CHAPTER I.

POOR UNCLE BOB!

"Happy Britain! matchless isle, Whose natives, like the sturdy oak, Secure in inborn force, may smile And mock the tempest's heaviest stroke.

"If roused in war, shall dreadful move Britannia's vengeance on her foes; to prove, Where'er again her banners are unfurled, The dread and envy of the wond'ring world."--DIBDIN.

"I wonder what makes Tom so late?" said Uncle Bob to himself, as he opened his eyes and looked around him. "Why," he added, "it is precious nearly three bells in the second dog-watch, as sure as I'm a living sailor. Living! Well, there isn't a deal of life about me, for the matter of that; but I'm right about the time. The shadow of yonder poplar tree just touches my toes at four bells, and it doesn't want a yard of doing so now. I must have been dozing a bit, too. It is a drowsy kind of an evening anyhow. But it was that blackbird in the cherry-tree that set me off, and maybe the hum o' the bees round their hives yonder, and the whispering of the wind in the old cedar must have helped a bit. Heigho!"

Poor Uncle Bob yawned a little, then listened.

"Made sure I heard Tom singing just then," continued the invalid half aloud, "but I dare say it was the sea-gulls. They're coming inland to-night, and I'm no seaman if it doesn't blow big guns before morning."

Uncle Bob talked to himself for the best of reasons: there was no one else to talk to. For little Ruth, his niece, was helping her mother in the house, and Daniel, his brother, had gone to the Hall with a boat. No chance of Dan being home early to-night, for the boat required the heaviest cart for its conveyance, and the mare had gone a bit lame lately.

To have looked at Uncle Bob's face as he lay there in his cot, which had been wheeled out under the shade of the trees on the daisied grass, no one would have taken him for an invalid. His rather handsome face, with its short brown beard and well-chiselled features was placid and contented, nay, even happy and hopeful-looking.

O, yes, Uncle Bob had not ceased to hope. For seven long years and over, day after day, whenever the sun shone, or it was dry weather, that cot upon wheels had been hauled out of doors, where it is now in this sweet May evening, by the sturdy and kindly hands of Brother Dan. Yet if the boat-shed close by had taken fire, poor Uncle Bob could not have lifted hand or foot to save himself from destruction. The paralysis from which this seaman suffered had been accidental. It was this, probably, that gave him hopefulness and made his sad life in a measure bearable. And in certain states of the weather, strange to say, Uncle Bob could move his fingers.

Dr. Downs used to call as he passed by to talk with him for a few minutes, and never failed to tell Uncle Bob that as he wasn't an old man by any means, time might work wonders.

Mr. Curtiss, the curate, a kindly-hearted young fellow from Yorkshire, often dropped round, and would sit and talk to the invalid for a whole hour at a time. Nor did he ever leave without some words of consolation that, to say the least, were well-meant. Bob had very much to be thankful for, the curate would say; he wasn't in pain of any sort; he had his appetite and the use of his eyes and ears, and everybody loved him and was good to him.

Uncle Bob being a sailor, the curate thought it was his duty to always introduce an allegorical ship of some kind in his conversation with the stricken mariner. Besides, wasn't Mr. Curtiss himself somewhat of an authority on nautical matters? Hadn't he been down to the sea in ships--well no, not quite that, but he had made one long and dangerous voyage from Great Yarmouth to London in a herring yawl, which enabled him to talk with some degree of confidence about "green seas," "contrary winds," "luff tackle, main sheets and shrouds," and all the rest of it. Mr. Curtiss meant well therefore, and he never left the invalid without leaving him something nice to think about, without, in fact, leaving him better in mind, if not in body, than he had found him. But after all said and done it isn't everyone who could have lain in a cot all these years so peacefully as Uncle Bob had done.

Brother Dan, you must know, reader, was a boat-builder--not of pair-oared gigs or outriggers, or any of the beautiful dashing boats you see on the Thames and other rivers--Dan's speciality was cobbles, or good, honest, strongly-built, broad-beamed boats, on which you could float on the lovely waters of the Norfolk lakes, and at times step a mast and hoist a bit of sail, without much danger of turning turtle, so long as you sat to windward. Ay, and you might venture a long way out to sea too in one of Dan's boats, and if you kept your weather eye lifting now and then, and your hand on the main sheet, you could crack on very prettily indeed through a lumpy sea-way.

And Brother Dan's house was just over the way yonder, across a little rustic private bridge that brought you here to this half lawn, half paddock, but wholly pleasant and tree-shaded spot, where Bob's cot was safely moored under the shade of the cedar. After you passed the bridge you had to turn sharp round to the right, and on through the garden by a well-kept gravel path, before you came to the porch of Dan's old-fashioned, but comfortable, Norfolk cottage.

Lying out here all by himself, one might have said that Bob looked a little lonesome this evening. And perhaps he was, for with the exception of the blackbird that seemed to be singing to the invalid, and to him alone, he had no companion. Now and then the bleating of sheep in the distance, the low contented moan of cows, or the barking of a dog fell on his ear, and in a small lake almost close by his cot, and over which the shadows of some giant poplars were thrown, half-wild ducks played at hide and seek among the tall reeds, while occasionally a fish leapt up and made rippling rings on the surface of the water, but that was about all of life that was at present indicated.

In fine weather it was cheerful enough for Uncle Bob here, because Dan worked close beside him in the boat-shed, into which he could wheel the cot if a shower threatened. And Brother Dan with his rosy face and his square paper cap, hammering at a boat, or making the white curly shavings fly from his plane was a very cheerful figure indeed.

Over and above all this, Dan's property--he always called it his own property--was situated on high ground, or what is called high ground in this part of the world, for Norfolk is not Switzerland; so that from between the trees Bob could catch glimpses of the far-off country side, at which he never tired looking. For it takes very little indeed to create interest in the mind of the confirmed invalid. The trees in front of him were mostly tall and weirdly Scottish pines, whose brown pillar-like stems hardly obstructed the view. So Bob could feast his eyes on green fields, where sheep and cattle sheltered themselves from the sun's rays under the spreading elms; on an ancient gray-stone hall that rose boldly above a cloudland of foliage; on an archery lawn near it; on the shimmer of a silvery lake or broad, and on the flashing waters of a winding reed-bordered stream. Among the woods to the right and left of the centre of this picture was here and there a touch of red among the greenery of the trees, representing the tiled roofs of farm-houses or cottages. All combined did not make much of a picture perhaps, but it was nevertheless a very peaceful and very pleasant one.

Gazing dreamily at it, Uncle Bob had almost gone to sleep again, when the voice of a young girl raised in song, awoke him thoroughly, and looking up he saw Ruth herself, right on the centre of the rustic bridge, waving a handful of wild flowers towards him. In front of her bounded a beautiful black and tan collie dog.

"Dear old Meg!" said Uncle Bob, as the animal put her fore paws almost on his pillow and licked his ear. "Been away for hours I'll wager, haven't you now, Meg, ranging over the hills and fields and chasing the squire's rabbits?"

The collie leant her cheek against her master's breast, in that inexpressibly pretty way that such dogs have of showing pity and affection combined.

"Hullo! Ruth, my little sweetheart, you look as fresh and lovely as the figure head of the old Queen Bess in a new coat of paint. Come and kiss your old uncle, you rogue. Now I've been picturing you to myself with your sleeves rolled up, washing plates and things in the kitchen; 'stead o' that you've been gathering wild flowers."

[Illustration: "Hullo! Ruth, you look as fresh and lovely as the figurehead of the old _Queen Bess_."]

"All for you, Uncle Bob. Look at the buttercups and the ox-lips, and oh, uncle, just smell those red ragged Robins. See I've tied the posie with grass, and I'll lay them on your breast so you can scent them."

She patted her uncle's brow, and added, "I've wetted both my feet trying to get a yellow iris, so I shall run and change my stockings, and get supper ready 'gainst father and Tom comes home. Ta, ta, uncle. Meg will stop here, so you won't feel lonely."

Ruth was a fresh-complexion, pretty girl of sweet thirteen, with shy dark eyes, blithesome face and a lithesome figure. Mr. Curtiss, the curate, had said more than once, than only to see Ruth going singing about at her work of a morning made him feel good all day.

Uncle Bob was naturally very fond of his little niece, but between our two selves, reader, he was fonder far of Tom; for when the boy was not away at school, or scouring the woods and hills with Meg, he was the invalid's constant companion.

"Tom won't be long now, Meg, will he?" said Uncle Bob when Ruth had disappeared. "Ha! you're cocking your ears, old lady. D'ye hear young master?" Meg emitted just one half-hysterical bark of joy and jumped down.

Her sharp ears had caught the sound of the boy's footsteps on the road not far off, so away she bounded.

A few minutes after, young Tom himself, red and dusty with running, his eyes sparkling with joyous health and excitement, appeared upon the scene.

Instead, however, of coming quietly up behind Uncle Bob, and kissing his brow--for the lad was almost girlish in the affection he displayed for the helpless invalid--Tom stood at the foot of the cot, a _Times_ newspaper over his head, and shouting--

"Hip, hip, hooray--ay!

"Hip, hip, hooray--ay--ay!"

"Whatever ails you, sonny? Where have you been to, and what have you got?"

"Why _The Times_, Uncle Bob. I walked all the way to the Hall, round by the broad, to borrow it, after my tutor told me the news. 'Cause why, uncle, 'cause I knew you'd like to read the news with your own old-fashioned eyes. Oh! glorious news, I can tell you. That is what Mr. Curtiss called it. The French are going to fight again, at least he thinks so. Won't it be glorious? won't it be fun? After supper Uncle Bob, after supper--oh, not now. It is too good to be scamped and hurried over; besides, I'm so hungry. And, poor uncle, so must you be. But there! I haven't told you all the news. The most glorious part of it is to come. I went to the Hall, you know. Well, I saw Lady Colemore, and she sent the footman into the garden with me to see I should eat as many strawberries as I could hold, and to-morrow, little Bertha Colemore and her maid are going to bring you a great big, big basketful all to yourself, and I'm to feed you with them, and not eat one."

Then Tom laughed so merrily, that he was forced to lie down on the grass and roll, and Meg was by no means slow to follow his example.

Uncle Bob laughed too, though there wasn't anything very special to laugh about, but the sight of happiness in others always pleased Bob.

"Look here, you young rascal," said Uncle Bob at last.

"That's me," cried Tom, springing up.

He stood at attention, after touching his cap.

"Away aloft, young sir, and have a look round the horizon. Take the glass, sir."

"Ay, ay, sir," said Tom. "Away aloft it is!"

And next moment he was swarming up the rigging with all the agility of a practised sailor.

Up and up and up, hand over hand, till his head touches the bottom of the crow's-nest, then he enters it from below and settles himself to have a good look round through the glass.

Now in case this last sentence should seem enigmatical to the reader I must explain. The crow's nest was a hugely large and strong barrel, that had been hoisted up into one of the poplar trees, and firmly secured at a distance of forty feet above board, that is above the level of the lawn. The tree, which was a very beautiful one, with one strong trunk which reached a height of five-and-twenty-feet, then bifurcated into two that tapered skywards for fully fifty feet more, grew almost in the water of the little lake, and strong ratlines or rigging, similar to that on a ship, led upwards to the nest. Above this nest was a kind of Jacob's ladder, up which Tom could swarm for twenty feet higher and seat himself on what he and Bob called the top-gallant cross-trees.

From near the bottom of the nest hung a stout rope, and up this Tom could climb when he chose, or come down by the run.

This out-look or crow's nest was one of the pleasures of poor Uncle Bob's lonesome life. It was a pleasure even to look at it when Tom wasn't there, but when the lad did come home--and his arrival was one of the chief events of the day with Bob--hardly had he exchanged greetings with uncle ere the order was, "Away aloft, lad!" Then standing in the cosy nest, or seated high up on the cross-trees, Tom would keep the invalid informed, for half-an-hour at a time, or even a whole hour sometimes, of all that was going on at sea.

"Now then, lad," shouted Bob, "is the brig still there?"