The Three Miss Kings 6

The Three Miss Kings 6

Mr. Brion stayed with them until it seemed improper to stay any

longer--until all the passengers that were to come on board had housed

themselves for the night, and all the baggage had been snugly stowed

away--and then bade them good-bye, with less outward emotion than Sam

had displayed, but with almost as keen a pang.

 

"God bless you, my dears," said he, with paternal solemnity. "Take care

of yourselves, and let Paul do what he can for you. I will send you

your money every quarter, and you must keep accounts--keep accounts

strictly. And ask Paul what you want to know. Then you will get along

all right, please God."

 

"O yes, we shall get along all right," repeated Patty, whose sturdy

optimism never failed her in the most trying moments.

 

But when the old man was gone, and they stood on the tiny slip of deck

that was available to stand on, feeling no necessity to cling to the

railings as the little vessel heaved up and down in the wash of the

tide that swirled amongst the piers of the jetty--when they looked at

the lights of the town sprinkled round the shore and up the hillsides,

at their own distant headland, unlighted, except by the white haze of

the moon, at the now deserted jetty, and the apparently illimitable

sea--when they realised for the first time that they were alone in this

great and unknown world--even Patty's bold heart was inclined to sink a

little.

 

"Elizabeth," she said, "we _must_ not cry--it is absurd. What is there

to cry for? Now, all the things we have been dreaming and longing for

are going to happen--the story is beginning. Let us go to bed and get

a good sleep before the steamer starts so that we are fresh in the

morning--so that we don't lose anything. Come, Nelly, let us see if

poor Dan is comfortable, and have some supper and go to bed."

 

They cheered themselves with the sandwiches and the gooseberry wine

that Mr. Brion's housekeeper had put up for them, paid a visit to Dan,

who was in charge of an amiable cook (whom the old lawyer had tipped

handsomely), and then faced the dangers and difficulties of getting

to bed. Descending the brass-bound staircase to the lower regions,

they paused, their faces flushed up, and they looked at each other as

if the scene before them was something unfit for the eyes of modest

girls. They were shocked, as by some specific impropriety, at the

noise and confusion, the rough jostling and the impure atmosphere,

in the morsel of a ladies' cabin, from which the tiny slips of bunks

prepared for them were divided only by a scanty curtain. This was their

first contact with the world, so to speak, and they fled from it. To

spend a night in that suffocating hole, with those loud women their

fellow passengers, was a too appalling prospect. So Elizabeth went to

the captain, who knew their story, and admired their faces, and was

inclined to be very kind to them, and asked his permission to occupy

a retired corner of the deck. On his seeming to hesitate--they being

desperately anxious not to give anybody any trouble--they assured him

that the place above all others where they would like to make their bed

was on the wedge-shaped platform in the bows, where they would be out

of everybody's way.

 

"But, my dear young lady, there is no railing there," said the captain,

laughing at the proposal as a joke.

 

"A good eight inches--ten inches," said Elizabeth. "Quite enough for

anybody in the roughest sea."

 

"For a sailor perhaps, but not for young ladies who get giddy and

frightened and seasick. Supposing you tumbled off in the dark, and I

found you gone when I came to look for you in the morning."

 

"_We_ tumble off!" cried Eleanor. "We never tumbled off anything

in our lives. We have lived on the cliffs like the goats and the

gulls--nothing makes us giddy. And I don't think anything will make us

seasick--or frightened either."

 

"Certainly not frightened," said Patty.

 

He let them have their way--taking a great many (as they thought)

perfectly unnecessary precautions in fixing up their quarters in case

of a rough sea--and himself carried out their old opossum rug and an

armful of pillows to make their nest comfortable. So, in this quiet

and breezy bedchamber, roofed over by the moonlit sky, they lay down

with much satisfaction in each other's arms, unwatched and unmolested,

as they loved to be, save by the faithful Dan Tucker, who found his

way to their feet in the course of the night. And the steamer left her

moorings and worked out of the bay into the open ocean, puffing and

clattering, and danced up and down over the long waves, and they knew

nothing about it. In the fresh air, with the familiar voice of the sea

around them, they slept soundly under the opossum rug until the sun was

high.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI.

 

 

PAUL.

 

 

They slept for two nights on the tip of the steamer's nose, and they

did not roll off. They had a long, delightful day at sea, no more

troubled with seasickness than were the gulls to which they had

compared themselves, and full of inquiring interest for each of the

ports they touched at, and for all the little novelties of a first

voyage. They became great friends with the captain and crew, and with

some children who were amongst the passengers (the ladies of the party

were indisposed to fraternise with them, not being able to reconcile

themselves to the cut and quality of the faded blue gingham gowns,

or to those eccentric sleeping arrangements, both of which seemed to

point to impecuniosity--which is so closely allied to impropriety, as

everybody knows). They sat down to their meals in the little cabin with

wonderful appetites; they walked the deck in the fine salt wind with

feet that were light and firm, and hearts that were high and hopeful

and full of courage and enterprise. Altogether, they felt that the

story was beginning pleasantly, and they were eager to turn over the

pages.

 

And then, on the brightest of bright summer mornings, they came to

Melbourne.

 

They did not quite know what they had expected to see, but what they

did see astonished them. The wild things caught in the bush, and

carried in cages to the Eastern market, could not have felt more

surprised or dismayed by the novelty of the situation than did these

intrepid damsels when they found themselves fairly launched into the

world they were so anxious to know. For a few minutes after their

arrival they stood together silent, breathless, taking it all in; and

then Patty--yes, it _was_ Patty--exclaimed:

 

"Oh, _where_ is Paul Brion?"

 

Paul Brion was there, and the words had no sooner escaped her lips

than he appeared before them. "How do you do, Miss King?" he said, not

holding out his hand, but taking off his hat with one of his father's

formal salutations, including them all. "I hope you have had a pleasant

passage. If you will kindly tell me what luggage you have, I will take

you to your cab; it is waiting for you just here. Three boxes? All

right. I will see after them."

 

He was a small, slight, wiry little man, with decidedly brusque, though

perfectly polite manners; active and self-possessed, and, in a certain

way of his own, dignified, notwithstanding his low stature. He was not

handsome, but he had a keen and clever face--rather fierce as to the

eyes and mouth, which latter was adorned with a fierce little moustache

curling up at the corners--but pleasant to look at, and one that

inspired trust.

 

"He is not a bit like his father," said Patty, following him with

Eleanor, as he led Elizabeth to the cab. Patty was angry with him for

overhearing that "Where is Paul Brion?"--as she was convinced he had

done--and her tone was disparaging.

 

"As the mother duck said of the ugly duckling, if he is not pretty he

has a good disposition," said Eleanor. "He is like his father in that.

It was very kind of him to come and help us. A press man must always be

terribly busy."

 

"I don't see why we couldn't have managed for ourselves. It is nothing

but to call a cab," said Patty with irritation.

 

"And where could we have gone to?" asked her sister, reproachfully.

 

"For the matter of that, where are we going now? We haven't the least

idea. I think it was very stupid to leave ourselves in the hands of a

chance young man whom we have hardly ever seen. We make ourselves look

like a set of helpless infants--as if we couldn't do without him."

 

"Well, we can't," said Eleanor.

 

"Nonsense. We don't try. But," added Patty, after a pause, "we must

begin to try--we must begin at once."

 

They arrived at the cab, in which Elizabeth had seated herself, with

the bewildered Dan in her arms, her sweet, open face all smiles and

sunshine. Paul Brion held the door open, and, as the younger sisters

passed him, looked at them intently with searching eyes. This was a

fresh offence to Patty, at whom he certainly looked most. Impressions

new and strange were crowding upon her brain this morning thick and

fast. "Elizabeth," she said, unconscious that her brilliant little

countenance, with that flush of excitement upon it, was enough to

fascinate the gaze of the dullest man; "Elizabeth, he looks at us as

if we were curiosities--he thinks we are dowdy and countryfied and it

amuses him."

 

"My dear," interposed Eleanor, who, like Elizabeth, was (as she herself

expressed it) reeking with contentment, "you could not have seen his

face if you think that. He was as grave as a judge."

 

"Then he pities us, Nelly, and that is worse. He thinks we are queer

outlandish creatures--_frights_. So we are. Look at those women on the

other side of the street, how differently they are dressed! We ought

not to have come in these old clothes, Elizabeth."

 

"But, my darling, we are travelling, and anything does to travel in.

We will put on our black frocks when we get home, and we will buy

ourselves some new ones. Don't trouble about such a trifle _now_,

Patty--it is not like you. Oh, see what a perfect day it is! And think

of our being in Melbourne at last! I am trying to realise it, but it

almost stuns me. What a place it is! But Mr. Paul says our lodgings

are in a quiet, airy street--not in this noisy part. Ah, here he is!

And there are the three boxes all safe. Thank you so much," she said

warmly, looking at the young man of the world, who was some five

years older than herself, with frankest friendliness, as a benevolent

grandmamma might have looked at an obliging schoolboy. "You are very good--we are very grateful to you."