CHAPTER VII.

WILLY'S BIRTHDAY.

DOROTHY won golden opinions from her parents and teacher next day. Her lessons were so well said, and her sums so correctly done, that Miss White sent a message home by Judith, expressing how satisfied she was with her pupil.

"You're very happy to-day, Dorothy," said her father; "I can see it in all your movement, and your face is beaming."

"Yes, father, I am very happy. I tried hard not to be idle this morning. I was just a tiny bit sorry that I had to go to school, but I asked God to help me to act properly, and Judith was so kind; and now I'm so glad to think that Miss White is satisfied to-day."

"You can't have a better helper than your Heavenly Father," said Captain Nance. "He'll bring you to the port at last. Don't forget what I told you about His being our guide. I've borne the battles and the breezes of life long enough to know where to find safe anchorage."

Dorothy not only merited her teacher's praise on that day, but on other days that followed. She tried to conquer herself, and succeeded as she had never done before, because she endeavoured to think of these words at all times,—

"Thou God seest me."

She told Judith she meant that verse to be her birthday text.

"And it shall be mine too," answered her sister.

The month of April wore away, and May set in. The hedges round Newlyn grew greener every day; the trees came out in full leaf, the ferns waved in wild luxuriance, and the banks were blue with hyacinths.

The mackerel season ends in the middle of May, and the fishermen employ the weeks that intervene before the pilchard season commences, by fishing for herrings off the coast of Ireland.

The "Mary Ann" left Newlyn late one afternoon in the third week of May.

"I shall think of you on Willy's birthday," John said to his wife, just before starting; "you'll bear up for my sake, Philippa?"

"I will try to," she answered; "but I must remember my boy as of old. Nine years, John, on the 8th of next month, since he left us. I think of him as a boy still, but if he's living he's a young man of twenty-four. How happy he would have made us had he turned out well; he would have helped you in so many ways."

"So he would, wife, and God only knows how gladly I should welcome him home. I'm always changing my opinion about him; sometimes I doubt much if we ever see him again in this world, and then again I feel sure he will return. God grant that we shall meet him in heaven, if we never see him here."

"Father is the only one who seems clear about his being alive, and coming home; and I find myself dwelling on the old man's words."

"Try not to, Philippa, it makes the uncertainty harder to bear. Leave the matter in the Lord's hands; and now let us join grandfather and the children."

When all was in readiness for departure, John bade adieu to his wife and daughters, who, with Captain Nance, accompanied him to the harbour. He shook hands with his father-in-law, and said, "God bless and keep you."

"Good-bye, my son," answered the veteran; "if my sailing orders come before you return, don't grieve for me; remember I shall have won the prize, and my poor weather-beaten bark will be safely landed."

The "Mary Ann" was not the only fishing vessel starting from Newlyn that night. There were five others. Herring fishing has been a source of great profit since the year 1826, when two boats left in the month of May for the coast of Ireland. Their success was so great that others followed, and since then a good trade has been carried on, and the income of the fishermen greatly increased thereby.

It was a glorious afternoon for starting; the wind was so brisk that the "Mary Ann" was soon out of sight.

"Now, children, come home," said Mrs. Trevan; "see how hard you can work at school for the next six weeks, and then work of another kind begins."

"Yes, mother, pilchards for ever!" cried Dorothy. "How I like the fun."

"Fun you call it; hard work I say," replied Mrs. Trevan. "What say you, Judith?"

"I think like Dorothy, mother, it's good fun; but then we don't do so much as you do."

"This year you must put your shoulders to the wheel," said Captain Nance; "when girls enter their teens, they enter on new responsibilities."

"Do you mean to work very hard, grandfather?" asked Judith.

"I shall try how my old bark will bear the strain. The bolts are dropping out fast, child, but so long as the planks hold together I shall work."

Judith did not answer her grandfather; she only pressed the hand she held to show she understood the meaning of his words.

The days rolled on rapidly until Willy's birthday dawned, and Philippa, as was her custom, went out early in the morning to pray.

"Dorothy, wake up," said Judith, "I hear mother stirring, and this is Willy's birthday. I've just thought that as we've turned thirteen we are old enough to comfort her. Let's go up Paul Hill and tell her we should like to pray with her for Willy."

"Do you think mother will like it?" questioned Dorothy.

"I'm sure she will. She'll feel that we think of her in her sorrow."

Mrs. Trevan sat alone on Paul Hill. It was still very early in the morning, and no sound disturbed the stillness, save the twittering of the birds. Her eyes wandered far, far away.

"Will he ever come?" she said aloud.

And then the question merged itself into thoughts of her first-born, her darling, the boy who had loved her in spite of his naughtiness; but who had loved his own will and his own ways so much better that he could descend so low as to steal from his mother, and leave the home without a parting word. Was he in want? And would the want make him bethink himself of the fisherman's cottage, and the love and tenderness which had gathered round him there; and would he remember his early training and the God against whom he had sinned, but who would show mercy, and was ready to welcome him back to His heart; who had a robe waiting for him with which He would replace the rags; who had a ring in token of owning His son once more in the family; who had shoes to cover his feet that were sore, and ached from walking over dusty roads and sharp stones? Did Willy feel, did he know that there would be joy in heaven if he would arise and come to his Father?

At last she buried her head in her hands and prayed for strength to have faith in God, and to believe that a wise and loving Father was busy about her life, and knew all about her heart-sickness, and did not forsake her. She felt a quiet calm stealing over her as she repeated these words aloud,—

"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour."

Her face was still hidden, when a gentle touch on either shoulder made her look up, to find her daughters at her side.

"Mother, forgive us, and don't be vexed because we've come," said Dorothy; "but we think we're old enough to help you to bear your sorrow."

Philippa's eyes glistened through her tears. "My darlings!" was all that she could answer.

They sat down, one on each side of her, and talked about their brother for some time. Then the conversation grew more personal; and Dorothy and Judith spoke of the longing they had to live holy lives, and how often they failed in little things; and how they daily read God's book together, and tried to realise the time when Jesus spoke to publicans and sinners, and walked and lived on earth.

Mrs. Trevan was beguiled by these loving confidences, and was filled with thankfulness to God that even her Dorothy, whose quick temper and hasty words had so often troubled her, seemed so earnest in pursuit of the things which make for our everlasting welfare.

"Now mother, dear, let us go for a little walk," said Dorothy. "Come with us to Paul Church, it will do you good."

"Not now, we must return to grandfather; but I promise you that we will have an early tea this afternoon, and walk over the hill later."

"That will be delightful," said Judith. "And if we can only get grandfather to come too, we shall enjoy it all the more."

Captain Nance was quite ready to walk to Paul Church after tea. The ascent was rather trying to the old man, but he enjoyed the scene nevertheless. Mrs. Trevan lingered for a few moments on the spot where her daughters had surprised her in the morning, and her face grew anxious; but again her children interfered, they would have her admire the furze which was out in full blossom. The air was redolent with its sweetness; it grew in the hedges, on waste patches of land, about the shaft of a mine long since abandoned, at the edge of the cliff; by the road side, in fact, in all directions the eye fell on bright masses of yellow.

Every step up Paul Hill revealed a broader expanse of sea, and gave them a wider view of Mount's Bay. When they reached the top, Captain Nance sat down.

"This mounting makes my old engine puff a little," he said. "Give me a few minutes' rest, and I shall be ready to march again."

Newlyn and Mousehole, a little fishing village beyond, form part of the parish of Paul. Its church is celebrated for its old granite tower which bears the date of 821. It is all that remains of the edifice, which was burned by the Spaniards in 1585. They landed at Mousehole and came over the hill to Paul. It is said they met some women laden with wood and furze, and compelled them to deposit their bundles in the porch of the church, and by setting fire to it and opening the doors they created such a draught of air that the building was soon in flames.

In the churchyard lie the remains of Dolly Pentreath, who died in December, 1777, at the age of one hundred and two. She was the last person who could converse in the Cornish language, which was very much like the Welsh. The people of Cornwall had their own dialect once, and up to the reign of Henry VIII., many men and women could not understand a word of English.

Dolly was the daughter of a fisherman who lived at Mousehole. At twelve years old she used to go to Penzance to sell fish, speaking the Cornish language, which many of the inhabitants could not even then understand. She was twenty years old before she learned English. Towards the close of her life she was very poor, and lived by begging, fortune-telling, and gabbling Cornish.

The Spaniards and Dolly Pentreath formed the topics of conversation between Captain Nance and his grandchildren.

Mrs. Trevan said but little, she occupied herself with her knitting and her thoughts. She was roused from her reverie by hearing her father trying to teach Dorothy and Judith the few words of Cornish he knew.

"Dew gena why," said Dorothy.

"Dew gena why," repeated Judith.

"Now how long will you remember that these words mean in Cornish what we understand when we say 'good-bye'?" asked their grandfather.

"I'm sure I shall forget them by to-morrow. What do you think, mother?" asked Dorothy.

"That you ought to have a better memory."

"I'll make a promise to one, or both of you," said Captain Nance, "If you say 'Dew gena why' to me before you go to school to-morrow, you shall have the best bun to be bought at the pastry cook's in Penzance."

"You will have to spend your money, father," replied Mrs. Trevan. "I see by the bright faces before me that both Dorothy and Judith mean to earn a bun."

Mrs. Trevan was right. The next evening Captain Nance and his grandchildren walked from Newlyn through the lanes to Penzance, which is about a mile distant, and when they returned about an hour later, each of the little girls had a paper bag which contained a large bun, and Captain Nance was out of pocket by the transaction.

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