Bosom Friends: A Seaside Story

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER XII.

  A FIRST QUARREL.

  "The little rift within the lute, That by-and-by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all."

  It had become an almost daily programme for the Sea Urchins to jumpacross or even to wade through the channel the moment the tide wassufficiently low to enable them to do so with safety, and to establishthemselves upon their desert island. The joys of pioneering seemed tohave quite put cricket in the shade; the hut had still the charm ofnovelty, and to fry the flukes which they had themselves speared or toconcoct blackberry jam or toffee in an enamelled saucepan over the campfire was at present their keenest delight. The only regret was that theydid not possess a boat in which they could row over to their territorywhenever they wished, and the boys had tried to provide a substitute byconstructing a raft from some of the old planks left lying about fromthe schooner, lashing them together with pieces of rope in the orthodox"shipwrecked sailor" fashion, and making paddles out of broken spars. Itlooked quite a respectable craft--as Charlie Chester said, "mostsuitable for a desert island"--and they had anticipated having a gooddeal of fun with it, and being able to take little sea excursions ifthey could only manage to steer it properly; and Charlie even had ideasof rigging up a sail, and perhaps getting across the bay as far asFerndale with a favourable wind. Its career, however, was short andbrilliant. It was launched with much noise and nautical language byCharlie and the other boys, and started gaily off, greatly to theadmiration of the feminine portion of the Sea Urchins, who ran along theshore shouting encouragement. But it had hardly gone more than a hundredyards, and was still in shallow water, when the too enthusiastic effortsof its amateur oarsmen caused it suddenly to turn a somersault, andupset the crew into the briny deep; then floating swiftly away bottomside up, it was caught by the current, much to the regret of itsdisconsolate builders, who, wet through with their unexpected swim,watched it drift in the direction of Ferndale, where the tide probablycarried it over the bar, to wash about as a derelict in the open seatill the water had rotted the ropes that bound the planks.

  After the raft proved a failure, the boys took to carving miniatureyachts out of pieces of drift-wood, and sailing them in a wide poolwhich was generally left at the mouth of the creek. The girls hemmed thesails, and provided the vessels with flags in the shape of tiny colouredpieces of ribbon stitched on to the masts, and would stand by to cheerthe particular bark in which they were interested, as the ladies inolden days encouraged their knights in the tourney. There was greatcompetition between the various boats, and it seemed a matter of theutmost importance whether Charlie Chester's _Water Sprite_, BertieRokeby's _Esmeralda_, or Arthur Wright's _Invincible_, should reach theopposite shore in the shortest space of time. Occasionally a good shipwould get becalmed in the middle of the pool, in which case its ownerwould have to wade to the rescue, probably finding it caught in a massof oar-weed, or even entangled in the floating tentacles of a hugejelly-fish. The children had made a nice aquarium not far from the hut,and in this they put specimens of every different kind of sea-weed onthe island, as well as crabs, anemones, limpets, sea cucumbers,star-fishes, zoophytes, or any other treasures of the deep that theymight be lucky enough to collect; while the boys, I regret to say, tooka keen delight in securing a couple of hermit crabs, and setting thepugnacious pair to fight in a small arena of sand which they preparedspecially for the purpose, somewhat in the same manner as ourunregenerate forefathers devoted certain portions of their gardens tothe formation of cock-pits.

  Another favourite amusement was to divide into two regiments, each underthe leadership of suitable officers, and, armed with pea-shooters, toconduct a series of Volunteer manoeuvres upon the shore. The defendingparty would throw up ramparts of sand, and duly garrison theirstronghold, while the enemy would attack with the ferocious zeal of aband of North American Indians or a gang of Chinese pirates, beinggreeted by a volley of fire from the pea-shooters, and missiles in theshape of whelks' eggs, the dried air-vessels of the bladder-wrack,little rolled-up balls of slimy green sea-weed, or anything else whichcould be flung as a projectile without injuring the recipients tooseverely. Very exciting struggles sometimes took place for thepossession of a fortress or the securing of an outpost; and I think thegirls were really as keen as the boys in this amateur warfare, Letty andWinnie Rokeby proving deadly shots with their pea-shooters, and AggieWright becoming quite an admirable scout.

  Isobel undertook the ambulance department, and made a delightfulhospital with beds dug out of sand, and a dispensary fitted with emptybottles collected from the sand-bank. She installed herself here as aRed Cross Sister, with Ruth Barrington for a helper, and was ready todoctor the combatants, who were carried in suffering from variousimaginary wounds, the sole flaw in her arrangements being that theinvalids insisted upon getting well too quickly, and leaving their pillsand potions to rush back and rejoin the fray.

  The only one of the Sea Urchins who did not thoroughly enjoy the charmsof the desert island was Belle. She was not suited for camp life, andthough she tolerated the tea-parties when she brought her own china cupwith her, she took no interest in the boat-sailing, and frankly dislikedthe manoeuvres. She would not have come at all, only she found it sodull to remain behind, as her mother was mostly occupied in reading,writing letters, or entertaining friends, and not inclined to devotemuch attention to her little daughter. Poor Belle was expected to findher own amusements, and having no resources in herself, she sought thesociety of the other children in preference to being alone, though shegrumbled incessantly at the boyish games, and longed for a differentsphere, where pretty frocks and trinkets would have a better chance ofdue appreciation. Towards Isobel the fever-heat of her first affectionhad cooled down considerably, and she had begun to treat her friend witha rather patronizing authority, ordering her about in a way which wouldhave provoked any one with a less sweet temper to the verge ofrebellion. She had quarrelled more than once with the Wrights and theRokebys, since those outspoken families had given her their frankopinion of her behaviour on several occasions, and as it was not aflattering one, she had been far from pleased. So long as Belle's prettypleading manners secured for her the best of everything she was acharming companion, but she could prove both pettish and peevish whenshe considered herself neglected. Her light, pleasure-loving naturedepended for its happiness on continual attention and admiration, and ifshe could not have these she was as miserable as a butterfly in a showerof rain.

  One afternoon the question of the possession of a certain basket,supposed to be common property among the settlers, resulted in a war ofwords between Belle and Letty and Winnie Rokeby--a quarrel which waxedso fast and furious that Isobel, who fought her friend's battles throughthick and thin, was obliged to interfere (not without an uneasyconsciousness that the Rokebys had right on their side), persuaded Lettyto relinquish the disputed treasure, and bore Belle away up the hill tosoothe her ruffled feelings by picking blackberries. Micky, the littlepet dog, followed close at their heels. As a rule he preferred thesociety of Mrs. Stuart, and rarely accompanied the children on theirrambles, but to-day they had brought him with them to the island.

  "It _is_ my basket," grumbled Belle, threading her way daintily betweenthe brambles with a careful regard for her flowered delaine dress. "Mrs.Barrington lent it to me first. The Rokebys are so selfish, they want tokeep everything to themselves. I don't know whether they or the Wrightsare worse. It's such a pretty one, too--quite the nicest we have at thehut."

  "Never mind," said Isobel hastily, anxious to dismiss the subject. "Letus fill it with blackberries. There are such heaps here, and such bigones."

  It was indeed a harvest for those who liked to gather. Brambles greweverywhere. Long clinging sprays, some still in blossom and some coveredwith the ripe fruit, trailed in profusion over the rocks, theirreddening leaves giving a hint of the coming autumn, for it was lateAugust now, and already there was a touch of September crispness in theair. It was delightful on the headl
and, with sea and sky spread allaround, the sea-gulls flapping idly below just on the verge of thewaves, and banks of fragrant wild thyme under their feet, growing inpatches between the great craggy boulders, which looked as though theyhad been piled up by some giant at play. The picking went on steadilyfor a while, though it was a little unequal, as Belle had a tenderconsideration for her spotless fingers, and gathered about one berry toIsobel's dozen.

  "We shall soon have the basket full," said Isobel. "Hold it for amoment, Belle, please, while I get to the other side of this rock; thereare some still finer ones over here."

  "I should think we have enough now," said Belle, upon whom theoccupation began to pall. "We don't want to make any more jam; the lastwe tried stuck to the pan and burnt, and wasted all the sugar I hadbrought. Mother says she won't let me have any more. Come back, Isobel,do, and take the basket. Why, what are you staring at so hard?"

  "At this stone underneath the brambles," replied Isobel. "It's mostpeculiar. It has marks on it like letters, only they aren't any lettersI know. Do come and look."

  She pulled the long blackberry trails aside as she spoke, and disclosedto view a large stone, something like a gate-post, lying on its side,half sunk into the soil. It was worn, and weather-beaten, and batteredby time and storms, but on its smooth surface could still be traced theremains of a rudely-carved cross, and the inscription,--

  "What does it mean?" asked Belle. "Are they really letters?"

  "I can't tell," replied Isobel. "It looks like some writing we can'tread. Perhaps it's Greek, or old black letter. I wonder who could haveput it here?"

  "I don't know, and I'm sure I don't care," said Belle. "What does itmatter? Let us come along."

  "Oh! only it's interesting. I want to tell mother about it; she's sofond of old crosses, and she may know what it means. I can copy it onthis scrap of paper if you'll wait a minute."

  Belle sat down with a martyred air. She was not in the best of tempers,and she did not like waiting. She put the basket of blackberries by herside, and took Micky on her knee. Then, for want of anything better todo, she began to tease him by pulling the silky hair that grew round hiseyes.

  "Don't do that, Belle," said Isobel, looking round suddenly at the soundof Micky's protesting yelps.

  "Why not?" asked Belle, somewhat sharply.

  "Because you're hurting him."

  "I'm not hurting him."

  "Yes, you are."

  "I suppose I can do as I like with him; he's my own."

  "He's not yours to tease, at any rate. Belle, do stop!"

  "I'll please myself; it's nobody else's affair," said Belle, giving sucha tug as she spoke to Micky's silken top-knot that he howled withmisery.

  Isobel sprang up. She could not bear to see an animal suffer, and heranger for the moment was hot.

  "Let him go, Belle!" she cried, wrenching at her friend's hands. "You'veno right to treat him so. Let him go, I tell you!"

  Micky seized the golden opportunity, and escaping from his mistress'sgrasp, beat a hasty retreat towards the beach, yelping with terror as hewent, and upsetting the basket of blackberries in his flight.

  Belle turned on Isobel in a rage.

  "Look what you've done!" she exclaimed. "I wish you would mind your ownbusiness, and leave me to manage my own dog. All the blackberries haverolled over the cliff where we can't get them, and it's your fault. Ihope you're sorry."

  Isobel stooped to rescue the empty basket, but she did not apologize.

  "I think it was as much your fault as mine," she replied. "You shouldn'thave teased him. Perhaps we can pick the blackberries up again."

  "No, we can't. They've fallen among the briers, and _I_ don't mean toscratch my fingers by trying. You can stay and fish them out if youlike. I'm going home."

  "But we haven't had tea yet."

  "I don't care. I don't want tea out of a tin mug. I shall have itcomfortably at the lodgings, with a nice clean tablecloth and aserviette. I'm tired of stupid picnics." And Belle flounced away downthe hill with anything but a sweet expression or a "Parisian" manner.

  Isobel did not try to stop her. As the proverbial worm will turn, sothere are limits to the endurance of even the most devoted of friends,and I think this afternoon she felt that Belle's conduct had reached aclimax for which no excuse could be made. The latter, who consideredherself both hurt in her feelings and offended in her dignity,scrambled down to the shore, and calling Micky to her heels, set offpromptly for home.

  "Hullo, Belle!" cried Bertie Rokeby, catching at her dress as shehurried past the hut. "Look out, can't you! Don't you see that you'retrampling all over the shells that I've just laid out to sort on thesand? What's the row? You look like a regular tragedy queen--LadyMacbeth in the murder scene, or Juliet about to stab herself!"

  "Let me go," said Belle crossly, trying to pull herself free. "Whathorrid, rough things you boys are! Why can't you leave me alone, Ishould like to know?"

  "Humpty-Dumpty! We _are_ in a jolly wax," said Bertie. "You're as bad asa cat with her back up. All the same, I don't want my shells smashed, soplease to mind where you're stepping."

  "Bother your shells!" said Belle. "You shouldn't leave them lying aboutin people's way. There! you've torn a slit in my dress. I knew youwould! Let me go, Bertie Rokeby, you mean coward!" And jerking her skirtwith an effort from his grasp, she started at a run along the beach, andfled as fast as she could in the direction of Silversands.

  She had reached the southern point of the island, where they generallycrossed the channel, and was hurrying on, not looking particularly whereshe was going, her eyes half blinded with self-pitying tears, when,turning the headland sharply, she ran full tilt against her quondamacquaintance of the Parade, who was walking leisurely along the sandswith a cigar in his mouth and a breechloader under his arm. Thecollision was so sudden and unexpected that Belle sat down swiftly in apool of slimy green sea-weed, while the gun, knocked by the impact fromits owner's grasp, struck the rock violently, and discharged bothbarrels into the air. The colonel, who had been almost upset with theshock, recovered his balance as by a miracle, and hastened to ascertainthe extent of the mishap; but finding no harm done, he picked up his gunand surveyed Belle with considerable disfavour.

  "You might have caused a very nasty accident, young lady," he said."It's a mercy the charge didn't land in either your leg or mine. Whydon't you look where you're going?"

  Belle raised herself carefully from the pool, glancing with much concernat the large green stains which had reduced her dress to a wreck, and atthe moist condition of her silk stockings.

  "How could I know any one was round the corner?" she replied, somewhatsulkily. "I wonder what my mother would have said if you'd killed me.I'm not sure if my leg isn't shot through, after all."

  "Let me look," said the colonel quietly. "No, that's not a wound, thoughyou've grazed it a little, very likely in falling. There's no realdamage, and I think you're more frightened than hurt."

  "My dress is spoilt," said Belle, determined to have a grievance. "Thesegreen stains will never wash out of it. It's really too bad."

  "Be thankful it's only your dress, and not your skin," said the owner ofthe Chase, with scant sympathy. "What are you doing here, so far awayfrom the Parade? You had better go home to your mother, and tell her totake more care of you, and not let you wander about alone to get intomischief."

  "I was going home as fast as I could," retorted Belle, not too politely,for she disliked the old gentleman extremely, and wished he would notinterfere with her. "And I think my mother knows how to take care of mewithout any one telling her, thank you."

  "I have no doubt she imagines she does," replied Colonel Stewart, ratherbitterly. "I can't say I admire the result. I should certainly wish toteach you better manners if I had any share in your bringing up."

  "I'm glad you haven't," said Belle smartly; and catching Micky in herarms, she put an abrupt end to the conversation by running away again atthe top of her speed over the shallows towards th
e mainland.

  "He's perfectly horrid!" she said to herself. "This is the third placeI've met him, and each time he has been more disagreeable than the last.I can't imagine why, but I somehow feel as if he had taken quite adislike to me."