Young Robin Gray Page #2

"Young Robin Gray" is a short story by Bret Harte that follows the life of a young man named Robin Gray, who is deeply in love with his childhood sweetheart, the beautiful and spirited Mary. Set against the backdrop of the California Gold Rush, Robin faces various challenges and societal expectations as he navigates the complexities of love, duty, and personal ambition. The narrative highlights themes of romance, sacrifice, and the impact of the gold rush on relationships, all woven into Harte's signature style of vivid characters and rich regional detail. As Robin's journey unfolds, readers are drawn into a poignant tale of longing and resilience.

• Short story

								

only a parting nod from the young girl. It was as if this momentous
incident were a sufficient reason for the absence of any further trivial
sentiment.

Unfortunately the father chose to add an exordium for the benefit of the
astonished boatsman still lying on his oars.

"Let this be a lesson to ye, ma frien', when ye're ower sure! Ye'll
ne'er say a herrin' is dry until it be reestit an' reekit."

"Ay," said the boatman, with a lazy, significant glance at the consul,
"it wull be a lesson to me not to trust to a lassie's GANGIN' jo, when
thair's anither yin comin'."

"Give way," said the consul sharply.

Yet his was the only irritated face in the boat as the men bent over
their oars. The young girl and her father looked placidly at the
receding ship, and waved their hands to the grave, resigned face over
the taffrail. The consul examined them more attentively. The father's
face showed intelligence and a certain probity in its otherwise
commonplace features. The young girl had more distinction, with,
perhaps, more delicacy of outline than of texture. Her hair was dark,
with a burnished copper tint at its roots, and eyes that had the same
burnished metallic lustre in their brown pupils. Both sat respectfully
erect, as if anxious to record the fact that the boat was not their
own to take their ease in; and both were silently reserved, answering
briefly to the consul's remarks as if to indicate the formality of
their presence there. But a distant railway whistle startled them into
emotion.

"We've lost the train, father!" said the young girl.

The consul followed the direction of her anxious eyes; the train was
just quitting the station at Bannock.

"If ye had not lingered below with Jamie, we'd have been away in time,
ay, and in our own boat," said the father, with marked severity.

The consul glanced quickly at the girl. But her face betrayed no
consciousness, except of their present disappointment.

"There's an excursion boat coming round the Point," he said, pointing
to the black smoke trail of a steamer at the entrance of a loch, "and it
will be returning to St. Kentigern shortly. If you like, we'll pull over
and put you aboard."

"Eh! but it's the Sabbath-breaker!" said the old man harshly.

The consul suddenly remembered that that was the name which the
righteous St. Kentigerners had given to the solitary bold, bad
pleasure-boat that defied their Sabbatical observances.

"Perhaps you won't find very pleasant company on board," said the consul
smiling; "but, then, you're not seeking THAT. And as you would be only
using the boat to get back to your home, and not for Sunday recreation,
I don't think your conscience should trouble you."

"Ay, that's a fine argument, Mr. Consul, but I'm thinkin' it's none the
less sopheestry for a' that," said the father grimly. "No; if ye'll just
land us yonder at Bannock pier, we'll be ay thankin' ye the same."

"But what will you do there? There's no other train to-day."

"Ay, we'll walk on a bit."

The consul was silent. After a pause the young girl lifted her clear
eyes, and with a half pathetic, half childish politeness, said: "We'll
be doing very well--my father and me. You're far too kind."

Nothing further was said as they began to thread their way between a
few large ships and an ocean steamer at anchor, from whose decks a few
Sunday-clothed mariners gazed down admiringly on the smart gig and the
pretty girl in a Tam o' Shanter in its stern sheets. But here a new
idea struck the consul. A cable's length ahead lay a yacht, owned by an
American friend, and at her stern a steam launch swung to its painter.
Without intimating his intention to his passengers he steered for it.
"Bow!--way enough," he called out as the boat glided under the yacht's
counter, and, grasping the companion-ladder ropes, he leaped aboard. In
a few hurried words he explained the situation to Mr. Robert Gray, her
owner, and suggested that he should send the belated passengers to St.
Kentigern by the launch. Gray assented with the easy good-nature of
youth, wealth, and indolence, and lounged from his cabin to the side.
The consul followed. Looking down upon the boat he could not help
observing that his fair young passenger, sitting in her demure stillness
at her father's side, made a very pretty picture. It was possible that
"Bob Gray" had made the same observation, for he presently swung himself
over the gangway into the gig, hat in hand. The launch could easily take
them; in fact, he added unblushingly, it was even then getting up steam
to go to St. Kentigern. Would they kindly come on board until it was
ready? At an added word or two of explanation from the consul, the
father accepted, preserving the same formal pride and stiffness, and the
transfer was made. The consul, looking back as his gig swept round again
towards Bannock pier, received their parting salutations, and the first
smile he had seen on the face of his grave little passenger. He thought
it very sweet and sad.

He did not return to the Consulate at St. Kentigern until the next day.
But he was somewhat surprised to find Mr. Robert Gray awaiting him, and
upon some business which the young millionaire could have easily deputed
to his captain or steward. As he still lingered, the consul pleasantly
referred to his generosity on the previous day, and hoped the passengers
had given him no trouble.

"No," said Gray with a slight simulation of carelessness. "In fact I
came up with them myself. I had nothing to do; it was Sunday, you know."

The consul lifted his eyebrows slightly.

"Yes, I saw them home," continued Gray lightly. "In one of those
by-streets not far from here; neat-looking house outside; inside,
corkscrew stone staircase like a lighthouse; fourth floor, no lift, but
SHE circled up like a swallow! Flat--sitting-room, two bedrooms, and
a kitchen--mighty snug and shipshape and pretty as a pink. They OWN it
too--fancy OWNING part of a house! Seems to be a way they have here in
St. Kentigern." He paused and then added: "Stayed there to a kind of
high tea!"

"Indeed," said the consul.

"Why not? The old man wanted to return my 'hospitality' and square the
account! He wasn't going to lie under any obligation to a stranger, and,
by Jove! he made it a special point of honor! A Spanish grandee couldn't
have been more punctilious. And with an accent, Jerusalem! like a
northeaster off the Banks! But the feed was in good taste, and he only a
mathematical instrument maker, on about twelve hundred dollars a year!"

"You seem to know all about him," said the consul smilingly.

"Not so much as he does about me," returned Gray, with a half perplexed
face; "for he saw enough to admonish me about my extravagance, and even
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