The Portland daily press., 1894-05-28
A HARD BARGAIN.

1t was an afternoon in late September,
and the little village by the Fifsshire
coast seemed asleep in the faint but mel
lowing sunshine.
The boats were all at sea, the male part
of the population with them; the women
busy at their weekly read up, for it was
Saturday. and there was no time for Cos
sip or stravagin till the lamps were lit and
the BARNS in bed.
Down the beach in little sheltered cove
group of five of those BARNS were play
ing. A spirit of mischief was abroad, for
they had left the tame and everyday occu-
patton of castle building, and lured by the
dominating spirit, for there is always one
among gathering of children, they were
playing at going for a sail in the only
available boat, trim and taut little out
rigger, the property of the young clerk
who had lately come to the bank in Dere-
haven and who spent many an afternoon
rocking to and fro ON the fresh waves, a
volume Of poetry in his hands. Banking
was but slack business in the village, and
the life just suited the temperament of the
young man in question.
'Dae We think / dinna ken a. ABBOTT
boats, JEANNE Greig, that ye tell me to
mind what I'm aifter?''
This was from the eldest of the little
crew, a fine, daring looking boy of II or 10.
IAN Master Armstrong himself tauld
me the last time I was DOT VII him an
Jimmie that gin Jimmie has to gang to
the fishin next year he'll TAX me instead
to tax charge O. the boat.
The girl only laughed in the peculiarly
riling way girls Of all ages occasionally
adopt toward boys, also of all ages. She
was about his own age, and looking after
a pretty wee mite of a thing, 3-year-old
lassie, all tangled curls and big blue eyes.
The boy looked over the deserted beach.
They were out of sight of dangerous win
dows. The owner had gone to Edinburgh
for the day. The sea lay dimpling and
smiling and tempting and before the
others knew what had happened he had
lcosed the moorings and they were af1oat.
Seven O'Clock on that September night!
Clouds and darkness, instead of sunlight
on that treacherous sea. Instead of the
soft breeze and dancing ripples awhistling
wind and waves white and sullen.
Two hours ago the dreadful truth was
through the village that Mr.. Armstrong;
boat was missing, and the lost children
could be nowhere else but driving before
that rising gale And now there was gath
cred at the tiny harbor crowd of a1lx-
ious, helpless women waiting-whatc could
they do but wait the home coming of the
boats that must put out again that night?
Some of them were weeping, some trying
to speak comfortably, - one, the mother
of the boy ringleader, praying wildly that
her boy" only hers, might be saved. So
selfish is grief! But there was one, a
young woman, who neither prayed nor
wept nor spoke She stood right on the
point of the little jetty, careless of the spray
that had already soaked her futtering
shawl. 1t had fallen from her head, and
under her fair, loosened hair one could see
in the lanterns light her white, wrung
face. Only her hands, that clasped and
unclasped in tight crushing grips and the
low moan that once or twice escaped from
her set lips, showed how terrible was the
strain of waiting when any moment might
be too late. At last the boats came in.
Ere ever they had set foot on shore, in a
few hurried, shouted words, these quiet
grave men had heard the news. There
was but little time lost One or two look
ed at each other and out at the tempestu-
GUS night and thought of many wild
reef and the frightened helpless BARNS
But they spoke cheerily enough and made
their preparations. In the darkness and
confusion the girl who had stood SO ST
lent came among them and seemed to look
for some one. Then she said in low
voice, ''Davie, Davie McKerra,'' and a
man turned and held out his hands to her
She put both her hands on the shoulders
of his dripping oilskin
Bring back little Elsiel' she said in a
choked, agonized entreaty. ''And p
She stopped and whispered few words
in his ear. The man looked once, long
and earnestly, into the girls white face.
"Aye, God help me, Anniel'' and the
boats put out again.
u -
"Weel, Davie, lad, that was a fell sharp
tussle we had yestreen. God be praised,
the BARNS are safel''
Two men had stopped where the village
ends and the road begins that winds over
breezy, crisped turfed links.
One was an oldish man, gray bearded,
heavy featured, with quiet, Sabbath look
on his face.
The other was the man who had the
girls last word the night before.
He was not handsome lad There were
strenQth and endurance in his SET. slow