SANDY
by
ALICE HEGAN RICE
Author of _Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch_
New York, The Century Co.
1905
"Looking up, he saw a slender little girl in a longtan coat and a whit tam-o'-shanter"]
TO MY AUNT
MISS MARY A. HEGANWHO USED TO TELL ME BETTER STORIESTHAN I SHALL EVER WRITE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE STOWAWAY II ON SHIPBOARD III THE CURSE OF WEALTH IV SIDE-TRACKED V SANDY RETIRES FROM BUSINESS VI HOLLIS FARM VII CONVALESCENCE VIII AUNT MELVY AS A SOOTHSAYER IX TRANSITION X WATERLOO XI "THE LIGHT THAT LIES" XII ANTICIPATION XIII THE COUNTY FAIR XIV A COUNCIL OF WAR XV HELL AND HEAVEN XVI THE NELSON HOME XVII UNDER THE WILLOWS XVIII THE VICTIM XIX THE TRIALS OF AN ASSISTANT POSTMASTER XX THE IRONY OF CHANCE XXI IN THE DARK XXII AT WILLOWVALE XXIII "THE SHADOW ON THE HEART" XXIV THE PRIMROSE WAY
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Looking up, he saw a slender little girl in a long tan coat and awhite tam-o-shanter" Frontispiece
"He sent up yell after yell of victory for the land of his adoption"
"He smiled away his debt of gratitude"
"Then he forgot all about the steps and counting time"
"Burning deeds of prowess rioted in his brain"
"Sandy saw her waver"
"'It's been love, Sandy, ... ever since the first'"
CHAPTER I
THE STOWAWAY
An English mist was rolling lazily inland from the sea. It halfenveloped the two great ocean liners that lay tugging at theirmoorings in the bay, and settled over the wharf with a grimdetermination to check, as far as possible, the traffic of themorning.
But the activity of the wharf, while impeded, was in no wise stopped.The bustle, rattle, and shouting were, in fact, augmented by thetemporary interference. Everybody seemed in a hurry, and everybodyseemed out of temper, save a boy who lay at full length on the quayand earnestly studied a weather-vane that was lazily trying to makeup its mind which way to point.
He was ragged and brawny and picturesque. His hands, bronzed by thetan of sixteen summers, were clasped under his head, and his legs werecrossed, one soleless shoe on high vaunting its nakedness in the faceof an indifferent world. A sailor's blouse, two sizes too large, washeld together at the neck by a bit of red cambric, and his trouserswere anchored to their mooring by a heavy piece of yellow twine. Theindolence of his position, however, was not indicative of the state ofhis mind; for under his weather-beaten old cap, perched sidewise on atousled head, was a commotion of dreams and schemes, ambitions andplans, whose activities would have put to shame the busiest wharf inthe world.
"It's your show, Sandy Kilday!" he said, half aloud, with a bit of abrogue that flavored his speech as the salt flavors the sea air. "Youdon't want to be a bloomin' old weather-vane, a-changin' your mindevery time the wind blows. Is it go, or stay?"
The answer, instead of coming, got sidetracked by the train of thoughtthat descended upon him when he was actually face to face with hisdecision. All sorts of memories came rushing pell-mell through hisbrain. The cold and hungry ones were the most insistent, but hebrushed them aside.
The one he clung to longest was the earliest and most shadowy of thelot. It was of a little white house on an Irish heath, and inside wasthe biggest fireplace in the world, where crimson flames went roaringup the big, dark chimney, and where witches and fairies held highcarnival. There was a big chair on each side the hearth, and betweenthem a tiny red rocker with flowers painted on the arms of it. Thatwas the clearest of all. There were persons in the large chairs, one asilent Scotchman who, instinct told him, must have been his father,and the other--oh, tricky memory that faltered when he wanted it to beso clear!--was the maddest, merriest little mother that ever cameback to haunt a lad. By holding tight to the memory he could see thather eyes were blue like his own, but her hair was black. He could hearthe ring of her laugh as she told him Irish stories, and the softdrone of her voice as she sang him old Irish songs. It was she whotold him about the fairies and witches that lived up behind thepeat-flames. He remembered holding her hand and putting his cheekagainst it when the goblins came too near. Then the picture would goout, like a picture in a magic-lantern show, and sometimes Sandy couldmake it come back, and sometimes he could not.
After that came a succession of memories, but none of them held thesilent father and the merry mother and the little white house on theheath. They were of new faces and new places, of temporary homes withrelatives in Ireland and Scotland, of various schools and unceasingwork. Then came the day, two years ago, when, goaded by someinjustice, real or imagined, he had run away to England and struck outalone and empty-handed to care for himself. It had been a roughexperience, and there were days that he was glad to forget; butthrough it all the taste of freedom had been sweet in his mouth.
For three weeks he had been hanging about the docks, picking up jobshere and there, accommodating any one who wanted to be accommodated,making many friends and little money. He had had no thought ofembarking until the big English liner _Great Britain_ arrived in portafter breaking all records on her homeward passage. She was to starton her second trip to-day, and an hour later her rival, the steamship_America_, was to take her departure. The relative merits of the twovessels had been the talk of the wharf for days.
Sandy had made it a rule in life to be on hand when anything washappening. He had viewed cricket-matches from tree-tops, had answeredthe call of fire at midnight, and tramped ten miles to see the finishof a great regatta. But something was about to take place which seemedentirely beyond his attainment. Two hours passed before he solved theproblem.
"Takin' the rest-cure, kid?" asked a passing sailor as he shied astick at Sandy's shins.
Sandy stretched himself and smiled up at the sailor. It was a smilethat waited for an answer and usually got it--a smile so brimming overwith good-fellowship and confidence that it made a lover of a friendand a friend of an enemy.
"It's a trip that I'm thinkin' of takin'," he cried blithely as hejumped to his feet. "Here's the shillin' I owe you, partner, and maythe best luck ye've had be the worst luck that's comin'."
He tossed a coin to the sailor, and thrusting his hands in hispockets, executed a brief but brilliant _pas seul_, and then wentwhistling away down the wharf. He swung along right cheerily, his ragsfluttering, his chin in the air, for the wind had settled in onedirection, and the weather-vane and Sandy had both made up theirminds.
The sailor looked after him fondly. "He's a bloomin' good littlechap," he said to a man near by. "Carries a civil tongue in his headfor everybody."
The man grunted. "He's too off and on," he said. "He'll never come tonaught."
Two days later, the _America_, cutting her way across the Atlantic,carried one more passenger than she registered. In the big life-boatswung above the hurricane-deck lay Sandy Kilday, snugly concealed bythe heavy canvas covering.
He had managed to come aboard under cover of the friendly fog, and hadboldly appropriated a life-boat and was doing light housekeeping. Theapartment, to be sure, was rather small and dark, for the only lightcame through a tiny aperture where the canvas was tucked back. At thisend Sandy attended to his domestic duties.
Here were stored the fresh water and hardtack which the law requiresevery life-boat to carry in case of an emergency. Added to these wasSandy's private larder, consisting of several loaves of bread, a bagof apples, and some canned meat. The other end of the boat wasutilized as a bedroom, a couple of life-preservers serving as the bed,and his own bundle of personal belongings doing duty as a pillow.
There were some drawbacks, naturally, especially to an energetic,restless y
oungster who had never been in one place so long before inhis life. It was exceedingly inconvenient to have to lie down orcrawl; but Sandy had been used to inconveniences all his life, andthis was simply a difference in kind, not in degree. Besides, he couldsteal out at night and, by being very careful and still, manage toavoid the night watch.
The first night out a man and a girl had come up from the cabin deckand sat directly under his hiding-place. At first he was too muchafraid of discovery to listen to what they were saying, but later hisinterest outweighed his fear. For they were evidently lovers, andSandy was at that inflammable age when to hear mention of love isdangerous and to see a manifestation of it absolute contagion. Whenthe great question came, his heart waited for the answer. Perhaps itwas the added weight of his unspoken influence that turned the scale.She said yes. During the silence that followed, Sandy, unable torestrain his joy, threw his arms about a life-preserver and embracedit fervently.
When they were gone he crawled out to stretch his weary body. On thedeck he found a book which they had left; it was a green book, and onthe cover was a golden castle on a golden hill. All the rest of hislife he loved a green book best, for it was through this one that hefound his way back again to that enchanted land that lay behind thepeat-flames in the shadowy memory. Early in the morning he read it,with his head on the box of hardtack and his feet on the water-can.Twice he reluctantly tore himself from its pages and put it back wherehe had found it. No one came to claim it, and it lay there, with thegolden castle shining in the sun. Sandy decided to take one more peep.
It was all about gallant knights and noble lords, of damsels passingfair, of tourneys and feasts and battles fierce and long. Story afterstory he devoured, until he came to the best one of all. It told of abeautiful damsel with a mantle richly furred, who was girt with acumbrous sword which did her great sorrow; for she might not bedelivered of it save by a knight who was of passing good name both ofhis lands and deeds. And after that all the great knights had strivenin vain to draw the sword from its sheath, a poor knight, poorlyarrayed, felt in his heart that he might essay it, but was abashed. Atlast, however, when the damsel was departing, he plucked up courage toask if he might try; and when she hesitated he said: "Fair damsel,worthiness and good deeds are not only in arrayment, but manhood andworship are hid within man's person." Then the poor knight took thesword by the girdle and sheath and drew it out easily.
And it was not until then that Sandy knew that he had had no dinner,and that the sun had climbed over to the other side of the steamer,and that a continual cheering was coming up from the deck below.Cautiously he pulled back the canvas flap and emerged like the head ofa turtle from his shell. The bright sunshine dazzled him for a moment,then he saw a sight that sent the dreams flying. There, just ahead,was the _Great Britain_ under full way, valiantly striving to hold herrecord against the oncoming steamer.
Sandy sat up and breathlessly watched the champion of the sea, hersmoke-stacks black against the wide stretch of shining waters. TheUnion Jack was flying in insolent security from her flagstaff. Therewere many figures on deck, and her music was growing louder everyminute. Inch by inch the _America_ gained upon her, until they werebow and bow. The crowd below grew wilder, cheers went up from bothsteamers, the decks were white with the flutter of handkerchiefs.Suddenly the band below struck up "The Star-Spangled Banner." Sandygave one triumphant glance at the Stars and Stripes floating overhead,and in that moment became naturalized. He leaped to his feet in theboat, and tearing the blouse from his back, waved the tattered bannerin the face of the vanquished _Great Britain_, as he sent up yellafter yell of victory for the land of his adoption.
"He sent up yell after yell of victory for the land ofhis adoption"]
Then he was seized by the ankle and jerked roughly down upon the deck.Over him stood the deck steward.
"You`re a rum egg for that old boat to hatch out," he said. "I guessthe cap'n will be wantin' to see you."
Sandy, thus peremptorily summoned from the height of patrioticfrenzy, collapsed in terror. Had the deck steward not been familiarwith stowaways, he doubtless would have been moved by the flood ofeloquent persuasion which Sandy brought to bear.
As it was, he led him ruthlessly down the narrow steps, past the longline of curious passengers, then down again to the steerage deck,where he deposited him on a coil of rope and bade him stay there untilhe was sent for.
Here Sandy sat for the remainder of the afternoon, stared at fromabove and below, an object of lively curiosity. He bit his nails untilthe blood came, and struggled manfully to keep back the tears. He wascold, hungry, and disgraced, and his mind was full of sinisterthoughts. Inch by inch he moved closer to the railing.
Suddenly something fell at his feet. It was an orange. Looking up, hesaw a slender little girl in a long tan coat and a whitetam-o'-shanter leaning over the railing. He only knew that her eyeswere brown and that she was sorry for him, but it changed his world.He pulled off his cap, and sent her such an ardent smile of gratitudethat she melted from the railing like a snowflake under the kiss ofthe sun.
Sandy ate the orange and took courage. Life had acquired a newinterest.