Adventures of a Despatch Rider | Page 4

the Russians at Alma or Inkermann, is now blushing scarlet before his own approving conscience and the gratitude of a sick girl. The smile and blush were not gone when he reached home, and Ellen saw both and smiled too, but wisely said nothing. The ice on Edward's heart was broken; a few "kind words" had flowed out and melted it. He went to sleep that night, and dreamed that angels were saying "kind words" to him; Ellen went to sleep, too, and dreamed of her brother reading the Bible to the dying on a battle-field; and the sick girl lay awake all night, thinking how good it was of Miss Crawford to think of her, and how good of the Captain to tell her so.
The Sixpence had done a good day's work; had a shilling been in its place, it would probably have failed in accomplishing it; and Captain Crawford, thinking money the best way to the heart of the poor, would never have tasted the joy of soothing sad hearts by kindness. Alas! little Sixpence, that you who have been such a blessing to-day, should become a curse to-morrow; that you who have gone forth on errands of mercy to-day, should dwell in scenes of drunkenness and theft to-morrow!
Early next morning Mrs. Tourtel went to market, and left the Sixpence at a baker's shop in payment for a white loaf for her daughter. There it spent the day--a quiet day--broken by few events. It might have seen the fresh bread taken out of the oven, and packed in the cart which waited at the door to receive it; and it might have seen many people bustle in and out of the shop, from the little child to buy a penny loaf, to the gentleman's housekeeper to pay the week's bill; but it remained undisturbed till the shutters were taken down on the following morning, when a man came to buy a small loaf for his breakfast, and received the Sixpence in change. Appearances were far more against it this time than they had been before. John Barker had an unshaved beard, a scowling eye, and a red face; his dress consisted of a blue woollen shirt, coarse blue trousers grimed in mud, and a low-crowned black hat; on his shoulder he carried a spade and pickaxe. As he walked along he was joined by others of an equally unprepossessing appearance, and found many more already assembled at the scene of their labours--the new harbour.
The sun was not yet risen, and a mist hung over the sea, through which the signal-post at Castle Cornet, and the masts of the vessels in the roads, were the only objects visible; but there was a faint red streak in the sky, which grew brighter and brighter every moment, till the sunrise gun fired; and then the mist changed into a golden veil, which floated insensibly away, leaving every geranium-leaf outside the windows white with hoar-frost, just to tantalise the townsfolk more distant islands became just visible, mingling the blue of the sea and the violet of the sky so mysteriously in their delicate colouring, that they were scarcely distinguishable from either. And then the carts began to roll along the quay, and work commenced on board the ships in the harbour, and the sailors' cry as they hoisted the sails, mingled with the rattling of chains and the creaking of the cranes outside the stores. At about nine o'clock up ran the ball at the signal-post, which announced the approach of the mail-boat, and as she steamed behind the Castle, and anchored in the roads, there were hasty embraces and shakes of the hand on the pier, and the passengers were rowed out to embark. A few minutes, and the tinkling of a bell was heard from the shore; another--one more; her wheels were turning, she was off for Southampton, and the passengers from Jersey were landing at the quay.
All this, and much more, might John Barker have seen, and probably he did see it, but found nothing beautiful or exciting in it. He did not hold his breath as that cutter approached and ran between the pier-heads, her sail dipping in the wave which bore her in. He saw it a dozen times that day, and had seen it a hundred times before, but never cared to see it again. He worked sullenly on, exchanging few words with his fellow-labourers, till the twilight compelled them to shoulder their tools; and they then made their way, alas! to the many public-houses near, and one of them we must enter with John Barker, and see the Sixpence, that little messenger of good--that talent committed to his care--far worse than wasted by its responsible owner. Happily, the payment was not long delayed, and glad