TOM GILLIES;

THE KNOTS HE TIED AND UNTIED.

BY

MRS. GEORGE GLADSTONE

AUTHOR OF

"NORWEGIAN STORIES," "THE BOY WHO WONDERED," &c.

New Edition.

LONDON:

JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.

MDCCCLXXXI.

EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. AND CHANDOS STREET, LONDON

TO MY NIECES,

FLO, BESSIE, BELLA, AND MAY,

This little Story

IS DEDICATED, IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE HAPPY HOURS SPENT WITH THEM IN SEEKING OUT THE CHARACTERS ON WHICH IT IS FOUNDED.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. TOM IS INTRODUCED

II. MOTHER CRAMPTON

III. MISS PRINGLE AND HER LODGERS

IV. TOM AND DICK GO FOR A HOLIDAY

V. HOW TOM SPENT HIS LAST DAY AT HOME

VI. TOM AT HIS SITUATION

VII. THE DEAD CAT

VIII. SUNDAY WITH MISS PRINGLE

IX. TOM HEARS FROM HOME

X. THE EXCURSION TO LOCKSTONE

XI. HOW TOM FARED

XII. QUITE BLIND

XIII. TOM'S FIRST WAGES

XIV. THE ACCIDENT

XV. TWO YEARS LATER

TOM GILLIES.

CHAPTER I.

TOM IS INTRODUCED.

NORTON ISLAND was two miles and a half from the pretty watering-place of Dixtown; it was a point of interest to visitors to the latter place, who enjoyed sailing across the bay to picnic there, when the day was calm and the sun shone brightly. It had lofty cliffs, which terminated here and there in abrupt points, deep caves, and picturesque coves. The view from the back of the island commanded a wide expanse of ocean, and was so wild that the sea-birds built their nests in the crannies of the rock, choosing such dangerous places that only daring lads like Tom Gillies and his friend Dick Potter attempted to plunder them of their eggs.

One large mansion and farm, belonging to Mr. Pender, the proprietor of the limestone quarries, and the cottages where the people who worked for him and a few fishermen dwelt, made up the sum of the habitations on Norton Island, save the schoolhouse, where an old spinster lived rent-free. She was a fairly-educated woman, who had once served in Mr. Pender's family, and that gentleman allowed her an annual stipend for teaching the children of the men he employed.

Norton Island was rather celebrated for its limestone quarries. Many vessels anchored in the roadstead during the year, waiting for cargo, whilst it also afforded a harbour in time of storm. It boasted no place of worship; occasionally divine service was held in the schoolroom on Sunday afternoon, and in that case a great bell sounded for half an hour before it commenced, in order to summon the villagers.

The Gillies family, with the exception of the eldest daughter Sally, turned a deaf ear to the call. Mrs. Gillies contended that Sunday was designed for poor people to spend in idleness. "We work right away for six days," she said, "and it's hard if we can't rest on the seventh." Certainly she was an industrious woman so far as the concerns of this world were involved; but she had to learn that honouring God was paramount, and that, if she served Him, she would better fulfil her duties to her family, and to all mankind.

Mr. Gillies had lived on Norton Island for twenty-five years. He settled there soon after his marriage, and had worked in the limestone quarries ever since. He had a hard struggle to live while his children were young, but, when our story opens, his four eldest sons helped substantially to maintain the home. They rented the cottage adjoining their father's; and though the eldest, Harry, was soon to be married, the other three were doing so well, they intended occupying it as before.

It was customary for the women to sell prawns in Dixtown. When Sally Gillies was old enough to cook the dinner, her mother undertook this business, and rather enjoyed the many journeys to and from Norton Island it entailed.

One beautiful afternoon in August she returned home after having disposed of her basket of prawns satisfactorily. She was particularly happy over her day's work, for two reasons:—The first was, that she had sold her fish well; and the second, that she had made an arrangement for one of her sons.

"I've been and gone and done it, Tom," she said, as she entered the cottage and threw down her basket.

"Done what?" questioned a boy of fourteen, who was standing idly by the window.

"Got you a situation," answered his mother. "To-morrow-week you go to Miss Pringle. You'll have to run errands, clean out the shop, and look after the bakehouse, and, what's more, have done with your idle vagabond habits. You're no good to your father nor me; we can't do nothing with you. You won't work regular at any time, and Dick Potter will be your ruin at last. He does his duty sometimes, but you never will stick to anything but catching crabs and hunting the rocks."

"What's Miss Pringle going to give Tom, mother?" asked Sally, a girl of sixteen, who was darning a coarse sock.

"He's to have his board for the first six months, and afterwards she'll give him a shilling a week besides. And she says, Tom, you may come home now and then of a Saturday night, and back again of a Sunday night, when the boys have the boat convenient. I'm sure you ought to be glad to have another chance; and you may thank Miss Pringle for taking you, when she knows well enough what a troublesome fellow she'll have to deal with."

"I'd just as soon be a baker's boy as stay here to be found fault with by you and father," answered Tom, sullenly. "Nobody thinks I can do right. I'm sure I'd stick to the prawning or quarrying if you'd let me; but there's too many at home, and you want to get rid of me."

"That's not true, lad," said Mr. Gillies, a tall, rough-looking man, who entered the room at this moment. "You know you won't work steadily, and that it all ends in talk with you. Dick Potter will ruin you, and you will ruin him; and the sooner you're separated the better. I'm quite tired of hearing complaints from one and the other; this island is too small to hold two such boys. I'm glad for you to go away; if any one can manage you, Miss Pringle can."

"I ain't no worse than others, father," replied Tom. "I'd do better if you'd be kind to me. I never was a favourite at home, and never shall be. Sally is the only one who ever speaks civilly to me. Ask her if I'm a bad brother to her."

Mrs. Gillies glanced at her daughter, but as the latter made no reply, she continued the conversation.

"Your father speaks as he finds you, Tom," she said. "Even Mr. Pander has given you up; he thinks you'll behave better among strangers; and yet he's promised to take Dick Potter on, the first opening that comes."

"And so he may for all I care," muttered the boy. "I'm ready to be off to Miss Pringle to-morrow if you like. I'm sure, with such a lot of children about, there isn't much to make me want to stay here."

"You're an ungrateful rascal," said Mr. Gillies; and the lad would have received a heavy blow, had he not twisted round and made good his retreat through the open door.

Tom was not far wrong when he said there were too many at home for comfort. Mr. and Mrs. Gillies had eleven children. Harry and Will, the two eldest, were fishermen, and owned a boat between them; Ned and James worked with their father in the limestone quarries; Sally came next, then Tom, and five young children.

Tom ran as fast as his legs would carry him until he reached the edge of the cliff, then he scrambled down to a favourite cave, where he and Dick Potter had concocted their plans for many a day, and plotted mischievous schemes which gained for these boys so bad a name on the island. Tom under different training would have been a better boy. He was extremely generous, very passionate, intensely mischievous, and easily led. Dick Potter, on the other hand, had no redeeming qualities; he excited Tom to acts of daring which the latter would not have thought of, and he always took care to be on the safe side himself.

Tom had so often been in the wrong that his father and mother looked upon him as the black sheep of the family, and never gave him credit for doing well. The boy hardened under this treatment, and grew reckless. To his sister Sally he was rarely rude or unkind; but her character was scarcely matured enough to guide him, though she did her best to induce her brother to relinquish any wild scheme that came to her knowledge, and would, she knew, bring him into punishment if carried out.

Tom sat in the cave and threw pebbles into the water; the tide was rising so that he could not search after crabs, and unless Dick came soon he would have to abandon his position, for the water rolled so nearly up to him. In fact, he was on the point of retreating, when a long low whistle announced that his companion was near.

"You're later than usual, Dick," called out Tom.

"You mean you're earlier."

"Well, I suppose I am. There ain't much to tempt me to stay at home. Now I remember, I came without my tea. But Sally will look after me. I've got something to tell you, Dick."

"Well, speak up; what is it?"

"First let's get out of our cave to higher ground; the tide's coming in."

The boys scrambled on to a jutting point of rock—another favourite place they had—and sat down again.

"What's up?" asked Dick.

"I'm going to live with Miss Pringle. I shall have to help in the bakehouse, run errands, and sweep out the shop."

Dick whistled.

"What do you think of it?" asked Tom.

"Why, that you won't be there a month. Miss Pringle's a dreadfully difficult woman to please, I've heard."

"Anything is better than staying at home," said Tom.

"I don't think so," replied Dick.

"It's different with you and me. I'm not wanted here; and though the bakehouse will be hot after so much fresh air, I'd rather be stewed than told every minute in the day that I'm a good-for-nothing fellow."

"You'll never stay, I tell you."

"Is that all you have to say, Dick? You ain't a bit sorry I'm going," said Tom, as if hurt at his companion's carelessness.

"Of course I'm sorry. I shall lose my best friend," replied Dick; "and mind, Tom, I shall always be ready to help you. And now we won't talk any more about your leaving Norton Island, for there's to be a splendid shooting at the quarry in half an hour. Let's go over and watch it."

The boys started at once, and were in time to see a great blasting of the rock, which generally took place when most of the men had finished their day's work.

CHAPTER II.

MOTHER CRAMPTON.

MOTHER CRAMPTON had passed her seventy-seventh birthday, and it seemed probable she would live to be ninety or more, for her steps were elastic and her eyes bright. She was a well-known inhabitant of Dixtown, having rented the same two rooms for more than thirty years. She kept a small shop, and sold boxes of beautiful shells, which were collected from the neighbouring sands by a gentleman who had seen better days, and who earned in this manner a bare subsistence for himself and daughter.

Mother Crampton was diminutive in stature, but neat and trim in person. She wore a dress of coarse material, and a dark brown woollen apron. Sometimes both dress and apron were patched in many places, and not always with the same-coloured stuff; but the stitches were so small, and the turnings so even, they but served to show how thrifty she was, and what her still nimble fingers were able to perform. They moved quickly, too, when the old dame knitted her black stockings. How she managed to walk about in her heavy, thick leather boots was a question that she decided by many ominous shakes of the head, and a long explanation about the needs-be of women so far advanced in life as she was trying to keep clear of rheumatism.

Though Mother Crampton's face was wrinkled, and the lines in it deep-set, she was pleasant-looking and intelligent, with a placid expression which denoted a mind at rest. She was very peaceful and contented, because she trusted in God, and had found the joy of believing in Jesus for many a long year; nor was she ashamed to confess her Saviour before men.

We have said that Mother Crampton rented two rooms. That on the ground-floor was her shop and parlour, overhead was her bedroom, which was somewhat encumbered by a full-sized four-post bed, covered with a patchwork quilt, sewn by herself.

The lower room had a curious medley of furniture of all sorts in it. The kitchen fireplace was let into a recess. The three shelves over it were filled with pans, irons, candlesticks, and a great variety of cooking utensils. Near to this recess there was a small wooden cupboard, in which four dozen cups and saucers, six earthenware teapots, and as many small jugs and sugar-basins, were kept.

Opposite to it stood a chest of drawers, which held the good dame's Sunday clothes, and all the linen and wearing apparel she possessed, except her black silk bonnet, which was carefully pinned up in a pocket-handkerchief and deposited in a square box under her bed. A great variety of articles were displayed on the top of the chest of drawers, which was protected from scratches by a green baize cloth. Among them was an old Bible, full of quaint pictures, and a shell-house which served for a barometer. It contained two wooden figures fastened together by catgut. "Let my old woman appear," said Mother Crampton, "and I'm sure the weather will be fine; and the rain will fall if her husband shows himself."

A small, round, wooden table was placed next to the drawers. On it were piled, one above the other, four boxes filled with shells, which were carefully wrapped in paper to protect them from the dust. By their side stood a large pair of scales. A corner cupboard, the door of which always remained open, was fixed close to the window, and contained a reserve stock of goods and eatables of various sorts. A second wooden table was placed in the window, which was kept tolerably clear in the morning, so that the boxes of shells might be displayed to customers, or the scales stand on it while some article was weighed out. Every afternoon it was covered with cups and saucers, for many tired fishwomen had tea ere they returned to their homes, which in some instances were several miles distant from Dixtown, and involved a longer row than to Norton Island. Mother Crampton earned many halfpence by entertaining these prawn-sellers. She provided the crockery, hot water, and milk, for which they paid one penny per head. Usually each visitor brought her own tea and sugar.

Three shelves extended across the shop-window. The highest held two wide-necked bottles, one filled with starch, and the other with pepper. A paper which covered the centre pane of glass announced that blacking might be purchased within; while a second notice invited strangers to inspect the boxes of shells.

The lowest shelf was much wider than the other two; it contained packets of blacklead, bottles of ink, a cup of oatmeal, onions, pipes, lumps of salt, lucifers, a few prawns, and sometimes a bunch of parsley or mint. The walls of the room were adorned with brown paper bags filled with spearmint, sage, and other dried herbs, while three portraits, cut out of black paper, and intended to be likenesses of dear friends, hung over the chest of drawers.

Mother Crampton was very busy about three o'clock on the day after our story commences. She folded up her work at half-past two, set the cups and saucers on the wooden table, put the kettle on the fire, and took a loaf of bread and a small piece of butter out of the corner cupboard. Whoever ate a thick slice of bread and butter paid an extra halfpenny, and at the same rate for every additional slice.

The kettle was singing and hissing when Mrs. Gillies entered, looking very much heated.

"How do you do, mother?" she said. "I'm glad to sit down a bit; it's been very hot to-day."

"Have you had a good morning's trade?" asked the old dame. "You haven't many prawns left, I see."

"I've been uncommon lucky, considering I came over later than usual," answered Mrs. Gillies; "and, what's better, I've got rid of all my stale fish. I put a tidy lot at the bottom of my basket, and a young lady on the terrace bought them all."

"Did you pass them off as fresh?"

Mrs. Gillies laughed. "Of course I did, mother. I said too, 'You may trust me, Miss.' All's fair in Dixtown; no one takes advantage of the other."

"And she believed you, and bought your prawns! O neighbour! When will you learn to do unto others as you would be done by?"

"I've my living to get, and a large family to feed and clothe; it won't do to be too particular," answered Mrs. Gillies.

"You may prosper, or think you prosper, by falsehood," said the dame; "but it will never last. Honesty is the best policy, both for this world and the next."

"Don't preach, mother," replied Mrs. Gillies, good-humouredly. "I've had a capital day's trade, and I'm very happy; besides, I'm too hot to listen to a sermon."

"Neighbour, neighbour! I wish you wouldn't talk like that. Remember that your actions are known to God, and that you will one day have to render an account to Him of all your false dealings."

"Hush, hush! good mother; you're too much of a saint for me. Now, listen. I've some news for you. Our Tom's going to live with Miss Pringle, and I hope you'll give him a kind word now and then."

Dame Crampton was about to answer, when two other women entered the room, and the conversation became more general. There was a strong smell of tea very soon, and many confidences were exchanged in the next quarter of an hour, to which the old mother listened with a grave face. She could not jest with her customers over what she considered dishonest dealings. Sometimes she ventured to remonstrate, but her words were not much heeded; still she persisted in bearing her testimony to what she believed to be the truth.

CHAPTER III.

MISS PRINGLE AND HER LODGERS.

MISS PRINGLE kept a small baker's shop in Dixtown, and carried on a brisk trade; in fact, she was rather noted for her home-made bread. The appearance of her shop from without did not betoken much business, for the window was small, and had nothing in it but a loaf, a few stale cakes, and half-a-dozen bottles filled with acidulated drops, peppermint and ginger lozenges, toffee, barley-sugar sticks, and bull's-eyes.

Behind the shop was the staircase; then came the kitchen. On the floor above were two good rooms, and a smaller one which went over part of the long passage that ran through the house into the garden.

It was a most productive piece of ground. The air of Dixtown was so mild that all kinds of fruits and vegetables throve, while fuchsias and myrtles flourished out of doors all the winter, and geraniums needed no greenhouse to protect them from frost.

Beyond the kitchen was the bakehouse, where Miss Pringle might be seen every morning at six o'clock kneading her dough, for she was by no means an idle woman; she managed to conduct her business with the help of a boy, who attended to the oven, swept out the shop, and carried bread round to her customers.

Miss Pringle was a tall, thin, spare woman. It was difficult to determine her age. Some said she was fifty, others sixty; but no one ventured to ask the question, "How old are you?" And she was never heard to mention any circumstance which afforded information on the subject.

She made no friends, and rarely invited any of her customers beyond the shop. Not a single inhabitant of Dixtown had ever entered her bedroom; she invariably kept the door locked, and carried the key in her pocket. This circumstance excited no suspicion in the neighbourhood, for she was considered very eccentric, and it was looked upon as part of her eccentricity. The real truth of the matter was this—she was a miser, and secreted her gold up-stairs. When the house-door was closed to customers at nine o'clock in summer, and eight in winter, and the boy sent to his bed under the staircase, Miss Pringle began to enjoy herself. She retired to her bedroom, and, fearing no intruders, counted her money ere she fell asleep.