CHAPTER I.

THE BROTHERS.

"WE shall have stormy weather, I am thinking, before long." The speaker was an old sailor, and as he spoke, he raised his spy-glass again to take another look at the distant horizon. "It's coming, lads," he said, addressing two stout grown boys, who had just come up with a donkey-cart to gather the sea-weed that lay in heaps on the sandy shore.

The elder of the two looked out upon the sea as the old man spoke. "There's a ship in the offing over there, ain't there?" he said, pointing to a dim speck in the distance.

"Yes; I, can't make much of her yet, but she'd better tack for the harbor pretty soon, or she won't get in, and once on these rocks here, it'll be all up with her."

It was a dangerous part of the coast; and as the old man resumed his professional walk, he cast another anxious glance towards the vessel, and then at the signs of the weather, which every moment became more threatening.

The boys went on gathering the sea-weed, working most industriously.

Presently the younger one stopped to rest on his hooked stick for a minute or two. "What heaps of money that old doctor must have," he said, looking at the cart, and thinking of what had been promised them for a dozen loads of the sea-weed.

"He ain't old, I tell you," said his brother, likewise stopping to rest for a minute or two, for it was hard work dragging up the heaps of heavy, wet sea-weed. "Mother says he ain't more 'n thirty, or forty at the most."

"Well, he looks old, anyway; his hair's gray, and his face is always puckered up."

"Yes, and nobody can tell what's the matter with him, and nobody dares to go near him."

"It's a pity he ain't poor, and got to work for a poor old mother like we have, Jack." And the younger boy sighed as he thought of the miserable little hovel where his mother lay bedridden with rheumatics.

"Yes, or else that he'd look after the people about, and do some good with his money. They say he's the richest and most miserable man for miles around. But look here, if we stand talking about Dr. Mansfield like this, we shall never get the sea-weed into his garden, and then mother won't get her new blanket."

And the two set to work again at once. They were fisher-boys, but gathered sea-weed at odd times when not employed with their nets. Dr. Mansfield's gardener had ordered a dozen loads, promising to pay them liberally for it; and it was this that had led them to speak of the eccentric doctor himself.

All the village talked about him, more or less, for he was a puzzle to everybody, and various were the rumors afloat concerning him. The one most generally received and believed in was, that he had either accidentally, or in the heat of passion, killed a brother or cousin, or some near relative, and that although the crime could not be proved against him, he knew he was guilty, and at times suffered agonies of remorse in consequence.

The truth of this was doubted by some, but none could dispute that the doctor was a most wretched man, a misery to himself, and often to every one about him. For days and often nights were passed when no one dared to go near him, when the ceaseless tramp of his footsteps up and down was only interrupted by the agonizing groans that broke from his lips.

The boys had heard of this, and probably were thinking of it just now, for the younger paused again in his work; after a minute of two he said, "The doctor's got one of his bad turns again, Jack."

"How do you know that?" asked his brother somewhat sharply, for, like some other elder brothers, Jack was a little jealous of Bob receiving any information except through him.

"I heard one of the servants tell the gardener, he was nearly raving this morning, and that no one dared go near him."

"But I would go," said Jack boldly.

"You'd get killed if you did," said Bob; "they say he's in such an awful passion, that he's mad nearly if any one goes near his room."

"Well, I don't care; I'd go and ask him what was the matter—whether he was ill, or something like that."

Bob shook his head, and evidently thought it was a good thing his brother could not put his dangerous experiment into execution. "I shouldn't like to do that," he said, speaking very slow and thoughtfully; "but if I could do anything that would help him, or do him good, I'd like to do it, for I don't suppose he will enjoy his beautiful garden half so much as we do getting this sea-weed for it."

"Enjoy it? I don't know so much about enjoying it," said Jack; "we've got to do it, and the sooner it's done the better, for we shall have a squall before long, I know."

"Never mind, it'll only blow up the more weed for to-morrow," said Bob, who always took a cheerful view of things.

"I don't know so much about that," returned his brother, again looking seawards. "That vessel don't seem to be making much headway, and she'll stand no chance if the storm comes on before she reaches the harbor, and it will come pretty soon," he added, as the wind came sweeping over the sea in fitful sobs and gusts.

The shades of evening had gathered in by the time their cart was full, and with a last look at the laboring vessel, the boys turned homewards.

"Mother, there's a fine big ship in the offing, and if she don't make the harbor pretty soon, she'll be on the rocks before morning," said Jack, as he pushed open the door of their little cottage.

The old woman's face brightened at the sight of her boys, but it grew anxious as she heard these words. "God grant the storm may keep off then a few hours longer," she said, fervently, "for it is awful to think of—awful to listen to the wild ravings of the wind, and have to lie here helpless, while poor souls are being lost for want of help. And yet, what am I saying? One would think I was more merciful than God, or that He couldn't help them. Bob, find my favorite text. I know it, lad, but I like to put my finger on it, and see it's there, ever since your father was drowned in a storm."

Bob did as his mother desired him as soon as his brother had struck a light. He knew the verse to which his mother referred, and read slowly and solemnly,—

"'Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and meted out heaven with the span, and comprehended the dust of the earth in a measure, and weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance.'"

"Yes, the hollow of His hand, that's it," murmured the old woman. "They're in the hollow of His hand still, though they be on the raging sea, and He'll care for and guide each one of 'em, though we can't see His hand, and it seems all left to chance."

The boys were used to these little bits of talk, addressed half to them and half to herself, and went on with their work of preparing the frugal supper, only stopping now and then to listen to the wind, which sometimes threatened to overturn their little dwelling in its fury.

"I wish I could do something for that ship out there," said Bob, as he finished his supper.

"An' if it was only to save one from drowning, it 'ud do some good," said Jack.

"Well, boys, come and kneel down here, and pray for me first, and then go and see if there's anything doing, or whether she's got into the harbor," said the widow.

And as she spoke, she turned the pages of the Bible, and read the story of the Lord being in the tempest asleep, and the affright of the disciples at their danger, and then His wondrous words, "Peace, be still," which at once produced a great calm.

The boys arose from their knees, and knew, although no word had been spoken, that for them and for those on the vessel many heartfelt prayers would ascend from their mother's heart. They opened the cottage door and went out, but soon returned with the intelligence that it was hoped she would gain the harbor yet, and so, feeling very tired, they both went to bed.