Adventures in the Land of Canaan | Page 9

can I make her open her eyes? Shall I speak to her coldly or gently, with mirth or with melancholy, in poetry or in prose?"
"I will be poetical," he resolved; "I will sing her a song of love. That may induce her to open her eyes."
Now Jack was only a simple Sailor-Lad; he knew little music and less poetry. A few sea-songs and one or two little ballads, these were all he had to trust to, and he could think of none that seemed suitable to the occasion.
He thought long, and finally remembered the beginning of an old song which, with a little alteration, would, he decided, do very well. So, in a rough but tender voice, he thus sang to his lady-love:--
"Of all the girls I love so well, There's none I love like 'Linder; She is the darling of my heart,-- And Linder rhymes with cinder."
"This," he said to himself, "will teach her how deep and how true my love is for her. This should open her eyes."
But Belinda, quite unmoved, sat with them tightly closed.
"I will try again," he said to himself. And he sang the verse once more, though this time his voice shook so greatly with emotion that he was obliged to stop in the middle in order to steady it.
After this he sat silent, hoping that Belinda would even now open her eyes.
"Then," said he, "she will see how sad I look, and she will surely be touched."
But disappointment was again his lot. She never opened even half an eye.
"Shiver my timbers!" said the luckless Sailor-Lad, "she'll be the death of me."
And he went away mournfully whistling "The Death of Nelson."
Then he tried to startle her by suddenly shouting within her hearing a few seafaring expressions he knew. "Hard-a-port! Lay aft! Yo, heave ho!"
She half-opened her eyes, but immediately closed them again. "Those expressions sound a little rough," she remarked.
He felt sorely tried.
"None so blind as those who won't see, my lass," he said one day.
"I should have thought," she answered with unaffected surprise, "it was those who can't see."
"Have you looked up through the sky-light this afternoon?" he asked. "The sunset is glorious."
"Describe it to me. I love descriptions," she said with simple enthusiasm.
"You had better see it for yourself," he said crossly and turned away. He felt so wretched that really he would have liked to go to sea.
He sighed again,--and looked back at Belinda. Why, her eyes were open! He hurried over to her, pinching with great energy his arm as he went, in order to make himself tearful, and thus, if possible, appear more miserable than he already did. The tears did come, but just as he got to Belinda she closed her eyes once more.
"The sunset is indeed perfect," she said, "I have been watching it till my eyes ache, and I cannot keep them open any longer."
"I look just as if I had a cold in my head. You can see that for yourself, can't you?" he asked, hoping that this question would induce her to glance at him and observe his tears.
"Why, no," she answered, "I can't because my eyes are closed. But if you say so, I suppose you must be correct."
"Belinda, I love you," said he.
"Thank you very much," answered she. "Isn't it extraordinary weather for this time of the year? I can hardly believe that we are in the middle of summer."
Poor Jack left in despair, and this time he whistled a funeral march.
But like a true-hearted sailor, he resolved to try again. So the next day he said to her:
"Belinda, I'm afraid we are going to have heavy weather, there are so many clouds overhead. Look up out of the sky-light and you will see for yourself."
"I would rather not," she said, keeping her eyes tightly closed. "I don't like seeing clouds; it depresses my spirits."
"You can look out of the sky-light now," he said to her later, "without being afraid of seeing the clouds. They have all cleared away and it is blue again."
"Then I can enjoy my afternoon nap," she remarked simply, "without fear of thunder."
And on this occasion the poor curly-headed Sailor felt too miserable even to attempt whistling; he went away in dumb despair!
It was just about this time that Mademoiselle Cerise was bought by a lady as a present for her little god-daughter.
"But the color of the doll's dress has become faded," said the lady. "She must have a new one before I take her."
"That can easily be arranged in a day," said the owner of the shop.
"Very well," answered the lady, "then I will buy her. You need not send her. I will bring my little friend with me to-morrow afternoon when we shall be passing your shop. She will like to carry her new doll through