. Resolutely she blinked them away. It was stupid to be homesick. But she longed for the familiar London streets where she had played. With a heavy heart she wondered how long it would be before she saw them again.
"I'll tell you one thing, Pen, my girl," she muttered as the sleeping Penitence shifted against her. "If I'm to look arter you, I'm somehow going to get you out o' this way o' being scairt o' the whole blame world!"
4
Encouraging Pen. The Galapagos.
Gamming with the Martha. Mr. Slighcarp's strange
behavior. Round the Horn and back to New Bedford.
"Psst! Hey! Cap'n—Cap'n Casket! Will you step this away?"
Captain Casket started, as Dido's voice roused him from his usual sad reverie; he turned and saw her standing behind him.
Making sure that no one could overhear, she came close to him and hissed conspiratorially, "I've done it! She's out!"
Captain Casket appeared thunderstruck.
"On deck?"
"No, no, no, gaffer. Not yet. Give us time. But she's out in the cabin eatin' of plum duff and a-playin' hopscotch. I'll have her on deck one o' these days, though, s'long as you don't come creating and badgering."
"Thee is a remarkable child," Captain Casket said solemnly.
"I say, though," Dido went on, "what 'bout this Auntie Trib, then? She fair gives young Pen the horrors. It'll be all my work for Habakkuk if Pen finds Auntie Trib's going to have charge of her in Nantucket; she'll snib herself up in the pantry again before you can say whale-o!"
Captain Casket looked harassed. "Sister Tribulation is really a most estimable character," he murmured. "She is endowed with every Christian virtue."
"You allus says that," Dido objected.
> "My poor Sarah—my poor wife never understood her. But I am sure that thee could persuade Dutiful Penitence to like her aunt, my child."
"That's as may be," Dido said doubtfully. "Anyhows, you better consider if there ain't somebody else as could do the job. I'm a-warning you, see. Goodness sakes, on an island the size of Nantucket" (Dido had found it on the map by now) "there must be somebody else as could have charge of her. Between what Pen thinks she remembers and what her ma said about Auntie Trib, she's fair frit o' the name 'Tribulation.' Now I'm a-going to teach Dutiful P. to play shuttlecock; lor, I don't wonder the poor little thing's so mopish. She ain't had no upbringing at all!"
It took several weeks of Dido's company and encouragement before Penitence could be persuaded on deck. Dido was too shrewd to hurry her. They played endless games in the cabin, sang songs, asked riddles, and talked, each telling the other the whole story of her life. Penitence was quite amazed by Dido's homesick tales of the London streets and could never hear enough about the fairs and the fights, the street markets, Punch and Judy shows, glimpses of grand people in their carriages, and the little Scottish King James III, against whom the Hanoverians were always plotting.
"Fancy living in such a great city!" Penitence said dreamily. "Why, where we lived in Nantucket it's almost three miles to the next house."
"Wouldn't suit me," Dido said. "I likes a bit o' life and company. There was allus summat doing in Rose Alley, London, where I come from." She sighed, thinking of it.
"My mamma didn't like the loneliness either. She came from Boston. When Papa went to sea," Pen confessed, "she used to take me for long visits to Cousin Ann in New Bedford and Aunt Edith in Boston. We never stayed in Nantucket very long, and I haven't been there for years. Mamma was scared of being on her own."
"I wouldn't be scared; not such a clodpole as that," Dido said. "Just prefer more people about. Don't you want to write your journal now, Pen? And learn a hymn or two? Tol-lol. I'll go up on deck for a breath of air."
Dido had become quite fond of Pen by now—there was more in the funny little thing than met the eye—but, nonetheless, it was a relief to run up on deck now and then, to talk to Nate and joke with the sailors; after a few hours of Pen's company she felt she wanted to shout and jump and climb into the rigging. Pen had grown absolutely devoted to her and, Dido considered, was coming out of her mopey ways very well. By innumerable tales about her own life Dido was managing to suggest that all dogs do not bite, that occupations such as skating and swimming can be enjoyable, that people tend to be friendlier when you talk to them boldly and cheerfully than when you cower away as if you expect them to murder you. Progress was being made.
Pen still kept her quiet tastes, though; she liked to spend several hours a day doing lessons and sewing; she offered to read the Bible or hymns to Dido, but this, for the most part, Dido politely refused.
"Tell you what, though," she suggested. "How 'bout asking your pa if we can invite Nate to come down and sing you some o' his songs? He knows a rare lot, and on top o' that he's allus rattling off new ones. Wouldn't you like it, eh?"
Penitence looked doubtful. "I haven't seen Nate since he was twelve. Is he very big now? He isn't rough? He wouldn't tease me or hurt me?"
"Now, Pen! Don't you know me better'n that by now? Would I ask him if he was liable to do such blame-fool things? I'm surprised at you!"
Pen apologized and recalled that Nate's mother had been very kind and used to bring her presents of bantam eggs when she was little. Captain Casket's permission was obtained, and Nate, rather bashfully, came down to the stateroom with his zither. At first Penitence trembled a good deal at the close presence of such a tall, lanky, red headed creature, and was quite speechless with shyness. But when Nate sang:
"Oh, fierce is the Ocean and wild is the Sound,
But the isle of Nantucket is where I am bound—
Sweet isle of Nantucket! where the grapes are so red,
And the light flashes nightly on Sankaty Head!"
she was quite delighted, clapped her hands, and exclaimed, "Oh that is pretty! Sing it again!"
Nate sang it again, and many others. Dido, curled up under the chart table, hugged her knees and congratulated herself. From that day, Nate was a welcome visitor in the cabin; in fact, he was with them, singing a song about the high-rolling breakers on the south shore of Nantucket, and the brave fishermen who launched their dories through the foam, when a sudden shout from the deck startled them.
"Land! Land-ho!"
"Must have sighted the Galapagos!" said Nate, scrambling to his feet. "Blame it, why wasn't I up aloft? Cap'n Casket allus gives half a dollar to the first one that sights land. See you later, gals!" And he bolted out.
"How about it, Pen," Dido said carelessly. "Coming ashore for a look-see? Nate says there are giant tortoises on the Galapagos, as big as tea tables."
Penitence quailed. "Do they bite?"
"Pen, you really are a jobberknoll! How could a poor old tortoise bite you? He can't go much faster than a snail."
Pen hesitated in an agony of indecision. She longed to set foot on firm ground, but she was terrified of the frail, tippy boat in which they would have to be rowed to shore.
"I'd better change into my deck dress, hadn't I?" she said doubtfully.
"Deck dress? What in thunder's that?"
"Mamma always made me do so." Pen fetched it from a drawer. It was made of black taffeta, with many frills.
"Dear knows how you'd climb the rigging in that," Dido said with disfavor.
"Climb the rigging?" Pen turned pale at the very thought. "I'm not going to climb the rigging!"
"Oh, poison!" exclaimed Dido. "Change, then, if you want to. Only be quick about it. I must say, those togs you're wearing is a bit on the jammy side, now I comes to look at 'em. Maybe it is time you changed. Come on, I'll do you up the back."
There were about thirty tiny buttons on each of Pen's dresses; by the time Dido had undone one lot and done up the others, fiddling with the exquisitely stitched little satin loops, more than half an hour had gone by. The chance was lost: the boat had already set off for shore, under the command of Mr. Slighcarp, to secure fresh stocks of water and vegetables. Dido was bitterly disappointed but tried to conceal it because she had soon discovered that if she seemed put out, Pen flinched and showed a tendency to retreat into the cupboard again. So she swallowed her regret and said, "Never mind. Let's go up and see what we can see."
In fact, Dido was quite glad of the chance to bring Pen on deck while Mr. Slighcarp was out of the way; the rest of the men were kind and friendly to her, but the first mate always greeted her with a scowl and a harsh word; she had been rather anxious about the effect of this on Penitence. Luckily, the deck was quite empty when, clutching Dido's hand in a tight grip, Penitence timidly followed her up the companionway and came blinking into the sunshine.
"Oh," she breathed in astonishment. "Isn't it bright! And warm! I thought we were in the Arctic."
"We left that behind weeks ago," Dido said kindly. "Sit down on a coil o' rope; you're all of a tremble."
Penitence sank down obediently. In the bright sunshine her face seemed as pale as a primrose, and contrasted strangely with Dido's healthy tan. At first she was pitiably nervous; her great blue eyes widened and she clasped Dido's hand violently whenever a wave crest broke near the ship. The land was too far away for much to be visible except a low-lying mass with some scrubby trees on it. But they were excited to see another ship, the Martha, anchored not far away.
Presently Captain Casket wandered along the deck towards them. He started uncontrollably when he saw Penitence, but Dido gave him such a fierce scowl of warning that he tried to conceal his astonishment and only said, "I am glad to see thee out in the fresh air at last, Daughter. Thee must get some roses into thy cheeks like those of thy little friend."
Penitence made an awkward bob and answered, "Yes, Papa," in such a subdued tone that it was hardly audible; she seemed greatly reliev
ed when he walked away along the deck.
"You don't seem very pleased to see your pa, Pen," Dido remarked. "What's wrong? Ain't you fond of him? He's not a bad old codger. I wish my pa had ever said he was glad to see me!"
"Oh, yes—I am f-fond of Papa," Penitence faltered. "Only—only he always looks so gloomy and s-stern that he s-scares me dreadfully!"
Dido heaved a great sigh. "Dutiful Penitence Casket! Is there a single solitary thing that you ain't scared of?"
Soon there came a hail from the Martha, and a boat was lowered and rowed towards them; a cheerful, red-faced man called, "Jabez! Cap'n Jabez Casket! Are you there? Can I come aboard for a gam? I've some mail for you, only eight months out o' New Bedford."
"Come aboard and welcome, Cap'n Bilger," Captain Casket called, and the skipper of the Martha was swung aboard in the captain's chair. He handed over a batch of letters for the Sarah Casket's captain and crew, and asked if they could spare any ship's biscuit, as most of his had been spoiled by a leak; he offered coffee and lemon syrup in exchange (which the cook was glad to accept, since Pen had eaten all the jelly).
"Consarn it!" exclaimed Captain Bilger, slapping his leg suddenly in annoyance. "If I haven't forgotten to bring over that blame bird!"
"Bird? What bird?" Captain Casket inquired.
"Why, a bird belonging to that boy of yours, Nate Pardon. One of my men caught it flapping about the streets of New Bedford before we sailed, and recognized it as his; we've had it aboard ever since. I'll be thankful to see the last of it, I can tell you. That bird would talk the ears off a brass monkey. Now I come to think, I've another letter for you, as well. It got a mite damp, came unstuck, and I put it aside from the others. My memory's fuller of holes'n a dip net."
"No matter," said Captain Casket. "My men can call round by the Martha when they come back from provisioning and pick up the bird and the letter. Young Nate will be glad to see his pet."
The two captains went below to gossip and, an early tropical dusk falling soon after, Dido and Penitence also retired to their cabin to play Hunt the Thimble and speculate as to what sort of things Nate's bird would be able to say.
