One Day At Arle | Page 5

a sudden
curious admiration for them.
"She's powerful fond o' such loike bits o' things--posies an' such loike,"
he said. "Thems some as I planted to please her on th' very day as we
were wed. I'll tak' one or two. She's main fond on 'em--fur such a hard
un."
And when he went out he held in his hand two or three slender stems
hung with the tiny pretty humble bells.
He had these very bits of simple blossoms in his hand when he went

down to where the Mary Anne lay on the beach for repairs. So his
fellow-workmen said when they told the story afterwards, remembering
even this trivial incident.
He was in a strange frame of mind, too, they noticed, silent and heavy
and absent. He did not work well, but lagged over his labor, stopping
every now and then to pass the back of his hand over his brow as if to
rouse himself.
"Yo' look as if yo' an' th' missus had had a fallin' out an' yo'n getten th'
worst o' th' bargain," one of his comrades said by way of rough jest.
They were fond of joking with him about his love for his handsome,
taciturn wife. But he did not laugh this time as he usually did.
"Mind thy own tackle, lad," he said dully, "an I'll mind mine."
From that time he worked steadily among them until it was nearly time
for the tide to rise. The boat they were repairing had been a difficult job
to manage, as they could only work between tides, and now being
hurried they lingered longer than usual. At the last minute they found it
must be moved, and so were detained.
"Better leave her until th' tide ebbs," said one, but the rest were not of
the same mind.
"Nay," they argued, "it'll be all to do o'er agen if we do that. Theer's
plenty o' time if we look sharp enow. Heave again, lads."
Then it was that with the help of straining and tugging there came a
little lurch, and then it was that as the Mary Anne slipped over on her
side one of the workers slipped with her, slipped half underneath her
with a cry, and lay on the sand, held down by the weight that rested on
him.
With his cry there broke out half a dozen others, and the men rushed up
to him with frightened faces. . "Are yo' hurt, Seth, lad?" they cried.
"Are yo' crushed or owt?"

The poor fellow stirred a little and then looked up at them pale enough.
"Bruised a bit," he answered them, "an' sick a bit, but I dunnot think
theer's any bones broke. Look sharp, chaps, an' heave her up. She's a
moit o' weight on me."
They went to work again one and all, so relieved by his words that they
were doubly strong, but after toiling like giants for a while they were
compelled to pause for breath. In falling the boat had so buried herself
in the sand that she was harder to move than ever. It had seemed simple
enough at first, but it was not so simple, after all. With all their efforts
they had scarcely stirred her an inch, and their comrade's position
interfered with almost every plan suggested. Then they tried again, but
this time with less effect than before, through their fatigue. When they
were obliged to pause they looked at each other questioningly, and
more than one of them turned a trifle paler, and at last the wisest of
them spoke out:--
"Lads," he said, "we conna do this oursens. Run for help, Jem Coulter,
an' run wi' thy might, fur it wunnot be so long afore th' tide'll flow."
Up to this time the man on the sands had lain with closed eyes and set
teeth, but when he heard this his eyes opened and he looked up.
"Eh!" he said, in that blind, stupid fashion. "What's that theer tha's
sayin' Mester?"
"Th' tide," blundered the speaker. "I wur tellin' him to look sharp, that's
aw."
The poor fellow moved restlessly.
"Aye! aye!" he said. "Look sharp--he mun do that. I didna think o' th'
tide." And he shut his eyes again with a faint groan.
They strove while the messenger was gone; and they strove when he
returned with assistance; they strove with might and main, until not a
man among them had the strength of a child, and the boldest of them

were blanching with a fearful, furtive excitement none dared to show.
A crowd had gathered round by this time--men willing and anxious to
help, women suggesting new ideas and comforting the wounded man in
rough, earnest style; children clinging to their mothers' gowns and
looking on terror-stricken.