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                       THE STORY OF THE WHITE-ROCK COVE.

                              With Illustrations.




LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1871.




[Illustration: WILLIE AND ALECK AT THE FOOT OF THE WHITE ROCK.]




CONTENTS


       I. LONG AGO AT BRAYCOMBE

      II. ALECK'S WELCOME

     III. A WHOLE HOLIDAY

      IV. THE RIDE TO STAVEMOOR

       V. SHIP-BUILDING

      VI. THE SCHOONER-YACHT

     VII. THE MISSING SHIP

    VIII. ANOTHER SEARCH

      IX. SORROWFUL DAYS

       X. SUNDAY EVENING

      XI. THE WHITE-ROCK COVE AGAIN




THE STORY OF THE WHITE-ROCK COVE.




CHAPTER I.

LONG AGO AT BRAYCOMBE.


The Story of the White-Rock Cove--"_to be written down all from the very
beginning_"--is urgently required by certain youthful petitioners, whose
importunity is hard to resist; and the request is sealed by a rosy pair
of lips from the little face nestling at my side, in a manner that
admits of no denial.

       *       *       *       *       *

"_From the beginning_;"--that very beginning carries me back to my own
old school-room, in the dear home at Braycombe, when, as a little boy
between nine and ten years old, I sat there doing my lessons.

It was on a Thursday morning, and, consequently, I was my mother's
pupil. For whereas my tutor, a certain Mr. Glengelly, from our nearest
town of Elmworth, used to come over on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays
for the carrying forward of my education; my studies were, on the other
days of the week, which I consequently liked much better, conducted
under the gentle superintendence of my mother.

On this particular morning I was working with energy at a rule-of-three
sum, being engaged in a sort of exciting race with the clock, of which
the result was still doubtful. When, however, the little click, which
meant, as I well knew, five minutes to twelve, sounded, I had attained
my quotient in plain figures; a few moments more, and the process of
_fours into, twelves into, twenties into_, had been accomplished;
and just as the clock struck twelve I was able to hand up my slate
triumphantly with my task completed.

"A drawn game, mamma!" I exclaimed, "between me and the clock;" and
then with eager eyes I followed hers, as she rapidly ran over the
figures which had cost me so much trouble, and from time to time
relieved my mind by a quiet commentary: "Quite right so far;--No
mistakes yet;--You have worked it out well."

Frisk, the intelligent, the affectionate, the well-beloved companion of
my sports, and the recipient of many of my confidences, woke up from his
nap, stretched himself, came and placed his fore-paws upon my knees,
and, looking up in my face, spoke as plainly as if endowed with the
capacity of expressing himself in human language, to this effect:--"I'm
very glad you have finished your lessons; and glad, too, that I was able
to sleep on a mat in the window, where the warm sunshine has made me
extremely comfortable. But now your lessons are done, I hope you'll lose
no time, but come out to play at once. I'm ready when you are."

And Frisk's tail wagged faster and faster when my mother's inspection of
my sum was concluded, so that I could not help thinking he must have
understood her when she said,--"There are no mistakes, Willie; you have
been a good, industrious little boy this morning; you may go out to play
with a light heart."

I did not need twice telling, but very soon put away all my books and
maps, and the slate, with its right side carefully turned down, that it
might not get rubbed, wiped the pens, placed my copy-book in the drawer,
and presented myself for that final kiss with which my mother was wont
to terminate our proceedings, and which was on this occasion accompanied
by the remonstrance that I was getting quite too big a boy for such
nonsense.

Then at a bound I disappeared