"Oh, how I wish--No! I can't go, skipper; it's no use talking," Noll answered back as he gained the piazza, and there sat down to open his precious missives.

Five or six of his boy friends had agreed to surprise him each with a letter, and here they were, together with a kind note from Mr. Gray.

What a comfort and pleasure they were! It was almost like seeing the writers' faces and talking with them, Noll thought.

Trafford came out upon the piazza while he sat there absorbed in their contents, and as he walked along toward the skipper, who stood waiting at the bottom of the steps, noted the boy's eager, delighted face, and wondered why the lad did not return to his friends, where, it was quite evident, he was much desired and longed for. Why did he stay on this dreary Rock? What was there here to make the place endurable for a boy of his age and tastes? He could not see.

Those were the last letters which Noll received. The "Gull" made one or two trips after that, but the first of November brought keen, sleety weather, and Skipper Ben came no more; so that for the long months ahead Culm Rock was to be shut out from the world entirely. The thought of being isolated from all a.s.sistance, in case of illness or trouble, oppressed Noll somewhat till he had accustomed himself to the thought, and then a vague dread of loneliness and homesickness in the dragging days of winter haunted him for a time. But getting bravely over these, and interested in his studies, he began to find that the November days were not so intolerable, after all.

Uncle Richard had surprised him one day by bringing in a writing-table, from one of the unoccupied rooms, and placing it opposite his own chair by one of the tall windows. "For your books, Noll," he had said; and from thenceforth the boy's well-worn school volumes had a place there, and study in the cold chamber was exchanged for the comfortable warmth of the library. It was not an unpleasant schoolroom, by any means, though the high, old window framed nothing but a great stretch of sea and sky,--both, this chilly month of November, often gray and misty.

Instead of the roar and din of the city which sounded about the dearly-remembered room at Hastings, there was the hoa.r.s.e murmur of the tide on its rocks and pebbles, the wild whirling of the wind and its screaming around the corners and over the chimney,--not cheery sounds, any of them; yet, in the still afternoons, and the cozy quietness of long evenings when the lamp shed its mild light over the room, and the fire on the hearth shone redly, there was such calm and peace for books and study as Noll found both pleasant and profitable.

In these days, you may be sure, the boy's thoughts were often across the vast gray sea in front of his window, even when he was bending over his problems or translations; not that he regretted his decision to share Uncle Richard's life with him, nor that he had any thoughts of fleeing away, but those flitting sails on the far horizon were messengers which alway bore on their white wings thoughts of hope and love and patience to those over the sea.

It was not the natural sphere of a boy,--this monotonous, unvarying round of days, with no companions of his age or tastes; and, as week after week pa.s.sed, and Noll was still blithe and apparently contented, Trafford wondered and conjectured, and could not surmise a reason for it; though, had he observed closely, it would not have been a great mystery. For Noll there was the unfailing comfort of the little Bible which lay beside the huge old bed up-stairs, and which gave the double comfort of its own blessedness and the remembrance of its preciousness to her who turned its pages to the last; and there were ever the pitying ears of Jesus ready to hear the story of discouragement and loneliness, when the burden of slow, weary days seemed _too_ heavy to bear.

Into Trafford's life had come more brightness and content than he had known since that dark day when his wife left him and vanished in the darkness which, to his eyes, filled and hovered over the grave. It did not, as yet, seem like a real and lasting joy; he trembled lest some day it should prove but a dream, a vision, and so vanish. He often laid aside his book and looked up, half expecting to find the room as silent and lonely as when, of old, he was the only inhabitant of the great library; but there, at the opposite window, sat the pleasant figure of the boy, busy with his books, and as real and tangible as heart could wish. It was a perpetual delight, though he hid all knowledge of it from Noll, to feel that the boy was present, to see him curled up in a great chair by the fire, watching the flames or the depths of rosy coal, of a twilight, and to feel that he was _his_,--a precious gift to love and cherish. So the man's heart began to go out toward the boy,--tremblingly, warningly at first, then, as he found him true and worthy, with all its might and all the fervor of which it was capable.

CHAPTER IX.

DIRK'S TROUBLE.

Noll closed his books one afternoon after recitations, saying, "I'll put on my overcoat, Uncle Richard, and take a run up the sh.o.r.e,--just for exercise. The waves are monstrous, and how they thunder! I haven't seen them so large since I came to Culm."

"Look out for the tide," continued his uncle; "keep away from that narrow strip of sand up the sh.o.r.e, for the waves will cover it in an hour."

Noll promised to be cautious, and ran off after cap and overcoat.

Hagar met him as he came down from his room all m.u.f.fled for the walk, and exclaimed,--

"Bress ye, honey! where ye bound fur now? Dis yer is a drefful bad time on de sh.o.r.e! I's 'feard to hev ye roun' dar!" looking at him anxiously.

Noll laughed merrily. "Do you think I'm too small to take care of myself, Hagar?" he asked; "I'm only going for a walk, and to see the waves. I'll be back for supper with Uncle Richard."

The sky was wild and gray with clouds. A keen, chilly wind swept fiercely over the rocks and along the sh.o.r.e, and the dark, foam-fringed waves rode grandly in upon the beach with a thunderous shock as they flew into spray. Some of the spray mist wet Noll's face, even as he stood upon the piazza steps. But, warmly clad, and loving the sight of the wild tumult, he started with a light heart for his walk up the sh.o.r.e. As far as he could see, the sea was dark and gloomy, with long curves of foam whitening its surface and gleaming on the crests of its racing waves. At his feet, on the sand, lay great tangles of kelp and flecks of yeasty froth. The air was keen, and frosty enough to film the still pools in the hollows with brittle ice, and where the spray fell upon the rocks, it congealed and cased the old boulders with glittering mail. Not a sail was there in sight, and Noll thought the sea had never looked so vast and lonely as now. Along the horizon the clouds were white-edged, and seemed to open and lead away into illimitable distances of vapor. He stopped under the shelter of a rock to look behind him, over the path which he had trodden. The stone house looked dark and forbidding, like everything else under this wild gray sky; but Noll had long ago ceased to consider it as resembling a prison. It was home, now, and so took a fairer, brighter shape in his eyes. Beyond, the pines stood up against the sky, full of sombreness and inky shadow.

"How cold and desolate everything is!" thought Noll; "but it's not half so gloomy as it seems, after all. I wish, though, that Ned--dear fellow!--was here, just to make it lively once in a while." He walked on, listening to the heavy thunder of waves, and looking upon the troubled waste of sea, till he came to the curve of the sh.o.r.e. Here lay the narrow path of pebbles against which his uncle had warned him.

But there seemed no immediate danger, for the path looked as wide as ever, and as there was yet an hour before the tide would be in, Noll hurried across, the salt spray flying wildly about him.

"I'll go on a little further," he thought, "and I shall get home long enough before tea-time, then."

Having gone a little way, however, he chanced to remember that he had not been at Culm village for a month, at least, and longed to take a run down to the little cl.u.s.ter of houses.

"How the waves will dash in there!" he thought; "and I wonder how those huts stand such a tempest as this? I've a good mind to go, anyhow,--it's such a good chance to see the place in a gale." He wavered and walked hesitatingly about in the sand for a few minutes, and at last decided to go. He ran and walked by turns, the wind blowing his curly locks in his eyes and taking his breath almost away with its fierce gusts; yet he kept on. It seemed as if the waves jarred and thundered heavier on this Culm side than on his own quarter of the Rock; at any rate, the wind was more powerful, and blew the spray upon him in showers.

"I'll get drenched, if the wind keeps on like this!" he thought; "if I weren't so near, I'd turn back; but the houses are in sight, already, and I've got to get acquainted with salt water. I'll keep on!"

When he drew near the little settlement, he was tired enough with running and battling the wind, and was content to take a slower pace.

Never had the fishermen's huts looked so forlorn and miserable as now.

Noll half expected to see them come tumbling and rolling along the sand in every gust of wind which struck them; yet, with some mysterious attraction to their sandy foundations, they held their own, though some of them creaked and groaned with the strain which was brought to bear upon their timbers.

The boy kept on toward the little wharf, over which the waves rolled and tumbled furiously, without meeting a soul. The water dashed so high and wildly up the sand that he was obliged to keep well up beside the houses to escape a drenching. He thought he had never looked upon so grand a sight as the sea presented here,--all its vast waste lashed into great waves that came roaring in like white-maned monsters to dash themselves upon the laud.

Standing here, close by Dirk Sharp's door, Noll suddenly fancied he heard a faint wail within. He was not at all sure, the sea thundered so, and the wind screamed so shrilly about the miserable dwelling; but presently, in a slight lull of the tempest, he heard the wail--if wail it was--again. It sounded like the voice of a child,--a child suffering illness or pain.

"I wonder if Dirk has any little ones?" thought Noll; "and what can he do with them, if they are ill?"

Mentally hoping that his ears had deceived him, and that no one on the desolate Rock stood in need of aid which they could not have, he was about to turn away and retrace his steps homeward, as the sky seemed to shut down grayer and darker than before, and nightfall was approaching. But at that instant the door of the dwelling opened, and out came Dirk, beating his breast and crying aloud, whether with pain or grief Noll was too surprised to notice at first.

The man failed to see the lad standing close by his door-step till he had taken several strides up and down the sand, where the wind blew the spray full upon him,--walking there hatless and coatless. When he did perceive him, he stopped short, exclaiming, almost fiercely,--

"What _ye_ here fur, lad?--what ye here fur? The Lord knows it's no place fur the sort ye b'long to!"

"I was looking at the sea," said Noll; "and--and--what's the matter, Dirk?"

"Nothin' that'll do ye any good ter know!" cried Dirk, roughly, beginning to pace up and down the sand again. "Ye can't know nothin'

o' trouble, lad! How ken ye?"

Noll hardly knew what answer to make to this vehement question, and finally made none at all, but asked,--

"Are any of your family ill, Dirk?"

"Ill? Sick, ye mean? O Lord! yes, yes,--and dyin'!"

Noll started. Some one ill and dying on this dreary, wretched Rock!

and no doctor to give aid. He did not know how far he might dare to interrogate Dirk in his present half-frenzied condition, but ventured, after a minute or two of silence, to ask,--

"Is it one of the children?"

"Yes, my little gal!" said Dirk, groaning,--"my little gal it is, an'

nothin' to keep her frum it. O Lord! seems as ef I sh'u'd go mad!" and he threw up his hands to the lowering sky in despair, and faced about to the sea, letting the cold drops drive into his face.

Noll was fain to comfort him, but was at a loss how to offer consolation to such anguish as Dirk's.

"Isn't there some one on the Rock that can help, that knows something about medicine?" he asked, eagerly.

"No, no, lad!" Dirk cried, "there ain't a soul this side o' the sea ken help my little gal! Ye don' know nothin' o' trouble, lad! Ye don'

know what 'tis ter feel that yer chile's dyin' fur want o' somethin'

to save it! O Lord! seems as ef I c'u'd swim through this sea to Hastings fur my little gal!"

He rushed down to the boiling surf, and Noll half expected to see him throw himself into the sea; but he came back, drenched with a great wave, with despair and agony upon his face.

"Here, lad," he exclaimed, "come in,--come in an' see what trouble is!

Ye don' know. How ken ye?"