Chapter Four.
In which Introductions still go on, and Coming Events Cast their Shadows Before
Mrs Maria Foster,the widow of James Foster (formerly captain in the merchant service), the mother of Guy Foster (clerk in the firm of Denham, Crumps, and Company), and the promoter or supporter of every good cause,was a little woman of five-and-forty or thereabouts, with mild blue eyes, a philanthropic heart, and pale blue ribbons in her cap.
Mrs Foster may be said to have been in easy circumstances. That is to say, she had sufficient (being a thrifty and economical lady) to make the two ends meet, even to overlap somewhat, though not,as a friend of ours once observed,to tie in a handsome bow, so that she had a little to spare for charitable purposes. It must not be supposed, however, that the good lady was possessed of a small fortune. The circumstances, which were easy to her, would have proved remarkably uneasy to many; but she possessed the rare and tailorly quality of being able and willing to cut her coat according to her cloth. There was no deeper mystery than that in the ease with which we have characterised her circumstances.
The coast of Kent was her locality; the environs of the town of Deal, her neighbourhood; and a smallalmost miniature but prettycottage, her habitation. The cottage stood in the middle of a little garden, close to that wide extent of waste land, lying to the north of Deal, which is known by the name of the Sandhills, and on the seaward edge of which formerly stood the pileand now lie the remainsof Sandown Castle.
Everything in and around the cottage was remarkably neatincluding its mistress, who, on the evening of the day in which her son sailed with Bax in the Nancy, was seated at a little table in her small parlour, summing up an account on a sheet of note-paper,an operation which appeared to cause her much perplexity, if one might judge from her knitted brows, her deep sighs, and her frequent remarks of it wont do, and what can it be?
These observations were apparently addressed to the cat, which sat in front of the fire, watching the tea-kettle and the buttered toast; but although the good lady was addicted to talking to her cat, in a general way, about her love for it and its state of health, we cannot suppose that she really appealed to it on such a grave subject as arithmetical calculation. If she did she got no answer from the catnot even a sign of recognition; but she did from a bright-faced, fair-haired girl, of about eighteen, who at that moment entered the room, with a teapot in one hand, and a cream-jug in the other.
What is it that puzzles you, mamma? said the girl, setting down the pot and jug, and preparing to attend to the duties of the tea-table.
To this Mrs Foster replied, in an absent way, that she didnt know, that it was quite beyond her comprehension, and that she was utterly perplexed; but that she would find it out, if she should sit all night over it. Whereupon she proceeded to state that three and two made five, and seven mademadeshe wasnt quite sure how much that made, until her companion told her it made twelve; which piece of information she received with anOh! of course it does. Dear me, Amy, how silly I am!just as if she had known the fact all her life, and had only forgotten it at that moment, unaccountably, for the first time! Mrs Foster then went on to add a variety of other figures to this,with an occasional word of assistance from Amy,until the whole amounted to the sum of one hundred and thirty-three.
There, said Mrs Foster, with a pleased expression, as she put the figures down, now how many twelves are in thateh? let me see. Twelve times twelve are a hundred and forty,no, thats too much; twelve times elevenhow much is twelve times eleven?
Mrs Foster did not ask this of Amy; no, she gazed up at the ceiling, where an uncommonly large spider was affixing its web,with the design, no doubt, of lowering itself down to the tea-table,and demanded the solution of the problem, apparently, from that creature.
I think it is a hundred and thirty-two, mamma, said Amy, pouring out the tea.
Oh, of course, how stupid! said Mrs Foster, who was quite struck with the obviousness of the facton being told it. There now, that comes to eleven shillings and one penny, which settles the Soup Kitchen. One pound two does the Hospital for the Blind, and theres one pound due to the Sailors Home. But still, continued Mrs Foster, with a return of the perplexed expression, that does not get me out of my difficulty.
Come to tea, dear, said Amy, and we will try to clear it up together afterwards.
Impossible, child. I could not eat with appetite while this is puzzling my brain. Let me see; there were fifteen pounds, apparently, spent last year, when I put it on paper, and yet here is a sovereign over, said Mrs Foster, holding up the coin, and looking at it reproachfully, as if the blame lay with it and not with herself.
Well, mamma, said Amy, laughing, but where is your difficulty?
Dont you see, child? by rights I ought to give fifteen pounds away; well, my book tells me that fifteen pounds have been given, and yet here is a sovereign left over to give!
Then dont give it, mamma, just put it back into your purse, and that will make the thing right, wont it?
No, dear, it wont, because, you see, the money must be right, so the book must be wrong; oh! here it is. I declare I have forgot to carry one. There, thats right. Now, dear, we shall have tea.
It may be necessary to explain here, that although Amy called Mrs Foster mamma, she was in fact not related to her at all, being only an adopted daughter. Poor Amy Russell was a child of the sea.
Two years previous to the time of which we write, she, with her father and mother, had been wrecked on the coast of Kent while returning from a long residence in New Zealand. Their vessel filled the moment she struck, and the seas buried the hull so completely that passengers and crew were obliged to take to the rigging. Here they remained all night exposed to the fury of the storm. Many of the unfortunates, unable to withstand the exposure of that terrible night, fell or were washed out of the rigging and perished. Among these were Amys father and mother. Amy herself was taken care of by the captain, with whom she was a great favourite, and, along with those who remained until the morning, was saved by one of the lifeboats stationed on that coast.
They had a narrow escape from drowning even after being taken into the boat, for, just as they were approaching the entrance to the harbour, where crowds of the inhabitants of the town were anxiously watching them, a tremendous sea completely filled the boat, swept away the starboard oars, and carried several of the wrecked passengers overboard, Amy being one of them. This happened close under the head of the pier. All the passengers were recovered by the lifeboats crew in a few seconds, with the exception of Amy, who, being exhausted by previous exposure, began to sink at once. The boatmen, in the turmoil of raging water and howling wind, did not observe this, and a cry of consternation was uttered by the people on the pier, who saw the whole thing clearly from their elevated position; but the cry was either drowned by the noise of the tempest, or not understood by the boatmen.
At that moment a tall stripling on the pier raced to the edge of it, shot like a rocket head-foremost into the sea, and in a second or two reappeared with the young girl in his arms. They were both dragged into the lifeboat, amid ringing cheers of delight and admiration.