The Shrimp Fishers.

Hawke's Bay Times, Issue 1622, 23 October 1874, Page 401

The Shrimp Fishers.

i' Bow Bells. ONE fine morning in July, many a year ago, two ladies were walking on the beach of a fashionable watering-place in the south of England. They were simply dressed, and seemed to enjoy the fine seaview and bracing air with all the zest of these to whom a quiet, country ramble was a novelty. It was early in the day, some hours before the time when tho gay world think it correct to be seen abroad, and the ladies had strolled on for a considerable distance without meeting anyone, when their attention was attracted to a little girl who was seated on the wet sand close to the water. She was pale and thin, and her clothes, although clean, were miserably scanty and worn-looking. She Was intently gazing at the rippling waves of the advancing tide, moving backwards occasionally as the water reached her. ".What are you doing there, my little girl?" asked the elder"and stouter of the ladies. " Waiting for my brother, ma'am." "Where is he?" " Out in the water, please, ma'am, fish'ing for shrimps." And the child pointed to a small dark object standing in the water, a long way out from the shore ; which, when it approached, proved to be a boy, holding a shrimping net over his shoulder. " Have you many, Tom ?" asked his sister, eagerly. . " Pretty fair, Sally—about as many as will make a sixpenny dish" ..'.', "Oh, then, we'll have some supper tonight!" cried the girl, clapping her hands. " " Are you ever without supper, child ?" . " Very often, ma'am, when mother is too ill to. go out to wash, and when Tom can't catch any shrimps." In reply to further questions from the 'lady the children told her that their father had been dead'for some time, and that from ill-health their mother was able to earn but little ; that on, this day, however, she had gone out to do some washing, and would not return untilevening; that they lived in a small cottage about half a mile from the shore; and that finally, they had no breakfast this morning, except a very small bit of dry bread each." ...., , r _ "Describe to me exactly where your Cottage is," said the lady. The'little girl did s 6. ' ! ' '= j "Now/' said'the lady,."here is<aishilling i for- your shrimps." , "You can take them to Martin's, the baker's, leave them there, ami say that Mrs Wilmot will send "for! them." , ' r "Oh, thank'you, ma'am'" cj'ied both the children ; "and shall -we leave the change there for you, too ?'-'"'; !u "What change?"' " Sixpence, ma'am. You gave us a shilling, and the shrimps are worth but sixpence."' - " >• ,; /; The. lady smiled.,'" You may keep .the sixpence/' she said 5 "and here is another shilling which I will give you to perform an eVrahd for me.", '. " " Oh. thank you, ma'fiihi" "You will take this letter, and put it in. the post r , in the village .of Longliands, throe miles off. (M May I depend pn.you doing so quickly ,apcj; carefully?" ,:,,.,, "'You may, indeed,ma'am. We will go with it at once." ; 'So the little' girl taking the letter, and the boy shouldering his shrimping net, set off with joyful hearts to execute the lady's commission, conversing on the way about the pleasant surprise it would be to their mother in the evening, to find they had earned "two whole shillings." v. >\ " We can't exactly say earned, eithur, Sally," remarked .Tom ; .." for, I'm sure we're doing but little for it. ; Tis all that kind lady's goodness in giving it to us." "Now," said the lady,'who called herself Mrs Wij mot,* i' the coast is clear, Ataria; let us go to/these poor children's cottage, and,-see, if ~,the,y; have spoken truth. I have oftep, as you know, given away large sums in charily, without'taking the trouble to investigate whether they were well, spent or not* -Now, this I begin to think was wrong,, and that; niore reaTgood may be'effected by a sniall ( sum judiciously' expended on the deserving poor, than by largo ones lavished in indisctfminate alms-giving." ' j,'l fully agree with you,!' said her companion ; and li.oth ladies ipr;OC9cdednV the ttfroctioij pointed out by Sally. ;

After a pleasant walk they reached the cottage, having easily recognized it by the description. It* was small and low, but newly-whitewashed, and very clean. The latch yielded readily, and the ladies entered. There was but little furniture in the cottage—a deal table, two or three chairs, and a press-bed, formed nearly the whole. In the grate, a few' embers were burning, 1 and over tltem was suspended a a pot filled with hot water; a wooden box containing some coals stood near the fireplace. "This, I suppose,!' said Mrs Wilmot, looking at the pot, "was prepared for boiling the shrimps. I think it would be great fun to put something more substantial in it, and make the poor widow fancy that somefairy:bad visited her abode in her absence. What? do you say, Maria! shall we turn ourselves into, market-women for the nonce? You know it will not be the first time that I have acted such a character to the life." " I will do anything you like," replied her friend: " but how shall we commence ?" " Just look about for a basket, while I make up the fire." And taking an old.black shovel with her jewelled fingers, she. very dexterously put on some coal, and arranged the fire, so as to ensure the pot boiling, but not too fast. "Well, Maria, have you got'a basket ?" " Yes; here is an old one in this cupboard. But, poor creatures! I don't see a vestige of anything eatable in the house." " Oh, we'll soon remedy that," said Mrs Wilmott, merrily; and taking up the dilapidated basket, she swung it on her arm, and walked out. " I'll be the servant, Maria, and you shall be the lady. This reminds me so of old times," she added, in a saddened tone, " when I used to go to market for my poor mother, and be so happy on pay-day, when I could take her home a sweet-bread or chicken." They walked on until they reached a butcher's shop, " Good morning," said Mrs Wilmot. ' I want the best leg of mutton you have got." No calf that had ever fallen beneath the butcher's knife could have possibly exhibited a more innocent look of openmouthed astonishment than did that worthy at his customer's entrance. He bowed very uearly to the ground. " Why, your ——" ho began ; but a significent gesture from Maria restrained him. " This lady, Mr Brown, is Mrs Wilmott," she said, " and we are in haste. Can you let lis have the mutton immediately ?*' . " Oh, certainly, ma'am. I beg your ladyship's pardon a thousand times, but you see " Again was his eloquence checked by a frown from Maria; while her friend, taking out a splendid purse, whose network veiled without hiding the number of golden coins within, said, with an amused look, " I shall pay you now, Mr Brown ; and as the leg of mutton seems really a fine and heavy one, I think, instead of carrying it myself, I shall ask you to let one of your messengers bring it for me to the grocer's, where I want to make some purchases." "Oh ! certainly,your—madam,"replied the butcher, with another low bow. . " Bill! Bill! make haste, I say ; slip on your best coat, and carry the basket for the—for this lady," he added, with a parting salutation, even more profoundly reverential than the former ones, as the ladies left the shop. They then 1 , attended by Bill, went to the grocer's; where Mrs Wilmot procured an abundant supply of tea, coffee, and sugar, which were nicely packed in the basket with the mutton. The basket, I shoulc( mention, was a now one belonging to the butcher, for poor Widow Jones's one being of much too frail a nature to sustain the mighty joint, was left at Mr Brown's. There was still a vacant space, which Mrs Wilmot speedily filled with bread, cheese, and bacon. Master Bill had to invoke the aid of. an auxiliary " boy," and between them they carried their substantial freight in safety to the cottage. At the door, Mrs Wilmot paid them handsomely, and dismissed them. She then placed the leg of mutton in the pot; but, struck by a sudden thought, took it out again, "Help, me, Mary, to pour off this hot water, and to fill the pot with cold. I find I have nearly forgotten how to do " plain cooking," and was near spoiling Mrs Jones's supper, by putting the leg of mutton down in boiling water." [;•*■■• The pot being satisfactorily arranged, the ladies proceeded to lay a clean, coarse cloth, which they found tidily folded up, on the table. They then placed, in tempting order, the bread, cheese, and other coutents of the basket; completing their arrangements by filling a kettle with water, from a well near the cottage, and placing if on the fire to boil, in company with 1 the iron pot. Then carefully fastening the door, they walked away, talking gaily of the pleasant surprise which awaited the widow and her children. , ~,.. , ~_,. , 0 h""'' 'o o o o Let lis now turn to the interior of a splendid mansion, situated about three miles from Widow Jones's cottage. It had been taken for the bathing season by the Duke of St. Albans - u and on that evening the Duke and Duchess were entertaining at dinner a number of distinguished guests. It was nine o'clock, and the company was still at the table, when a slight disturbance was heard in the ante-room. . "What is the matter, Curtis ?" said the Duchess, addressing the servant who stood behind her chair. " Please,'your Grace, I shall inquire.". And, having left the room, the dignified official returned in a few inoments,.and reported to his lady that' a poor woman , who had somehow obtained admission into the hall, was.most urgent to see her Grace, and would not ;go away, although repulsed by the attendants. " Let'her remain," said the Duchess ; "I will speak to her presently." And, rising frorn thetable, she retired with the ladies. "Show the poor ..woman up," said the Duchess, as soon as she and her guests had reached the drawing-rqani, : There was,a brief delay ; and then were ushered into the splendid saloon a decentlooking though poorly-dressed woman, and two children. They paused, awe-struck, at

the door, and the Duchess advanced toward them, with a kindly smile. " Oh, mother," whispered Sally, " that's the very lady that bought the shrimps." "And that gave us the two shillings," added, hor brother. ; " Oh, your ladyship—your Grace," said Mrs Jones, "I could not rest satisfied tonight without knowing whether it was'you that came like an angel, and left us all the fine provisions in our cabin. Mr Brown's boy Bill told me it was your Grace that bought 'em; but indeed-1 could scares believe him only for the children knowing you now." The Duchess laughed heartily at the amazement of her noble guests. " I hope the leg of mutton was a good one, Mrs Jones?" she said. "I assure you, ladies, 'tis not the first time I have bought and boiled one—it was not often that Harriet Mellon, the actress, could boast of having anything so good for dinner. But, Mrs Jones," she continued, " I have made many inquiries about you, and have heard a satisfactory account of both you and your children. Come to me to-morrow, and I will do something for you, which you will like as well as even Mr Brown's leg of mutton." Then cutting short the poor widow's almost incoherent thanks and blessings, the Duchess dismissed her, and spent the remainder of the evening in gay conversation with her guests. True to her promise, on the following day she made arrangements for placing Tom and Sally at respectable schools, and provided amply for their mother's comfort. The boy and girl grew up extremely well-conducted, and being well settled in life, fervently and gratefully blessed the memory of their benefactress—the generous and eccentric Harriet, Duchess of St. Albans.