Wild Adventures round the Pole

for a moment gazing upwards at the strutting fantails.

  "Curr-a-coo--curr-a-coo," said the pigeons.

  "Curr-a-coo--curr-a-coo," replied the sailor. "I dare say you're veryhappy, and I'm sure you think the sun was made for you and you only.Ah! my bonnie birdies, you don't know what the world is doing. Youdon't--hullo?"

  "Yes, my dear, you may say hullo," said a cheerful little woman, with abright, pleasant face, walking up to him, and placing an arm in his."Didn't you hear me tapping on the pane for you?"

  "Not I, little wife, not I," said Silas Grig. "I've been thinking,lass, thinking--"

  "Well, then," interrupted his wife, "don't you think any more; you'vemade your hair all white with thinking. Just come in and havebreakfast. That haddock smells delicious, and I've made some nicetoast, and tried the new tea. Come, Silas, come."

  Away went the two together, he with his arm around her waist, looking ashappy, the pair of them, as though their united ages didn't make a dealover a hundred.

  "Come next month," said Silas, as soon as he had finished his first cupof tea--"come next month, little wife, it will just be two years since Ifirst met the _Arrandoon_. Heigho?"

  "You needn't sigh, Silas," his wife remarked. "They may return.Wonders never cease."

  "Return?" repeated Silas, with a broken-hearted kind of a laugh, "Nay,nay, nay, we'll meet them no more in this world. Poor Rory! He was myfavourite. Dear boy, I think I see him yet, with his fair, laughingface, and that rogue of an eye of his."

  Rat-tat.

  Silas started.

  "The postman?" he said; "no, it can't be. That's right, little woman,run to the door and see. What! a telegram for me!"

  Silas took the missive, and turned it over and over in his hand half adozen times at least.

  "Why, my dear, who _can_ it be from?" he asked with a puzzled look, "andwhat _can_ it be about? _Can_ you guess, little wife? Eh? can you?"

  "If I were you, Silas," said his wife, quietly, "I'd open it and see."

  "Dear me! to be sure," cried Silas. "I didn't think of that. Why, Ideclare," he continued, as soon as he had read it, "it is from ArrandoonCastle, and the poor widow, Allan's mother, wants to see me at once.I'm off, little woman, at once. Get out my best things. The bluepilots, you know. Quick, little woman--quick! Bear a hand! Hurrah!"

  Silas Grig didn't finish that second cup of tea. He was dressed in lessthan ten minutes, had kissed his wife, and was hurrying away to thestation. Indeed, Silas had never in his life felt in such a hurrybefore.

  "It'll be like my luck," he muttered, "if I miss this train."

  But he did not miss it, and it was a fast one, too, a flying train, thatevery day went tearing along through Scotland, and was warranted to landhim at Inverness six hours after he first stepped on board.

  No sooner was Silas seated than he pulled out the telegram again, andread it over and over at least a dozen times. Then he looked at theback of it, as if it were just possible that some further informationmight be found there. Then he read the address, and as he could not getanything more out of it he folded it up and replaced it in his pocket,merely remarking, "I'll vow something's in the wind."

  Silas had bought a newspaper. He had meant to read; he tried to read ashard as ever he had tried to do anything, but it was all in vain. Hismind was in too great a ferment, so he threw down the paper and devotedhimself to gazing out of the window at the glorious panorama that waspassing before him; but if anybody else had been in the samecompartment, he or she would have heard this ancient mariner frequentlymuttering to himself, and the burden of all his remarks was,"Something's in the wind, I'm sure of that!"

  A fast train? A flying train? Yes, a deal too much so, many would havethought, but she could not fly a bit too fast for Silas. Yet how shedid rattle and rush and roar along the lines, to be sure! The din shemade only deepening for a moment as she dived under a bridge or brushedpast a wayside station, too insignificant by far to waste a thoughtupon! Now she passes a country village, with rows of trim-builtcottages and tidy gardens, with lines for clothes to dry, and fenceswhere children hang or perch and wave their caps at the flying train.Now she shaves past rows of platelayers, who stand at attention orextend their grimy arms like signal yards, while a blue-coatedjack-in-a-box waves a white flag from his window to show that all issafe. Now she ploughs through some larger junction, over a whole fieldof rails that seems to run in every conceivable direction; but she makesher way in safety in a whirl of dust, and next she shrieks as sheplunges into the darkness of a long, dreary tunnel. Ah! but she is outagain into the glare of the day, and again the telegraph posts gopopping past as fast as one could wink. Five miles now on a stretch oflevel country as straight as crow could fly, through fields and woodsand past thriving farms, with far beyond on the horizon hills, hills,hills.

  'Tis spring-time, spring changing into summer, summer coming six goodweeks before its time. Look, Silas, look! crimson flowers are alreadypeeping red through the greenery of cornfields, drowsy-looking cows arewading knee-deep in grass and buttercups, the braelands are snowed overwith the gowan's bloom. Birds are singing in meadow and copse, theyellow furze is blossoming on heathy moorlands. Great black sprucesraise their tall heads skywards, and their every branch is tipped with atassel of tender green; rowan-trees seem studded with roses of a pearlyhue, and the feathery larches are hung round with a fringe-work ofdarkest crimson. Is it not glorious, Silas? is it not all beautiful?Did ever you see a sky more blue before, or cloudlets more fleecy andlight?

  "I'll stake my word," replies Silas, "that something's in the wind."

  Wilder scenery now, dark, frowning mountains, lonely glens, heathlands,highlands, canons, and tarns, then a long and fertile flat, every sod ofwhich marks a Scottish warrior's grave.

  Inverness at last!

  "Boat gone, is it?" cried Silas. "Like my luck. But why didn't shewait for the train? Tell me that, eh?"

  "Yes, sir; dare say I could, sir." This from an ostler in answer toanother query of friend Silas. "Five-and-twenty mile, sir. I've justthe horse that'll suit. Three hours to a tick, sir, rough though theroad is, sir. I'll be ready in twenty minutes. Thank'ee, sir, muchobliged. Now then, Donald, bustle about, will you? Get out the baymare. Look sharp, gentleman's only got five minutes to feed."

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  "It can't be Captain Grig already," said Mrs McGregor.

  "And yet who else can it be?" said Helen Edith.

  "I'll run out and see," said Ralph's father, who had been spending someweeks at the castle.

  "Ha! welcome, honest Silas Grig," he cried, rushing up and literallyreceiving Silas with open arms as he jumped from the high-wheeleddogcart. "A thousand welcomes. Well, I do declare you haven't let thegrass grow under your feet. How your horse steams! Take him round,driver, and see to his comfort, then go to the kitchen and see to yourown. Old Janet is there. Now, Silas," continued Mr Leigh, "before yougo to talk to the ladies, I'll tell you what we have arranged. We havethought well over all you said when you were here in the autumn, andI've chartered a German Arctic cruiser, and we're going to put you incommand. She is lying at Peterhead, everything ready, crew and all,stores and all. Our prayers will follow you, dear Captain Grig, and ifyou find our poor boys, or even bring us tidings of their fate, we willbe ever grateful. Nay, nay, but `grateful' poorly expresses my meaning.We will--"

  "Not another word," cried Silas, "not one single word more, sir, or assure as my name is Silas Grig I'll clap my fingers in my ears."

  He shook Mr Leigh's hand as he spoke.

  "I'll find the boys if they be alive," he said. "I knew, sir, when Igot the telegram there was something in the wind. I told my little wifeI was quite sure of it. Ha! ha! ha!"

  Silas was laughing, but it was only to hide the tears with which hiseyes were swimming.

  "When can you start, my dear Silas?"

  "To-night. At once. Give me
a fresh horse and five minutes for amouthful of refreshment, and off I start; and I'll take commandto-morrow before the sun is over the foreyard."

  "To-night?" cried Mr Leigh, smiling. "No, no, no."

  "But I say `yo, yo, yo,'" said Silas, "and `yo heave, O,' and what Silassays he means. There! Ah, ladies, how are you? Nay, never cry, MissMcGregor. I'm going straight away to the Arctic Sea, and I'm sure tobring your brother back, and Rory as well, to