Emilie the Peacemaker | Page 6

thought that she recognised a face, and on a little closer inspection she
saw it was old Joe Murray, who had stopped her course to the beach a
few evenings before. She did not wish to encounter Joe, so slipping
behind the blue jacketed crowd, she walked quickly forwards, but Joe
followed her.
"Young lady," he said, "if you are looking for corallines, you can't do
better than ask your papa some fine afternoon, to drive you as far as
Sheldon, and you'll find a sight of fine weeds there, as I know, for my
boy, my poor boy I lost, I mean," said he, again touching the rusty
crape on his hat, "my boy was very curious in those things, and had
quite a museum of 'em at home." How could Edith stand against such
an attack? It was plain that the old man wanted to make peace with her,
and, cheerfully thanking him, she was moving on, but the old boots
grinding the shingle, were again heard behind her, and turning round,
she saw Joe at her heels.
"Miss, I don't know as I ought to have stopped you that night. I am a
poor old fisherman, and you are a young lady, but I meant no harm, and
for the moment only did it in a joke."
"Oh, dear," said Edith, "don't think any more about it, I was very cross
that night, and you were quite right, I should have got Miss Schomberg
into sad trouble if I had gone that way. As it was, I was out too late.
Have you lost a son lately, said Edith, I heard you say you had just now?
Was he drowned?" inquired the child, kindly looking up into Joe's face.
"Yes Miss, he was drowned," said Joe, "he came by his death very
sadly. Will you please, Miss, to come home with me, and I will shew
you his curiosities, and if you please to take a fancy to any, I'm sure
you are very welcome. I don't know any good it does me to turn 'em

over, and look at them as I do times and often, but somehow when we
lose them we love, we hoard up all they loved. He had a little dog, poor
Bob had, a little yapping thing, and I never took to the animal, 'twas
always getting into mischief, and gnawing the nets, and stealing my
fish, and I used often to say, 'Bob, my boy, I love you but not your dog.
No, that saying won't hold good now. I can't love that dog of yours. Sell
it, boy--give it away--get rid of it some how.' All in good part, you
know, Miss, for I never had any words with him about it. And now Bob
is gone--do you know, Miss, I love that dumb thing with the sort of
love I should love his child, if he had left me one. If any one huffs
Rover, (I ain't a very huffish man,) but I can tell you I shew them I
don't like it, I let the creature lay at my feet at night, and I feed him
myself and fondle him for the sake of him who loved him so. And you
may depend Miss, the dog knows his young master is gone, and the
way he is gone too, for I could not bring him on the shore for a long
while, but he would set up such a howl as would rend your heart to hear.
And that made me love the poor thing I can tell you."
"But how did it happen?" softly asked Edith.
"Why Miss it ain't at all an extraordinary way in which he met his death.
It was in this way. He was very fond of me, poor boy, but he liked his
way better than my way too often. And may be I humoured him a little
too much. He was my Benjamin, you must know Miss, for his mother
died soon after he was born. Sure enough I made an idol of the lad, and
we read somewhere in the Bible, Miss, that 'the idols he will utterly
abolish.' But I don't like looking at the sorrow that way neither. I would
rather think that 'whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.' Well, Miss, like
father like son. My boy loved the sea, as was natural he should, but he
was too venturesome; I used often to say, 'Bob, the oldest sailor living
can't rule the waves and winds, and if you are such a mad cap as to go
out sailing in such equally weather on this coast, as sure as you are
alive you will repent it.' He and some young chaps hereabouts, got such
a wonderful notion of