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They had chummed together on Gorleston Quay some years before, perhaps because they were so dissimilar. Weeks had taught Duncan to sail a boat, and had once or twice taken him for a short trip on his smack; so that the first thing that Duncan did on his arrival at Yarmouth was to take the tram to Gorleston and to make inquiries. A fisherman lounging against a winch replied to them
His beaming face and wholly changed life bore testimony to what the Holy Spirit had wrought in him. Peter had been home to Gorleston on his week of holiday, and had now returned to the fleet for his eight weeks' fishing-cruise, carrying a flag to show that he had just arrived, bringing letters and clothes, etcetera, for some of the crews.
The matter being thus satisfactorily settled, Bob Lumsden and his little friend went off to Yarmouth, intent on carrying out the first part of their plan. It chanced about the same time that another couple were having a quiet chat together in the neighbourhood of Gorleston Pier. Fred Martin and Isa Wentworth had met by appointment to talk over a subject of peculiar interest to themselves.
The affection was mutual. Bob took this boy into his confidence. One day, a considerable time after Bob's discovery of Eve, Pat, having nothing to do, sauntered to the end of Gorleston Pier, and there to his inexpressible joy, met his friend. Before he had recovered sufficiently from surprise to utter a word, Bob seized him by the arms, lifted him up, and shook him.
There was probably still is a coffee-tavern in Gorleston where, in a cleanly, cheerful room, a retired fisherman and his wife, of temperance principles, supplied people with those hot liquids which are said to cheer without inebriating. Here, by appointment, two friends met to discuss matters of grave importance. One was Bob Lumsden, the other his friend and admirer Pat Stiver.
The grand parish church was much plundered at the Reformation, and left piteously bare by the despoilers. The town, now incorporated with Yarmouth, has a proud boast: Gorleston was Gorleston ere Yarmouth begun, And will be Gorleston when Yarmouth is done. Another leading East Anglian port in former days was the county town of Suffolk, Ipswich.
In recent years it has guided excavators to the discovery of his bones. With it is a Psalter of extraordinary beauty, one of a group of marvellous books done in East Anglia some say at Gorleston soon after 1300. I grieve to hear that it has been severely damaged by damp. It has in it the name of an Abbot, John, who, I wish to believe, was of Bury, but doubt is thrown on this.
Meanwhile Fred Martin reached London, with his feverish complaint greatly aggravated, and his undressed wound much worse. In London he was detained some hours by his employers, and then sent on to Yarmouth, which he reached late in the afternoon, and ultimately in a state of great suffering and exhaustion, made his way to Gorleston, where his mother lived.
Yes, it was a telegram; he took it from the servant's hand with an exclamation of joy. Leonard informed him that Mrs. Woolstan was staying at Gorleston, near Yarmouth, her address "Sunrise Terrace." He clutched at a railway guide. Too late to get to Yarmouth to-night, but that did not matter. "Sunrise Terrace!" In his sorry state of mind, a name of such good omen brought him infinite comfort.
"An' only to think," continued Mrs Martin, gazing in undisguised admiration at her daughter-in-law, "that my Fred who seems as if on'y yesterday he was no bigger than Pat, should have got Isa Wentworth the best lass in all Gorleston for a wife! You're a lucky boy!" "Right you are," responded Fred, with enthusiasm.
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