The Lively Poll: A Tale of the North Sea by R. M. Ballantyne (best book clubs .TXT) 📖

did so with a little sigh, and a soft remark that, “It would be sad if he were to come when she was not watching.” Then there was widow Martin, Fred’s mother—whose bad leg, by the way, had been quite cured by her legacy.

And lastly, there was pretty Mrs Isa Martin, Fred’s newly-married wife.

Besides these there were skipper Lockley of the Lively Poll, and his wife Martha—for it will be remembered Martha was cousin to Isa, and Stephen’s smack chanced to be in port at this time as well as the Sunbeam and the Fairy, alias the Ironclad, which last circumstance accounts for Dick Martin being also on shore. But Dick was not invited to this family gathering, for the good reason that he had not shown face since landing, and no one seemed to grieve over his absence, with the exception of poor old granny, whose love for her “wandering boy” was as strong and unwavering as was her love to the husband for whose coming she had watched so long.

Bob Lumsden, it may be remarked, was one of the guests, because Lockley was fond of him; and Pat Stiver was there because Bob was fond of him! Both were heartily welcomed.

Besides the improvement in Mrs Martin’s health, there was also vast improvement in the furniture and general appearance of the attic since the arrival of the legacy.

“It was quite a windfall,” remarked Mrs Lockley, handing in her cup for more tea.

“True, Martha, though I prefer to call it a godsend,” said Mrs Martin. “You see it was gettin’ so bad, what wi’ standin’ so long at the tub, an’ goin’ about wi’ the clo’es, that I felt as if I should break down altogether, I really did; but now I’ve been able to rest it I feel as if it was going to get quite strong again, and that makes me fit to look after mother far better. Have some more tea, granny!”

A mumbled assent and a pleased look showed that the old woman was fully alive to what was going on.

“Hand the butter to Isa, Pat. Thankee,” said the ex-washerwoman. “What a nice little boy your friend is, Bob Lumpy! I’m so glad you thought of bringin’ him. He quite puts me in mind of what my boy Fred was at his age—on’y a trifle broader, an’ taller, an stouter.”

“A sort of lock-stock-an’-barrel difference, mother,” said Fred, laughing.

“I dun know what you mean by your blocks, stocks, an’ barrels,” returned Mrs Martin, “but Pat is a sight milder in the face than you was, an I’m sure he’s a better boy.”

The subject of this remark cocked his ears and winked gently with one eye to his friend Bob, with such a sly look that the blooming bride, who observed it, went off into a shriek of laughter.

“An’ only to think,” continued Mrs Martin, gazing in undisguised admiration at her daughter-in-law, “that my Fred—who seems as if on’y yesterday he was no bigger than Pat, should have got Isa Wentworth—the best lass in all Gorleston—for a wife! You’re a lucky boy!”

“Right you are,” responded Fred, with enthusiasm. “I go wi’ you there, mother, but I’m more than a lucky boy—I’m a highly favoured one, and I thank God for the precious gift; and also for that other gift, which is second only to Isa, the command of a Gospel ship on the North Sea.”

A decided chuckle, which sounded like a choke, from granny, fortunately called for attentions from the bride at this point.

“But do ’ee really think your mission smack will do much good?” asked Martha Lockley, who was inclined to scepticism.

“I am sure of it,” replied Fred emphatically. “Why, we’ve done some good work already, though we have bin but a short time wi’ the fleet. I won’t speak of ourselves, but just look at what has bin done in the way of saving drunkards and swearers by the Cholmondeley in the short-Blue Fleet, and by the old Ensign in the Fleet started by Mr Burdett-Coutts, the Columbia fleet, and in the other fleets that have got Gospel ships. It is not too much to say that there are hundreds of men now prayin’ to God, singin’ the praises o’ the Lamb, an’ servin’ their owners better than they ever did before, who not long ago were godless drunkards and swearers.”

“Men are sometimes hypocrites,” objected Martha; “how d’ee know that they are honest, or that it will last?”

“Hypocrites?” exclaimed Fred, pulling a paper hastily from his pocket and unfolding it. “I think you’ll admit that sharp men o’ bussiness are pretty good judges o’ hypocrites as well as of good men. Listen to what one of the largest firms of smack-owners says: ‘Our men have been completely revolutionised, and we gladly become subscribers of ten guineas to the funds of the Mission.’ Another firm says, ‘What we have stated does not convey anything like our sense of the importance of the work you have undertaken.’”

“Ay, there’s something in that,” said Martha, who, like all sceptics, was slow to admit truth.

We say not this to the discredit of sceptics. On the contrary, we think that people who swallow what is called “truth” too easily, are apt to imbibe a deal of error along with it. Doubtless it was for the benefit of such that the word was given— “Prove all things. Hold fast that which is good.”

Fred then went to show the immense blessing that mission ships had already been to the North Sea fishermen—alike to their souls and bodies; but we may not follow him further, for Bob Lumsden and Pat Stiver claim individual attention just now.

When these enterprising heroes observed that the shades of evening were beginning to fall, they rose to take their leave.

“Why so soon away, lads?” asked Fred.

“We’re goin’ to see Eve Mooney,” answered Bob. “Whatever are the boys goin’ to do wi’ them thick sticks?” exclaimed Martha Lockley.

“Fit main an fore masts into a man-o’-war, I suppose,” suggested her husband.

The boys did not explain, but went off laughing, and Lockley called after them—

“Tell Eve I’ve got a rare lot o’ queer things for her this trip.”

“And give her my dear love,” cried Mrs Fred Martin.

“Ay, ay,” replied the boys as they hurried away on their self-imposed mission.