The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1881-06-25
tiie Earl and LADY Blanche would drive

W 'ue fIllaSe 10 see III everything was In
good order; but since theircarriagec could
be seen five miles off as it wound down
the steep road on the rock side, leading
to Polloot, Peter and his daughter Meg
always had about an hours notice to see
things tidy. Peter now lived alone with
his daughter Margaret. His son had
left hum in disgust to enlist, and Meg
only remained with him because there
was nothing else for her her to do She
had been cursed at and cudgelIed by him
all through her childhood; she had been
his drudge, his scapegoat in every one
of those drunken fits of his which re-
CURED daily, and Der body bore brutal
marks of kicks he had given her when a
little thing, with limbs still tender and
weak. But now she had grown up to be
strong girl, with tanned face and q
determined look, so that Peter was afraid
of her. He used to hide his money from
her, as a bad boy does from his mother,
and If she wanted anything for house
keeping expenses she had to search his
pockets when he was dead drunk. How
ever, more than ESQ out of esq year
used to melt in drink, and Margaret had
to exc out a subsistence for herself and
hAl11A " DcbS anu X.
Sometimes Lady Blanche used to give
her a sovereign, and this too, helped
the household along.
Margaret had a wild, logged sort of
attractlveness in her appearance. She
never wore shoes or stockings, and her
black hair fell down her back in one
thickly- plated tress. A red handker-
chief formed her head-covering and was
tied under her chin; her rough, brown
arms were always bare to the elbow.
Harold Trecorpe had cast his eyes upon
the girl from the time when she was
seventeen, but she hated him. The
first time he tried some rough piece of
gallantry on her she caught up the
stump of broken oar to protect herself
and merely glared at him, without say
ing a word. On another occasion, when
he came behind her unawares and took
her under the chin, she lifted a heavy
tishing-net, all bIonzed with age and
salt, and dashed it in his face with such
violence that he was knocked down on
the shingle.
Course ye', GIRL" he swore as he
picked himself up. "Yo' wouldn't
have done that to Mark Brathwaite; but
let him look to himself if he crosses me. -
eff yo' lay finger on Mark Brath-
waite YOU have to look to yo'self," an
swered Margaret, contemptuously; and
Harold contented himself with scowling
at her from that time.
Mark Brathwaite was Margaret's sec
ond lover-a fair-haired boy, about her
own age, whom she had saved from
drowning one windy day, when he had
been dashed out of his fishing boat by a
flap of loosed sail, which had hit him
on the head and stunned him. Mar
garet had swan a couple of furlongs and
Mark Brathwaite had loved her from the
moment when he opened his eyes and
found her bending over him and breath
ing life into his body vigorously from
her own lungs. Margaret, however,
treated him like younger brother. He
was the only human being who could
draw smile from her, but he was not
the nan to teach her what love was,
though he tried hard and made himself
pretty wretched in the attempt.
Sometimes Peter Pencorrow' daugh-
ter, sitting outside her fathers house on
fine afternoons to make nets, would
drop her hands into her lap and look
out with dull, wistful expression over
the sea, so broad, so blue and mysterious
Her tinely-sbaped head might have been
a storehouse of knowledge and great
thoughts, but it was empty She could
neither read nor write; she knew nothing
of the world except i'll it's most sordid
aspects of dire poverty, drunkenness
and brutality. She had never set foot
in church, and had no idea of a God
save that she had heard and believed that
there was something above those skies
which were now so golden with sunlight,
now so black with thunder. Occasional
ly such natural impulses of good as were
in the girls heart would well up in short
scraps of advice which she gave to Mark
Brathwaite: "Mark, yo1l not get drunk
like father. There's no good in drink"
or, Mark, if l were a mon, I'd learn
summit and become a scholard"
This is what Margaret Pencorrow was
at eighteen, and on the night alluded to
in the first line of this story, when her
worthless father stood, drunk as usual,
on his watch, and unheedful of the
storm that was gathering.
The storm broke presently with fright
full fury. Long streaks of lightning
rent the skies and the waves were dash
ed upon the shore with roaring as loud
as thunder. In spite of the deluge of
rain, the crew of the lifeboat came to the
shed to get all in readiness, and great
many other fishermen and their wives
trooped out of the cottages; but this was
only because sleep on such night was
impossible. Most of the eyes that look
ed Stewards with expectant chances
we're rather hoping for profitable
wreck than eager for chance to save
life.
Margaret stood in the shed with Mark
Brathwaite beside her, Harold Trecorpe
being on the other side of the boat. The
occasional glow of the pipe he was smok-
ing lit up his rugged face and made it
look fendish as he cursed the ill-luck
that had fallen upon Polloot, and he ex-
pressed his conviction that the lifeboat
had "witched" the place, driving wrecks
off it. "Dong yo'," he cried, striking
his fist on the boats side. "Yo' done
Ms harm from the day yo' COON herel
Yo' hev'."
Suddenly there was cry from every
one under the shed: ga light; blue
light. Look, there's anotherp
Far off in the ofing there was ship
In distress sending up blue lights. They
rose swift and pale, then burst into a
bright CLEAN and vanished. Harold
Trecorpe uttered shout of exultation.
cts big ship, cried he. "Here, gle
us the blue rockets, girl"
"What for the blue rockets ?" asked
Margaret, who was standing near box
of fire signals. eye must burn three