A Sailor's Lass by Emma Leslie (scary books to read .txt) 📕

TINY AND THE OLD MAN. [See page 130.

[Pg. 132]

"Oh, daddy! there's a little ugly, old man [Pg. 133]over there, and he says my name is Coomber. Is it, daddy?"

The fisherman lifted his hat and scratched his head, looking puzzled. Strange to say, this question of the little girl's name had never suggested itself to anybody before, living as they did in this out-of-the-way spot. She was "Tiny," or "deary," or "the little 'un," and no need had arisen for any other name; and so, after scratching his head for a minute, he said: "Well, deary, if I'm your daddy, I s'pose your name is Coomber. But who is the old man?" he asked; for it was not often that strangers were seen at Bermuda Point, even in summer-time.

"I dunno, daddy; but he says he knowed my mother when she was a little gal like me."

Coomber dropped the tar-brush he was using, and a spasm of pain crossed his face. Had somebody come to claim the child after all? He instinctively clutched her hand for a minute, but the next he told her to go home, while he went to speak to the stranger.

[Pg. 134] He found a little, neatly-dressed old man seated on one of the sandhills, and without a word of preface he began:

"You've come after my little gal, I s'pose?"

The old man smiled. "What's your name, my man?" he said, taking out a pocket-book, and preparing to write.

"Coomber."

"Coomber!" exclaimed the old man, dropping his book in his surprise.

"Why, yes; what should it be?" said the fisherman. "Didn't you tell my little Tiny that you knew her name was Coomber? But how you came to know——"

"Why, I never saw you before that I know of," interrupted the other, sharply; "so how do you suppose I should know your name? I told the child I knew her name was Matilda Coomber, for she is the very image of her mother when she was a girl, and she was my only daughter."

"Oh, sir, and you've come to fetch her!" gasped the fisherman.

[Pg. 135] The stranger took out his snuff-box, and helped himself to a pinch. "Well, I don't know so much about that," he said, cautiously; "I am her grandfather, and I thought, when I picked up that old newspaper the other day, and read about her being saved, I'd just like to come and have a look at her. I was pretty sure she was my Tilly's little one, by the description of the silver medal she wore, for I'd given it to her mother just before she ran away to get married to that sailor Coomber."

"Oh, sir, a sailor, and his name was Coomber! Where is he? What was he like?" asked the fisherman, eagerly.

"He was drowned before his wife died; she never held up her head afterwards, the people tell me. I never saw her after she was married, and swore I'd never help her or hers; but when she was dying she wrote and told me she was leaving a little girl alone in the world, and had left directions for it to be brought to me after her death. With this letter she sent her own portrait, and that of her husband and child, [Pg. 136]begging me to keep them for the child until she grew up. A day or two after came another letter, saying she was dead, and a neighbour was coming from Grimsby to London by ship, and would bring the child to me; but I never heard or saw anything of either, and concluded she was drowned, when, about a month ago, an old newspaper came in my way, and glancing over it, I saw the account of a little girl being saved from a wreck, and where she might be heard of. I went to the place, and they sent me here, and the minute I saw the child, I knew her for my Tilly's."

The old man had talked on, but Coomber had comprehended very little of what was said. He stood looking half-dazed for a minute or two after the stranger had ceased speaking. At length he gathered his wits sufficiently to say: "Have you got them pictures now?"

"Yes," said the old man, promptly, taking out his pocket-book as he spoke. "Here they are; I took care to bring 'em with me;" and he brought out three photographs.

[Pg. 137] Coomber seized one instantly. "It is him! It is my Jack!" he gasped. "Oh, sir, tell me more about him."

"I know nothing about him, I tell you," said the other, coldly; "I never saw or spoke to my daughter after she married him; but I'm willing to do something for the little child, seeing it was my girl's last wish."

"The child," repeated Coomber. "Do you mean to say little Tiny is my Jack's child?"

"Well, yes, of course I do. What else could I mean?" replied the other.

"Then—then I'm her grandfather, and have as much right to her as you have," said the fisherman, quickly.

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I s'pose you have," he said; "I'm not going to dispute it. I'm willing to do my duty by her. But mind, I'm not a rich man—not a rich man," he added.

Coomber was puzzled for a minute to know what he meant, and was about to say that he wanted no payment for keeping Tiny; but the [Pg. 138]other lifted his hand in a commanding manner, and exclaimed: "Now, hear me first. Let me have my say, and then, perhaps, we can come to terms about the matter. You've got a wife, I s'pose, that can look after this child. I haven't; and if she came to me, I shouldn't know what to do with her. Well now, that being the case, she'd better stay here—for the present at least; she's happy enough, I s'pose; and I'll pay you twenty pounds a year as my share towards her expenses."

Coomber was about to exclaim indignantly against this, and protest that he would accept no payment; but just then he caught sight of Bob and the old boat, and the thought of what that money would enable him to do kept him silent a little longer.

"Well now," resumed the old man, "if that plan suits you, we'll come to business at once. You've had her about eighteen months now, so there's about thirty pounds due. You see I'm an honest man, and mean to do the just thing by her," he added.

[Pg. 139]"Thirty pounds!" repeated Coomber, to whom such a sum seemed immense wealth. But the other mistook the exclamation for one of discontent, and so he said, quickly, "Well now, I'll throw you ten pounds in, as I hear you were the one that saved her, and pay you the next six months in advance. That'll make it a round fifty; but I won't go a penny farther. Now will that satisfy you?"

Satisfy him? Coomber was debating with himself whether he ought to take a farthing, considering what a rich blessing the little girl had been to him. It was only the thought of the bitter winter they had just passed through, and that, if he could get a new boat, he could better provide for the child, that made him hesitate, lest in refusing it he should do Tiny a wrong.

At length, after a pause, during which he had silently lifted his heart in prayer to God, he said: "Well, sir, for the little 'un's sake I'll take your offer. But, look you, I shall use this money as a loan that is to be returned; and as [Pg. 140]I can save it, I shall put it in the bank for her."

The other shrugged his shoulders. "You can do as you like about that. I shall come and see the child sometimes, and——"

"Do, sir, do, God bless her! To think she's my Jack's child!" interrupted Coomber, drawing his sleeve across his eyes. "Do you know, sir, where my boy went down?" he asked, in a tremulous voice.

But the other shook his head. "I tell you I know nothing of my daughter after she married; but she sent me a box with some letters and these portraits, and some other odds and