Christie, the Kings Servant | Page 6

breakfast,
whilst little John looked on. He was sitting in his nightgown, curled up
in his father's armchair. 'I'm daddy,' he called out to me as I came in.
There was a little round table laid ready for me, and covered with a

spotlessly clean cloth, and on it was a small black teapot, and a white
and gold cup and saucer, upon which I saw the golden announcement,
'A present from Whitby,' whilst my plate was adorned with a
remarkable picture of Whitby Abbey in a thunderstorm.
There were herrings, of course, and Polly had made some hot cakes, the
like of which are never seen outside Yorkshire. These were ready
buttered, and were lying wrapped in a clean cloth in front of the fire.
Polly made the tea as soon as I entered, and then retired with little John
in her arms into the bedroom, whilst I sat down with a good appetite to
my breakfast.
I had not quite finished my meal when I heard a great shout from the
shore. Women and children, lads and lasses, ran past the open door,
crying, 'The boats! the boats!' Polly came flying into the kitchen,
caught up little John's red cap, thrust it on his head, and ran down the
steps. I left my breakfast unfinished, and followed them.
It was a pretty sight. The fishing-boats were just nearing shore, and
almost every one in the place had turned out to meet them.
Wives, children, and visitors were gathered on the small landing place;
most had dishes or plates in their hands, for the herrings could be
bought straight from the boats. The family from York were there, and
they greeted me as an old friend.
When the little village had been abundantly supplied with fish, the rest
of the herrings were packed up and sent off by train to be sold
elsewhere. It was a pretty animated scene, and I wished I had brought
my sketchbook with me. I thought the arrival of the fishing boats would
make a splendid subject for a picture.
Duncan was too busy even to see me till the fish were all landed,
counted, and disposed of, but he had time for a word with little John,
and as I was finishing my breakfast he came in with the child perched
on his shoulder.
'Good morning, sir,' he said; 'and how do you like our bay this

morning?'
My answer fully satisfied him, and whilst he sat down to his morning
meal I went out to begin my work. It was a lovely day, and I
thoroughly enjoyed the prospect before me. I found a shady place just
under the wall of a house, where my picture would be in sunlight and I
and my easel in shadow. I liked the spot I had chosen even better than I
had done before breakfast, and I was soon hard at work.
I had sketched in my picture, and was beginning to paint, when I
became conscious of the sound of voices just over my head, and I soon
became equally conscious that they were talking about me.
'It's just like it,' said one voice. 'Look--do look. There's Betty Green's
cottage, and Minnie the cat, and the seat, and the old boat.'
[Illustration]
'Let me see, Marjorie,' said another voice; 'is it the old one with white
hair and a long, long beard?'
'No, it's quite a young one; his hair's black, and he hasn't got a beard at
all.'
'Let me look. Yes, I can see him. I like him much better than the old
one; hasn't he got nice red cheeks?'
'Hush! he'll hear,' said the other voice. 'You naughty boy! I believe he
did hear; I saw him laugh.'
I jumped up at this, and looked up, but I could see nothing but a garden
wall and a thick bushy tree, which was growing just inside it.
'Hullo, who's there?' I shouted.
But there was dead silence; and as no one appeared, and nothing more
happened, I sat down and went on with my picture.
Many people passed by as I was painting, and tried to look at what I

was doing. Some glanced out of the corners of their eyes as they
walked on; others paused behind me and silently watched me; a few
made remarks to one another about my picture; one or two offered
suggestions, thought I should have had a better view lower down the
hill, or hoped that I would make the colouring vivid enough. The
children with whom I had travelled seemed to feel a kind of partnership
in my picture.
'Let's go and look at our artist,' Bob would say to Harry; 'his picture is
going to be the best of the lot.'
They were so fond of