The Stokesley SecretYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
The Stokesley Secret
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Family -- Juvenile fiction
The Captain turned away, and gave a long whistle—an accustomed
signal—that brought children and dogs all rushing and tumbling about him
together, to walk with him about the farm, and his brother among them;
but Sam hung back. He had not the heart to go with that merry throng;
for he did not know whether his father were not displeased with him, and
he therefore thought he must be to blame.
People who, like Sam, rather cultivate the habit of gruffness and
reserve, and prefer to be short and rude, become so utterly unable to
express what they mean, that on great occasions they are misunderstood,
and give pain by supposed ingratitude and dislike, even when they feel
most warmly. Captain Merrifield could only judge from looks and words;
and even when Sam had been satisfied about Henry, he had shown so little
alacrity or satisfaction, as really to leave a doubt whether he were not
unwillingly yielding to his father’s wishes; which would have been a
mistaken act, as the Captain thought no one ought to be a sailor unless
with a very strong desire that way. Thus Sam really perplexed and
distressed his father, when he least intended it; and unable to
understand what was the matter, yet feeling heavy and sad, he turned
aside from the rest, and, by way of the quietest place he could find,
climbed up a tall pear-tree, to the very highest branch he could reach.
He put himself astride on one bough, his feet upon another below, and his
back leaning against the main stem. No one could see him up so high
among the thick leaves; but he could see all around the village, and over
the house; he could look down into the farm-court at the pigs burying
themselves in the straw; and out beyond at the geese and ducks in the
meadow, and the broods of chickens pecking and scratching about, or the
older poultry rolling in the dust-holes they had scraped for themselves.
He could see Purday among his cabbages in the garden; and further off,
could watch the walking-party through the fields, his father with little
George in his arms, and Uncle John as often as possible by his side;
while the others frisked about, sometimes spreading out like a flock of
sheep in the pasture land, or when they came to the narrow paths in the
cornfields, all getting into single file, and being lost sight of all but
their heads.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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