The Island School — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

6 THE ISLAND Mrs. Farrell was a woman of forty or more, and she. must at one time have been very pretty. But years had faded her a bit, and she was now, in a pleasant way, a mincing little creature who would fain be still eonsidered young. There was one great point in her character, not always to be found in married women: she had an entire and all-abiding faith in her husband. Jt was not shared by all the community on the island, of which more anon; but she verily believed that 17 he tried, he could go forth and conquer the world. Then there was Eveline, sixteen, and as sweet as ever a girl was at that age. Charming, unaffected, beaming with good-humour, and with a laughter- ioving eye, which she cast on Jim as he came in. He flashed back a look, but beyond that they exchanged no greeting. Jim raised his cap to Mr. Farrell. ‘Well, Gordon,” said Mr. Napoleon Farrell, “ had a ‘pleasant trip P” “Yes, sir,” answered Jim. He was relieved to find that his companions had given the schoolmaster no inkling of what had happened. “ For a monthly boat in the pay of the Spanish Government, she was very punctual. We knocked about three or four hours before we came across her.” “IT really can never understand,” said Mrs. Farrell, “ how itis you boys escape being upset in that cockle- shell boat.” “Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Eveline, “as if Jim—I mean they—could be so stupid as to upset any boat.” “I look upon their going out and coming home saiely,’ said Mrs. Farrell, “as a constantly recurring miracle. Iam glad I have no son, for, of course, if I had, he would be as daring as his hae and keep me ever in the fidgets.” Mr, Farrell had never shown any striking gift for risking his life, but he folded his arms in the true Napoleonic style, and said gloomily: “The great sorrow of my life is that I have no son to—to—follow in my footsteps. Eveline, you may pro- ceed with the sorting, as the boys will ke glad to have their letters as soon as possible.” Kiveline, who had been exchanging a few words with Jim in an undertone, hastened to do the sorting, in which the boys assisted. Among the contents of the sacks there were many newspapers for the schoolmaster and parcels for the boys. For half an hour the sorting went on, eae then Eveline suddenly exclaimed: “Oh! whata funny, cramped direction! A letter for you, papa. And with the Minorca post-mark, too. It must have been taken down to Gibraltar.” * From Minorca ?” said Mr. Nap Farrell, in shebhly tremulous tones. SCHOOL. “Who can it be from?” inquired Mrs. Farrell, endeavouring to get a peep at the direction as her husband took it from Eveline. “‘ Oh, it is nothing,” said the schoolmaster, hurriedly, “ Perhaps a bill for some small article I forgot to pay for. Hasten, Eveline. The mail is wonderfully heavy this month.” He put the letter into his pocket, and was so visibly perturbed that Jim could not help eis eesO seh casting a sidelong, inquiring glance at him. From matters already within his knowledge Jim feared that the letter from Minorca might be ot serious import. But he gained no information concerning it, for Mr, Napoleon Farrell, with his arms folded, gloomily paced the room as the sorting went on, occasionally pausing and taking up the attitude familiar to those who have seen the picture of ‘‘ Napoleon at the door of his tent on the eve of Austerlitz.” By half-past four the letters’ were all sorted, and Mrs. Farrell pulled a rope hanging against the wall, and a bell hung outside clanged loudly. A few moments elapsed, and then two youngsters appeared. They were the school postmen, to be en- trusted with the delivery of letters to their respective owners. They were given the letters only, the parcels being retained until called for in the evening, and Mr. Nap Farrell stole quietly away. Jim had quite a little bundle of letters for himself, and he soon followed the schoolmaster, intent on find- ing a quiet corner where he could sit down and read those precious epistles from _home. The young postmen were delivering the letters at the doors of the workshops, by which their recipents, eagerly crowded. Jim hastened in the direction of a path that led to the back of the buildings, where there were many snug little nooks in the wood and shrub- bery between the school and the casile. He walked up a path, worn by the many feet that . had trodden there, intent upon getting to a seat he knew of, close to the very gates of the castle, but was suddenly pulled up by a groan. It came from human lips, and if he was not mis- taken, from no less a person than the schoolmaster, the mighty modern Napoleon himself. | Jim stopped short and waited until he heard the sound repeated, and tracing it to some bushes on his right, he crept up and peered through he laced foliage. Beare it was a small open space, with a broken stone fountain in the centre. Seated on the edge oi it was Mr. Nap Farrell, with his head bowed between his hands. Nervously gripped by his fingers was a letter, and the envelope it had been taken from lay upon the ground. comicbooks.com