Bessie at the Sea-Side

"Let go!" cried the boy, as he saw Mr. Bradford, letting go his own hold on Bessie, and giving Maggie a furious blow across the face. But fearing he would seize Bessie again, brave little Maggie held fast.

"Take that, then!" said the boy, giving her another and a harder blow.

Maggie fell, striking her head against the edge of the rock, and the boy turned to run before Mr. Bradford reached the spot. But all this time another pair of eyes had been upon him. Four swift feet were coming toward him, and ever so many sharp teeth were set for a grip of him. While the children had been with their father, Toby, Mr. Jones' great white dog, had been seated on the edge of the bank before the house, watching the people as he was accustomed to do.

Now between Toby and Joe Sands, the boy who tried to take the pocket-book, there was great enmity. Joe never saw Toby without trying to provoke him to a quarrel by making faces at him, and throwing sticks and stones; but though the dog would growl and show his teeth, he had never yet tried to bite him.

This afternoon, the moment Joe appeared, Toby seemed to suspect mischief. He straightened himself up, put his head on one side, cocked up one ear and drooped the other. Toby was not a handsome dog at the best of times, and it was not becoming to him to hold his ears in this fashion. He looked very fierce as he sat thus, but Joe did not see him, or he might have been afraid to meddle with Bessie.

Toby never told whether he saw the colonel drop the pocket-book, but from the minute it fell, he looked all ready for a spring, and never took his eyes from Joe. When the boy spoke to Bessie, he appeared still more uneasy, rose to his feet, snarled, and gave short, angry barks, but did not think it was time to interfere till Joe laid his hand upon the little girl. Then his patience was at an end, and with a furious, rough bark, he rushed over the bank, down the beach, and just as Joe turned to run from Mr. Bradford, seized fast hold of his leg. Happily for Joe, he had on a thick, strong pair of boots; but even through these Toby's teeth came in a way far from pleasant. Not a step could he stir, and in an instant Mr. Bradford and the other gentlemen came up. Mr. Bradford stooped to pick up Maggie, while Mr. Howard collared Joe. Even then Toby would not let go, but gave Joe a good shake, which made him cry out with pain. Poor Maggie was quite stunned for a moment by the blow which Joe had given her, and there was a bad cut on her head, where it had struck the rock, while one side of her face was much bruised and scratched. But when, a moment after, she came to herself, her first thought was still for Bessie, who was crying loudly with terror and distress for her sister.

"Oh, my Bessie, my Bessie! leave her be!" she said, as she slowly opened her eyes.

"Bessie is safe, my darling," said her father. "She is not hurt at all. My poor little Maggie!" and sitting down on the rock, with her on his knee, he tenderly bound up her head with his handkerchief. By this time, Colonel Rush and two or three more people had come up, and Uncle John went on to the house, to tell Mrs. Bradford what had happened, so that she might not be startled when she saw Maggie.

Mr. Howard kept his hand on Joe's shoulder, but there was not much need, for Toby still held him fast, and if he made the least move, gave him a hint to keep still, which Joe thought it best to mind.

Mr. Bradford carried Maggie to the house, and the rest followed; but it was a long time before any one could make out what had happened. Bessie was too much frightened to tell, Maggie too sick, and Joe too sullen. And Maggie did not know about the pocket-book. All she could tell was, that she had seen Bessie struggling with the boy, and had run to help her. At last Bessie was quieted, and then told the story in her straightforward way, putting her hand in her bosom and pulling out the pocket-book.

"Oh, you villain!" said Mrs. Jones, who was holding the basin while Mrs. Bradford washed the blood from Maggie's face and head. "Oh, you villain! Aint it enough to go robbin' orchards and melon patches, and farmers' wagons market-days, but you must be fighting and knocking down babies like these to get what's not your own? If you don't see the inside of the county jail for this, my name's not Susan Jones. And you'd have been there long ago, only for your poor mother, whose heart ye're breakin' with your bad ways. That's you, Toby, my boy; you know when you've a rascal fast; but you may let him go now, for there's your master, and he will take him in hand."

Mr. Jones was the constable, and Toby knew this quite as well as if he went on two feet instead of four. When Mr. Jones was sent to arrest any one, he always took Toby with him, and it was curious to see how the dog would watch the prisoner, and seem to feel that he had quite as much share as his master in bringing him to be punished for the wicked things he had done. As soon as Mr. Jones came in the room, he let go of Joe, but sat down close to him, ready to take another grip, if he tried to run away.

"And what's to be done about your poor mother?" said Mr. Jones, when he had heard the story. "I shall have to have you up for this. It will go nigh to kill her."

Joe made no answer, only looked more sullen and obstinate than ever.

"Mr. Jones," said Maggie, in a weak little voice, "please take him away; it frightens me to see him."

"I'm going to take him right off where he wont trouble you for one while," said Mr. Jones. "But how is it that you are afraid of him just standing here, and you weren't afraid of him when he was handling you and Bessie so rough?"

"I didn't think about that," said Maggie, "and if I had, I couldn't let anybody do anything to my Bessie. I thought he was going to kill her. Oh, dear! oh, dear!" and Maggie began to cry again; she could not have told why, except that she could not help it.

"Come along," said Mr. Jones, taking hold of Joe's arm.

"Mr. Jones," said Bessie, "are you going to take him to the jail?"

"I am going to take him to the squire, and I guess he'll give him a few days of it. Serve him right too."

"But I'm 'fraid it will break his mother's heart," said Bessie; "Mrs. Jones said it would."

"He's breakin' his mother's heart fast enough, any way," said Mr. Jones. "Drinkin' and swearin' and stealin' and idlin' round, when he ought to be a help to her, poor, sick body! It isn't goin' to do him nor his mother no harm for him to be shut up for a little while where he can think over his bad ways. He wants bringin' up somewhere, and Toby knows it too."

Toby growled and wagged his tail, as if to say he agreed with Mr. Jones. The growl was for Joe, the wag for his master.

"You surely don't think he ought to be let off," said Mrs. Jones, "when he hurt Maggie that way? Why, she's going to have a black eye, sure as a gun!"

Joe walked away with Toby at his heels. Maggie's head was bound up, and her bruises washed with arnica, and both she and Bessie were petted and comforted.

As for the new doll, which Maggie had thrown down in her haste to run to her little sister's help, it was picked up by one of the gentlemen, who brought it safe and unbroken to Maggie. To be sure, Miss Bessie Margaret Marion's dress was rather soiled by the wet sand on which she had fallen; but as it was of muslin, it could easily be washed, and Mrs. Jones soon made it quite clean again.

XIX.

SOUL AND INSTINCT

"PAPA," said Maggie, the next morning, as she sat on his knee at the breakfast-table, leaning her aching little head against his breast, – "papa, is there anything in the paper about our 'sault and battery?"

"About what?"

"Our 'sault and battery," said Maggie. "The other day, Uncle John was reading to Aunt Helen how Mr. King was knocked down, and beaten by a man who didn't like him; and he called it an 'unprovoked 'sault and battery.' I thought that meant when somebody hit somebody that didn't do anything to him."

"So it does," said her father, trying not to smile, "and yours was a most 'unprovoked assault and battery,' my poor little woman; but there is nothing in the paper about it."

"Do you think that there should be?" asked Mrs. Bradford.

"Oh, no, mamma; I'm very glad there isn't. I thought maybe the paper-maker would hear about it, and put it into his paper; and I didn't want people to be reading about Bessie and me. Do you think he would do it another day, papa?"

"I think not, dear; you need not be afraid."

"I don't see what's the reason then," said Harry. "Maggie is a real heroine, and so is Bessie. Why, there isn't a boy at Quam, however big he is, that would dare to fight Joe Sands; and to think of our mite of a Bess standing out against him, and holding fast to the pocket-book, and Maggie running to the rescue!"

"Yes, you little speck of nothing ground down to a point," said Uncle John, catching Bessie up in his arms, "how dared you hold your ground against such a great rough boy as that?"

"Why, it was the colonel's pocket-book," said Bessie, "and he was going to take it, and it wasn't his; so I had to take care of it, you know. I couldn't let him do such a naughty thing."

"They're bricks, both of them," said Harry.

"So they are," said Fred; for both of the boys were very proud of their little sisters' courage; "and Maggie has the right stuff in her, if she is shy. She is a little goose where there is nothing to be afraid of, and a lion where there is."

"Holloa! what is all this heap of pennies for?" asked the colonel, a while after, as he came into Mrs. Jones' parlor, and found Maggie and Bessie, like the famous king, "counting out their money." He had come up the bank and paid them a visit two or three times since Maggie's birthday, so that they were not very much surprised to see him.

"But first tell me how that poor little head and face are, Maggie? Why, you do look as if you'd been to the wars. Never mind, the bruises will soon wear away; and as for the cut, your hair will hide that. It is not every soldier that gets over his scars so easily; and you must not be ashamed of yours while they last. But you have not told me what you are going to do with so much money," he added, when he was comfortably seated in the arm-chair.

"Oh, it isn't much," said Maggie; "it is only a little, and we wish it was a whole lot."

"And what do you and Bessie want with a whole lot of money? I should think you had about everything little girls could wish for."

"Yes, we have," said Bessie, "and we don't want it for ourselves."

"Who for, then?"

"For those poor shipyecked people. Papa and Uncle John have gone over to see them; and mamma and Aunt Helen have gone to the village to buy some flannel and calico to make things for the poor little children who have lost theirs. Mr. Howard says there's a baby there that hasn't anything but a ni'-gown, and no mother, 'cause she was drowned. A sailor man has it, and he's going to take care of it, but he hasn't any clothes for it. And we wanted to help buy things, but we have such a very little money."

"Bessie has such a little, 'cause she spent all hers for my birthday present," said Maggie. "Mamma gives us six cents a week, but it's such a little while since my birthday, Bessie hasn't saved much. I have more than she has, but not a great deal."

"And she wanted mamma to let her hem a pock'-han'kerchief and earn some money," said Bessie, "but she can't, for the doctor says she musn't use her eye while it's so black."

"Well," said the colonel, "I think you two have fairly earned the right to dispose of at least half the money that was in that unfortunate pocket-book. You shall say what shall be done with it."

Maggie looked as if she did not know what to say.

"If you mean, sir," said Bessie, "that you're going to give us half that money, papa and mamma would not like it. They don't allow us to yeceive money from people who are not yelations to us."

"And they are quite right," said the colonel. "I should not like you to do it, if you were my little girls. But I do not mean that I will give you the money, only that I will give it away for any purpose you may choose. Your father and mother can have no objection to that. There were fifty dollars in the pocket-book. Half of that is twenty-five. Now, shall I give it all to the shipwrecked people, or shall I give part to something else?"

"Will you please to 'scuse me if I whisper to Maggie?" said Bessie.

"Certainly," said the colonel.

They whispered together for a minute or two, and then Bessie said, "If you didn't mind it, sir, we would like to give half to Mrs. Sands; she's very poor, and sick too; and she's in such a trouble 'cause Joe's so bad. She has no one to work for her or do anything. Mamma sent Jane to see her, and she told us about her; and we're so very sorry for her."

"Well, you are two forgiving little souls," said the colonel. "Do you want me to give money to the mother of the boy who treated you so?"

"She didn't treat us so," said Maggie, "and we would like her to be helped 'cause she's so very poor. She cried about the pocket-book, and she is a good woman. She couldn't help it if Joe was so bad. We can't help being a little speck glad that Joe is shut up, he's such a dangerous boy; and we'd be afraid of him now; but his mother feels very bad about it. So if you want to do what we like with the money, sir, please give half to the baby in the shipwreck, and half to Joe's mother."

"Just as you please," said the colonel; "twelve and a half to the baby, twelve and a half to Mrs. Sands. I shall give the baby's money to Mrs. Rush, and ask her to buy what it needs. Will not that be the best way?"

The children said yes, and were much pleased at the thought that Mrs. Sands and the little orphan baby were to be made comfortable with part of the money which they had saved.

"Now, suppose we go out on the piazza," said the colonel; "Mrs. Rush is there talking to Grandpa Duncan, and I told them I would come out again when I had seen you."

"But there's no arm-chair out there," said Maggie.

"Never mind; the settee will do quite as well for a while."

But when Mrs. Jones happened to pass by, and saw the colonel sitting on the piazza, nothing would do but she must bring out the arm-chair, and make a great fuss to settle him comfortably. Maggie could not help confessing she was very kind, even if she did not always take the most pleasant way of showing it.

"What are you thinking of, Bessie?" asked the colonel, after he had talked to Mr. Duncan for some time.

Bessie was sitting on the piazza step, looking at Toby with a very grave face, as he lay beside her with his head in her lap.

"I am so sorry for Toby," she answered.

"Why, I think he is as well off as a dog can be. He looks very comfortable there with his head in your lap."

"But he hasn't any soul to be saved," said the child.

"He does not know that," said the colonel, carelessly; "it does not trouble him."

"But," said Bessie, "if he had a soul, and knew Jesus died to save it, he would be a great deal happier. It makes us feel so happy to think about that. Isn't that the yeason people are so much better and happier than dogs, grandpa?"

"That's the reason they should be happier and better, dear."

"There are some people who know they have souls to be saved, who don't think about it, and don't care if Jesus did come to die for them; are there not, grandpa?" said Maggie.

"Yes, Maggie, there are very many such people."

"Then they can't be happy," said Bessie, – "not as happy as Toby, for he don't know."

"I don't believe Joe thinks much about his soul," said Maggie.

"I am afraid not," answered Mr. Duncan.

"Grandpa," said Bessie, "if people know about their souls, and don't care, I don't think they are much better than Toby."

"But, grandpa," said Maggie, "Toby behaves just as if he knew some things are naughty, and other things right. How can he tell if he has no soul? How did he know it was naughty for Joe to steal the pocket-book; and what is the reason he knows Susie must not go near the fire nor the cellar stairs?"

"It is instinct which teaches him that," said grandpa.

"What is that?"

"We cannot tell exactly. It is something which God has given to animals to teach them what is best for themselves and their young. It is not reason, for they have no soul nor mind as men, women, and children have; but by it some animals, such as dogs and horses, often seem to know what is right and wrong. It is instinct which teaches the bird to build her nest. I am an old man, and I suppose you think I know a great deal, but if I wanted to build a house for my children, I would not know how to do it unless I were shown. But little birdie, untaught by any one, – led only by the instinct which God has given her, – makes her nest soft and comfortable for her young. It is instinct which teaches Toby to know a man or a boy who is to be trusted from one who is not; which makes him keep Susie from creeping into danger when he is told to take care of her."

"And, grandpa," said Bessie, "Toby had an instinct about our baby, too. The other day, when nurse left her asleep in the cradle, and went down stairs for a few minutes, she woke up and fretted. Toby heard her, and went down stairs, and pulled nurse's dress, and made her come up after him to baby."

"Yes, that was his instinct," said Mr. Duncan. "He knew that baby wanted to be taken up, and that nurse should come to her."

"He did such a funny thing the other day," said Maggie, "when Fred played him a trick. You know he brings Mr. Jones' old slippers every evening, and puts them by the kitchen door, so Mr. Jones can have them all ready when he comes from his work. You tell it, Bessie, it hurts my face to speak so much."

"Well," said Bessie, who was always ready to talk, "Fred took the slippers, and hid them in his trunk, 'cause he wanted to see what Toby would do. Toby looked and looked all over, but the poor fellow could not find them. So at last he brought an old pair of yubber over-shoes, and put them by the kitchen door. Then he went away and lay down behind the door, and he looked so 'shamed, and so uncomf'able, Maggie and I felt yeal sorry for him, and we wanted to show him where the slippers were, but we didn't know ourselves, and Fred wouldn't tell us. Then Fred called him ever so many times, but he was very cross, and growled, and would not go at all till Fred said, 'Come, old dog, come, get the slippers.' Then he came out and yan after Fred, and we all yan, and it was so funny to see him. He was so glad, and he pulled out the slippers and put them in their place, and then he took the old yubbers and put them in the closet, and lay down with his paws on the slippers, as if he thought somebody would take them away again. And now Mrs. Jones says that every morning he hides them in a place of his own, where no one can find them but his own self. I think that is very smart; don't you, grandpa?"

"Very smart," said Mr. Duncan; "Toby is a wise dog."

"But, grandpa, don't Toby have conscience, too, when he knows what's good and what's naughty? Mamma says it's conscience that tells us when we're good, and when we're naughty."

"No, dear; Toby has no conscience. If he knows the difference between right and wrong in some things, it is partly instinct, partly because he has been taught. Conscience is that which makes us afraid of displeasing God, and breaking his holy laws, but Toby feels nothing of this. He is only afraid of displeasing his master; he has neither love nor fear of One greater than that master, for he does not know there is such a wise and holy being. If Toby should steal, or do anything wrong, God would not call him to account for it, because he has given to the dog no soul, no conscience, no feeling of duty to his Maker."

"Grandpa," said Bessie, "don't you mean that if Toby is naughty, God will not punish him when he dies, 'cause he didn't know about him?"

"Yes, dear; for Toby there is neither reward nor punishment in another world. For him, there is no life to come."

"Grandpa," said Maggie, "where will Toby's instinct go when he dies?"

"It will die with the dog. It is mortal; that is, it must die; but our souls are immortal; they will go on living for ever and ever, either loving and praising God through all eternity, or sinking down to endless woe and suffering. Toby is a good, wise, faithful dog, and knows a great deal, but the weakest, the most ignorant boy or girl – that poor idiot you saw the other day – is far better, of far more value in the sight of God, for he has a soul; and to save that precious soul, our Lord left his heavenly home, and died upon the cross. Think what a soul is worth when it needed that such a price be paid for its salvation!"

"I can't help being sorry for Toby, 'cause he has no soul," said Bessie; "but I'm a great deal sorrier for those people that don't think about their souls, and go to Jesus to be saved. How can they help it, when they know he wants them to come? Grandpa, don't they feel ungrateful all the time?"

"I am afraid not, Bessie. If they do not feel their need of a Saviour, they do not feel their ingratitude."

Bessie was silent for a minute or two, and sat gazing for a while far away over the water, with the thoughtful look she so often had in her eyes, and then she said slowly, as if speaking to herself, —

"I wonder if they think about for ever and ever and ever."

No one answered her. Not a word had the colonel said since Bessie had said that she thought those who did not care for their souls were no better than Toby; but he sat with his eyes sometimes on her, sometimes on the dog, and his face, which was turned from his wife and Mr. Duncan, had a vexed, troubled look. Mrs. Rush had often seen that look during the last few days, and now she guessed it was there, even though she did not see it. But, presently, when the carriage was seen coming back with Mrs. Bradford and Mrs. Duncan, he drove it away, and was soon laughing and talking as usual.

XX.

NURSE TAKEN BY SURPRISE

NURSE and Jane had taken all the children for a long walk. About a mile up the shore lived the woman who took in Mrs. Bradford's washing. Mrs. Bradford wished to send her a message, and told Jane to go with it. There were two ways by which this house could be reached: one by the shore, the other by a road which ran farther back, part of the way through the woods. About a quarter of a mile this side of the washer-woman's, it turned off nearer to the shore; and here it was crossed by the brook, which also crossed the road to the station. It was wider here, and deeper, and ran faster towards the sea. Over it was built a rough bridge. Two beams were laid from bank to bank; on these were placed large round logs, a foot or two apart, and above these were the planks, with a miserable broken rail. It was a pretty place though, and the walk to it was shady and pleasant, – pleasanter than the beach on a warm day.

Nurse said she would walk to the bridge with the children, and rest there, while Jane went the rest of the way. When Harry and Fred heard this, they said they would go too, for the brook was a capital place to fish for minnows. So they all set off, the boys carrying their fishing-rods and tin pails.

But when they reached the bridge, they found there would be no fishing. The rains of the great storm a few days ago had swollen the brook very much, and there had been several heavy showers since, which had kept it full, so it was now quite a little river, with a muddy current running swiftly down to the sea. The tiny fish were all hidden away in some snug hole, and the boys knew it was of no use to put out their lines.

"Oh, bother!" said Harry. "I thought the water would be lower by this time. Never mind, we'll have some fun yet, Fred. Let's go in and have a wade!"

"I don't believe father would let us," said Fred. "He said we must not the day before yesterday, and the water is as high now as it was then."

"Let's go back, then," said Harry. "I don't want to stay here doing nothing."

"No," said Fred. "Let's go on with Jane to the washer-woman's. She has a pair of guinea-fowls, with a whole brood of young ones. Bessie and I saw them the other day, when Mr. Jones took us up there in his wagon. We'll go and see them again."

Maggie and Bessie asked if they might go too, but nurse said it was too far. Bessie did not care much, as she had seen the birds once, but Maggie was very much disappointed, for she had heard so much of the guinea-fowls, that she was very anxious to have a look at them. So Jane said, if nurse would let her go, she would carry her part of the way. So at last nurse said she might. Then Franky said he wanted to go too, but he was pacified by having a stick with a line on the end of it given to him, with which he thought he was fishing.