The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 06, April, 1858

"No," was the quiet answer. "But I will keep the ring. It must have been a lady's. May-be it was a token."

"May-be it was.—If your father should take that chain to the Port, he might make a handsome bargain,—if he was worth a snap at bargains.—Here's something; what be these marks? look here, Clarice."

The face of the girl flushed a little as she answered,—"H. H."

"H.H.! What does that mean? I wonder."

"May-be the name of the owner," answered Clarice, timidly.

She was thinking, not of what the letters might have meant to others, but of what they had come to signify to her and Luke.

"Who knows?" answered her mother; and she stood musing and absent, and her face had a solemn look.

Clarice now took the basket to the fireplace and held it there till it was dried. With the drying the colors brightened and the sand was easily brushed away; but many a stain remained on the once dainty white silk lining; the basket would hardly have been recognized by its owner. Having dried and cleansed it as well as she was able, Clarice laid it away in a chest for safe-keeping, and then ate her breakfast, standing. After that, she went out to work again until the tide should come in. She left the chain with her mother, but the ring she had tied to a cord, and hung it around her neck.

By this time the children of the fishermen were all out, and the most industrious of them at work. They scattered among the rocks and crags, and wandered up and down the coast three miles, gathering sea-weed, which it was their custom to dry, and then carry to town, the Port, not many miles distant, where it was purchased by the glassmakers.

Clarice had neither brother nor sister, and she made little of the children of the neighboring fishermen; for her life was one of toil, and her inheritance seemed very different from theirs, though they were all poor, and ate the crusts of labor.

Her father, had Nature only given him what she seemed to have intended at the outset, might have been as successful a fisherman as lived at the Bay. But he trusted to luck, and contrived to make half of what he earned a serious damage to him. The remainder was little enough for the comfort of his family, small though that family was.

Briton was a good fellow, everybody said. They meant that he was always ready for sport, and time-wasting, and drinking, and that sort of generosity which is the shabbiest sort of selfishness. They called him "Old Briton," but he was not, by many, the oldest man in Diver's Bay; he might have been the wickedest, had he not been the jolliest, and incapable of hiding malice in his heart. And if I said he was out and out the wickedest, I should request that people would refrain from lifting up their hands in horror, on account of the poor old fellow. We all know—alas, perhaps, we all love—wickeder souls than could have been produced from among the older fishermen, had all their sins been concentrated in one individual.

Old Briton was what the people called a lucky fisherman. In seasons when he chose to work, the result was sufficiently obvious, to himself and others, to astonish both. But even in the best seasons he was a bad manager. He trusted everybody, and found, to his astonishment, how few deserve to be trusted.

Dame Briton was a stout, loud-talking woman, whom experience had not softened in her ways of speech or thought or action. She was generally at strife with her husband, but the strife was most illogical. It did not admit of a single legitimate deduction in the mind of a third person. It seemed sometimes as if the pair were possessed of the instincts of those animals which unite for mutual destruction, and as if their purpose were to fulfil their destiny with the utmost rapidity.

In the years when Dame Briton, by nature proud and ambitious, was putting forth the most successful efforts she ever made at decent housekeeping, endeavoring to transform her husband into such a person as he was not born to be, striving hard to work her will,—in those years Clarice was born.

Is the pearl a product of disease?

Clarice grew up in the midst of influences not the purest or most elevating. She was not by nature gay, but silent, truthful, and industrious. She was no coward by nature, and her training made her brave and hardy. Sometimes Old Briton called her his boy, and exacted from her the service of a son. Dame Briton did not quarrel with him for that; she was as proud as the fisherman of any feat of skill or strength or courage performed by Clarice. In their way they were both fond of the child, but their fondness had strange manifestation; and of much tender speech, or fondling, or praise, the girl stood in no danger.

Idleness especially was held up before her, from the outset, as the most destructive evil and dire iniquity of which human creature was capable; and Old Briton, lounging about all day with his pipe in his mouth,—by no means a rare spectacle,—did not interfere with the lesson the child's mother enforced. Winter and summer there was enough for the little feet and hands to do. So, as Clarice grew up, she earned the best reputation for industry of any girl in Diver's Bay.

Before she became the praise of the serious Bay people, Luke Merlyn's bright eyes were on the little girl, and he had a settled habit of seeking times and opportunities for quiet talks with her. He liked to ask and follow her advice in many matters. Many a heavy basket of weeds had he helped her carry home from the rocks; many a shell and pebble had he picked up in his coast-work, when he went beyond the limits of the Bay,—because he knew the good girl had a liking for every pretty thing.

If Clarice Briton was the finest girl, Luke Merlyn, beyond question, was the most promising fellow in this little village of fishermen. He was strong, active, ready for any undertaking that required a bold spirit and firm hand,—was quicker in thought and readier in speech than any lad about. He had a little personal vanity,—and good looks to encourage the same; but he had besides a generous heart, and the conviction was general, whether expressed or not, that in Luke a man was growing up who would some day take the lead among the fishermen of Diver's Bay. He had a livelier fancy, a more active imagination, than any lad thereabout; these qualities of mind, united to his courage and warmth of heart, seemed to point toward a future worth arriving at.

II

When Luke returned from fishing, towards evening, he went down to Briton's cabin, hardly taking time to remove from his person the traces of his day of toil, his haste was so great.

Briton had arrived before him, and now sat at supper with his cup of grog beside him. When Luke entered, Dame Briton was exhibiting the gold chain, reserved, in spite of her impatience, till she had cooked the supper.

It was partly on account of this chain that Luke had made such haste in coming. He felt interested in the fortunes of the family to-night, and he knew Briton's habit of bargaining and throwing away treasure.

Clarice was standing on the hearth when he arrived. As Luke passed the window, he thought her face looked very sad; but when he crossed the threshold, the expression greatly changed, or else he was mistaken. She had been telling her father how she found the chain,—but concerning the ring was silent, as in the morning. That ring was still fastened to its cord, and hung about her neck. With reluctance she had shown it even to her mother, and by this time, having scarcely thought of anything beside, it possessed an almost sacred charm to her eyes. Why should I not say it was the most sacred of all things to her, since that is but true?

"Is that the chain," asked Luke, as he came up behind the fisherman's chair, and clapped Old Briton on the shoulder. "You could trade that for a silver watch."

"What's that?" asked Briton, quickly taking up the lad's words; and he pulled out his pewter watch and laid it on the table. "A silver watch?" said he.

"A silver watch, as good as ever run, for that gold chain. Just see how fine it is!"

"So, so!" said the fisherman, thoughtfully resting his rough chin in his broad palm. That was his attitude, when, at home, he contemplated any of those famous bargains which always turned out so differently from anything that he anticipated.

"Let Luke do the trading for ye," said Briton's wife, quickly recognizing his symptoms.

She looked from the lad to her daughter, and back again, five or six times in a second,—seeing more than most people could have seen in observation apparently so careless and superficial.

"I kept a sharp look out, Clary, all day, but I saw nothing," said Luke, going over to the hearth.

"Nothing,—but," he added, she looked so disappointed, "but, for all that, some one else may."

"Oh, I hope so"!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Briton.

"The shipwreck," said Luke.

"Oh!—well, Luke,—will you make the trade, Sir? What do you say, Clarice? The chain belongs to you, after all," said Briton, with a laugh,—he could not help the shipwreck. "What are you going to do with it, my girl?"

"It is yours, father."

"Thank ye!—a present!" Old Briton looked well pleased.

"And if Luke will take it over"—

"I'll go to-night," said Luke, ready to start that moment, if such was the wish of any person in the house.

Briton laughed. "No, you won't," said he. "What the deuse!—Sit down and take something. What are you all standing about for? Sit down. You shall do the trading, Luke. There now, I've said it, and I hope you are all easy."

He laughed again; for he knew very well—he had often enough heard it stated in full—the estimate set on his skill in making a bargain.

"You haven't seen the ring yet?" said Dame Briton, quite kindly, now that this matter was settled to her mind. "Where's the ring, Clarice?"

Other eyes were on the girl besides those of her mother. Old Briton pushed back his dish, and looked at Clarice. Luke was smiling. That smile became joyful and beautiful to see, when Clarice, blushing, removed the string from her neck and showed the ring.

"That's neat," said Briton, turning the delicate ornament round and round, examining its chaste workmanship admiringly. "I never saw a pearl like that, Mother. What do you wear it round your neck for, Clarice?—put it on your finger."

Luke Merlyn had come to Briton's cabin to explain how matters stood between him and Clarice, as well as to look after the other bargain. Taking advantage of her hesitation, he now said,—

"She could not wear it at her work. And it's a token betwixt her and me. Heart and Hand. Don't you see the letters? That's what they mean to us."

Luke spoke out so boldly, that Clarice ceased to tremble; and when he took her hand and held it, she was satisfied to stand there and answer, that the joined hands were a symbol of the united hearts.

"What's that, old woman?" asked Briton, looking at his wife, as if for an explanation.