LITMIR.BIZ

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here I am now, with nothin’ to do, yawin’ about like a Dutchman in a heavy swell, an’ feelin’ ashamed of myself.”

      “Don’t be so hasty, Bill,” replied the girl, glancing up at her lover’s face with an arch smile; “what would you have?”

      “What would I have?” repeated the sailor, in a tone of mingled surprise and exasperation. “Well, I never—no, I never did see nothin’ like you women for bamboozlin’ men. It seems to me you’re like ships without helms. One moment you’re beatin’ as hard as you can to wind’ard; the next you fall off all of a sudden and scud away right before the breeze; or, whew! round you come into the wind’s eye, an’ lay to as if you’d bin caught in the heaviest gale that ever blow’d since Admiral Noah cast anchor on Mount Ararat. Didn’t you say, not three weeks gone by, that you’d be my wife? and now you ask me, as cool as an iceberg, what I would have! Why, Nelly, I would have our wedding-day fixed, our cottage looked after, our boat and nets bought; in fact, our home and business set a-goin’. And why not at once, Nelly? Surely you have not repented—”

      “No, Bill Bowls,” said Nelly, blushing, and laying her hand on the arm of her companion, “I have not repented, and never will repent, of having accepted the best man that ever came to Fairway; but—”

      The girl paused and looked down.

      “There you go,” cried the sailor: “the old story. I knew you would come to that ‘but,’ and that you’d stick there. Why don’t you go on? If I thought that you wanted to wait a year or two, I could easily find work in these times; for Admiral Nelson is glad to get men to follow him to the wars, an’ Tom Riggles and I have been talkin’ about goin’ off together.”

      “Don’t speak of that, Bill,” said the girl earnestly. “I dread the thought of you going to the wars; but—but—the truth is, I cannot make up my mind to quit my mother.”

      “You don’t need to quit her,” said Bill; “bring her with you. I’ll be glad to have her at my fireside, for your sake, Nell.”

      “But she won’t leave the old house.”

      “H’m! well, that difficulty may be got over by my comin’ to the old house, since the old ’ooman won’t come to the noo one. I can rent it from her, and buy up the furniture as it stands; so that there will be no occasion for her to move out of her chair.—Why, what’s the objection to that plan?” he added, on observing that Nelly shook her head.

      “She would never consent to sell the things,—not even to you, Bill; and she has been so long the head of the house that I don’t think she would like to—to—”

      “To play second fiddle,” put in the sailor. “Very good, but I won’t ask to play first fiddle. In fact, she may have first, second, and third, and double bass and trombone, all to herself as far as I am concerned. Come, Nelly, don’t let us have any more ‘buts’; just name the day, and I’ll bear down on the parson this very afternoon.”

      Leaving them to continue the discussion of this interesting point, we will turn into the cottage and visit the old woman who stood so much in the way of our hero’s wishes.

      Mrs Blyth was one of those unfortunates who, although not very old, have been, by ill-health, reduced to the appearance of extreme old age. Nevertheless, she had been blessed with that Christian spirit of calm, gentle resignation, which is frequently seen in aged invalids, enabling them to bear up cheerfully under heavy griefs and sufferings. She was very little, very thin, very lame, very old-looking (ninety at least, in appearance), very tremulous, very subdued, and very sweet. Even that termagant gossip, Mrs Hard-soul, who dwelt alone in a tumble-down hut near the quay, was heard upon one occasion to speak of her as “dear old Mrs Blyth.”

      Beside Mrs Blyth, on a stool, engaged in peeling potatoes, sat a young woman who was in all respects her opposite. Bessy Blunt was tall, broad, muscular, plain-looking, masculine, and remarkably unsubdued. She was a sort of maid-of-all-work and companion to the old woman. Mrs Blyth lived in the hope of subduing her attendant—who was also her niece—by means of kindness.

      “Who came into the garden just now?” asked Mrs Blyth in a meek voice.

      “Who would it be but William Bowls? sure he comes twice every day, sometimes oftener,” replied Bessy; “but what’s the use? nothing comes of it.”

      “Something may come of it, Bessy,” said Mrs Blyth, “if William settles down steadily to work, but I am anxious about him, for he seems to me hasty in temper. Surely, Bessy, you would not like to see our Nell married to an angry man?”

      “I don’t know about that,” replied the girl testily, as she cut a potato in two halves with unnecessary violence; “all I know is that I would like to see her married to Bill Bowls. He’s an able, handsome man. Indeed, I would gladly marry him myself if he asked me!”

      Mrs Blyth smiled a little at this. Bessy frowned at a potato and said “Humph!” sternly.

      Now it happened just at that moment that the press-gang before referred to arrived in front of the cottage. Bessy chanced to look through the window, and saw them pass. Instantly she ran to the back door and screamed “Press-gang,” as a warning to Bill to get out of the way and hide himself as quickly as possible, then, hastening back, she seized one of old Mrs Blyth’s crutches, ran to the front door, and slammed it to, just as the leader of the gang came forward.

      Meanwhile William Bowls, knowing that if he did not make his escape, his hopes of being married speedily would be blasted, turned to leap over the garden wall, but the leader of the press-gang had taken care to guard against such a contingency by sending a detachment round to the rear.

      “It’s all up with me!” cried Bill, with a look of chagrin, on observing the men.

      “Come, hide in the kitchen; quick! I will show you where,” cried Nelly, seizing his hand and leading him into the house, the back door of which she locked and barred.

      “There, get in,” cried the girl, opening a low door in the wall, which revealed the coal-hole of the establishment.

      Bill’s brow flushed. He drew back with a proud stern look and hesitated.

      “Oh, do! for my sake,” implored Nell.

      A thundering rap on the front door resounded through the cottage; the sailor put his pride in his pocket, stooped low and darted in. Nelly shut the door, and leaned a baking-board against it.

      “Let us in!” said a deep voice outside.

      “Never!” replied Bessy, stamping her foot.

      “You had better, dear,” replied the voice, in a conciliatory tone; “we won’t do you any harm.”

      “Go along with you—brutes!” said the girl.

      “We’ll have to force the door if you don’t open it, my dear.”

      “You’d better not!” cried Bessy through the keyhole.

      At the same time she applied her eye to that orifice, and instantly started back, for she saw the leader of the gang retire a few paces preparatory to making a rush. There was short time for action, nevertheless Bessy was quick enough to fling down a large stool in front of the door and place herself in an attitude of defence. Next moment the door flew open with a crash, and a sailor sprang in, cutlass in hand. As a matter of course he tripped over the stool, and fell prostrate at Bessy’s feet, and the man who followed received such a well-delivered blow from the crutch that he fell on the top of his comrade. While the heroine was in the act of receiving the third she felt both her ankles seized by the man who had fallen first. A piercing yell followed. In attempting to free herself she staggered back and fell, the crutch was wrenched from her grasp, and the whole gang poured over her into the kitchen, where they were met by their comrades, who had just burst in the back door.

      “Search close,” cried one of these; “there’s a big fellow in the house; we saw him run into it.”

      “You may save yourselves the trouble; there’s no man in this house,” cried Bessy, who had risen and followed her conquerors,

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