There is Sorrow on the Sea | Page 2

haven't hit, nor one on mine that he hasn't mauled. I've sat on his
head, and he's had his knee in my stomach till I squealed, and we never
could meet without back-talking and rasping 'gainst the grain. The
night before he joined the coast-guardsmen, he was down at the
Book-in-Hand, and 'twas little like that I'd let the good chance pass--I

might never have another; for Gover'ment folk will not easy work a
quarrel on their own account. I mind him sittin' there on the settle, his
shins against the fire, a long pipe going, and Casey of the Lazy Beetle,
and Jobbin the mate of the Dodger, and Little Faddo, who had the fat
Dutch wife down by the Ship Inn, and Whiggle the preaching
blacksmith. And you were standin' with your back to the shinin'
pewters, and the great jug of ale with the white napkin behind you; the
light o' the fire wavin' on your face, and your look lost in the deep
hollow o' the chimney. I think of you most as you were that minute,
Cousin Fanny, when I come in. I tell you straight and fair, that was the
prettiest picture I ever saw; and I've seen some rare fine things in my
travels. 'Twas as if the thing had been set by some one, just to show
you off to your best. Here you were, a slip of a lass, straight as a
bulrush, and your head hangin' proud on your shoulders; yet modest too,
as you can see off here in the North the top of the golden-rod flower
swing on its stem. You were slim as slim, and yet there wasn't a corner
on you; so soft and full and firm you were, like the breast of a quail;
and I mind me how the shine of your cheeks was like the glimmer of an
apple after you've rubbed it with a bit of cloth. Well, there you stood in
some sort of smooth, plain, clingin' gown, a little bit loose and tumblin'
at the throat, and your pretty foot with a brown slipper pushed out, just
savin' you from bein' prim. That's why the men liked you--you didn't
carry a sermon in your waist-ribbon, and the Lord's Day in the lift o'
your chin; but you had a smile to give when 'twas the right time for it,
and men never said things with you there that they'd have said before
many another maid.
"'Twas a thing I've thought on off here, where I've little to do but think,
how a lass like you could put a finger on the lip of such rough tykes as
Faddo, Jobbin, and the rest, keepin' their rude words under flap and
button. Do you mind how, when I passed you comin' in, I laid my hand
on yours as it rested on the dresser? That hand of yours wasn't a tiny bit
of a thing, and the fingers weren't all taperin' like a simperin' miss from
town, worked down in the mill of quality and got from graftin' and
graftin', like one of them roses from the flower-house at Mablethorpe
Hall--not fit to stand by one o' them that grew strong and sweet with no
fancy colour, in the garden o' the Book-in-Hand. Yours was a hand that

talked as much as your lips or face, as honest and white; and the palm
all pink, and strong as strong could be, and warmin' every thread in a
man's body when he touched it. Well, I touched your hand then, and
you looked at me and nodded, and went musin' into the fire again, not
seemin' to hear our gabble.
"But, you remember--don't you?--how Jobbin took to chaffin' of Lancy
Doane, and how Faddo's tongue got sharper as the time got on, and
many a nasty word was said of coast-guards and excisemen, and all that
had to do with law and gover'ment. Cuts there were at some of Laney's
wild doings in the past, and now and then they'd turn to me, saying
what they thought would set me girdin' Lancy too. But I had my own
quarrel, and I wasn't to be baited by such numskulls. And Lancy--that
was a thing I couldn't understand--he did no more than shrug his
shoulder and call for more ale, and wish them all good health and a
hundred a year. I never thought he could ha' been so patient-like. But
there was a kind of little smile, too, on his face, showin' he did some
thinkin'; and I guessed he was bidin' his time.
"I wasn't as sharp as I might ha' been, or I'd ha' seen what he was
waitin' for, with that quiet provokin' smile on his face, and his eyes
smoulderin' like. I