"I must begin where I can, sir."
"But you should get to de Université; from dere it is more easy."
"I know that, sir; that is what I am trying to fit myself for."
"You do not need so much fitting — you will fit yourself better there. I would get away to de Université. You will go up — I see it in your face — you will go up, like you go up these rocks; it is pretty steep, but you know, vere one person cannot stand, anozer will mount. And what will you do wiz yourself when you get to de top?"
"I don't know yet, sir," Winthrop said laughing.
"It is just so goot not to know," said Mr. Herder. "What thing a man may wish to make himself, no matter what, he should fit himself for some ozer thing. Or else, he may be just one thing — he might be poet, or mathématicien, or musicien maybe, — and not be a whole man. You understand?"
"Very well, sir."
"I did not know no more what I would be, when I first went to de Université of Halle I have been to seven Universités."
Winthrop looked at him, as if to see whether he were cased in sevenfold learning.
"I am not so very wise, neizer," he said laughing. "And now I am in de eight Université — in Mannahatta — and if you will come dere I will be very glad to see you."
"Thank you, sir; —but I am afraid Mannahatta would be too expensive for me."
"Perhaps. — But vere will you go?"
"I don't know sir, yet."
"But ven you get through, you will come to Mannahatta and let me see what you have made of yourself?"
Winthrop shook his head. "I don't know when that will be, Mr.
Herder."
They were walking through a tangled woodland, along one of the deep mountain gorges; the naturalist stopping frequently to give closer notice to something. He stood still here to examine a piece of rock.
"Will you let me give you one little direction," said he producing his little hammer, — "two little direction, or I should call them big direction, which may be of some goot to you?"
"I wish you would, sir."
"In de first place den, don't never go half way through nozing. If some thing you want to know is in de middle of dat rock," said he striking it, "knock de rock all to pieces but what you will have it. I mean, when you begin, finish, and do it goot."
"That is what I think, Mr. Herder."
"In de second place," continued Mr. Herder, illustrating part of his former speech by hammering off some pieces of rock from the mass, — "don't never think that no kind of knowledge is of no use to you. Dere is nozing dat it is not goot to know. You may say, it is no use to you to know dat colour of de outside of dis rock, and dis colour of de inside; you are wrong; you ought to learn to know it if you can; and you will find de use before you die, wizout you be a very misfortunate man. Dere is nozing little in dis world; all is truth, or it will help you find out truth; and you cannot know too much."
"I believe that, sir; and I will remember it."
"And when you have learned English and Latin and Greek, you will learn German?" said the naturalist, putting the fragments of rock in his pocket.
Winthrop laughed at his expression.
"Promise me dat you will. You will find it of use to you too."
"But all useful things are not possible," said Winthrop.
"I wish it was possible for you to bring down that bird," said the naturalist, gazing up towards a pair of huge wings above them; — "It would be very useful to me." The creature was sailing through the distant ether in majestic style, moving its wings so little that they seemed an emblem of powerful repose.
"That is a white-headed eagle," said Winthrop.
"I know him!" said the naturalist, still gazing. "I wish I had him; — but dat is a thing in which is no goot; as he is too far off for me to reach him. Better for him! And it will be better for us to go home, for the day is not very long."
Neither was Mr. Herder's stay in the mountains after that. At parting he assured Winthrop "he should be very glad to do him all the goot he could do, if he would only let him know how."
This was just after the fall of the leaf. The winter was a mild one, and so fruitful in business belonging to the farm that Winthrop's own private concerns had little chance. Latin was pushed a little, and Greek entered upon; neither of them could be forwarded much, with all the stress that hope or despair could make. Snowstorm, and thaw, and frost, and sun, came after and after each other, and as surely and constantly the various calls upon Winthrop's time; and every change seemed to put itself between him and his books. Mr. Landholm was kept late in Vantassel, by a long session, and the early spring business came all upon his son's hands.
Letters were rather infrequent things in those days, waiting, as they usually did, for private carriage. It was near the end of March that the rare event of two letters in one day happened to the quiet little household.
Winthrop got one at the post-office, with the Vantassel mark; and coming home found his mother sitting before the fire with another in her hand, the matter of which she was apparently studying.
"A letter, mamma?"
"Yes — from Will."
"How did it come?"
"It came by Mr. Underhill."
"What's the matter? what does he say?"
"Not much — you can see for yourself."
"And here's one from papa."
Mrs. Landholm took it, and Winthrop took Rufus's.
"Little River, March 18, 1809.
"What does papa mean to do? Something must be done, for I cannot stay here for ever; neither in truth do I wish it. If I am ever to make anything, it is time now. I am twenty-one, and in mind and body prepared, I think, for any line of enterprise to which fortune may call me. Or if nothing can be done with me, — if what has been spent must be thrown away — it is needless to throw away any more; it would be better for me to come home and settle down to the lot for which I seemed to be born. Nothing can be gained by waiting longer, but much lost.
"I am not desponding, but seriously this transition life I am leading at present is not very enlivening. I am neither one thing nor the other; I am in a chrysalis state, which is notoriously a dull one; and I have the further aggravation, which I suppose never occurs to the nymph bona fide, of a miserable uncertainty whether my folded-up wings are those of a purple butterfly or of a poor drudge of a beetle. Besides, it is conceivable that the chrysalis may get weary of his case, and mine is not a silken one. I have been here long enough. My aunt Landholm is very kind; but I think she would like an increase of her household accommodations, and also that she would prefer working it by the rule of subtraction rather than by the more usual and obvious way of addition. She is a good soul, but really I believe her larder contains nothing but pork, and her pantry nothing but — pumpkins! She has actually contrived, by some abominable mystery of the kitchen, to keep some of them over through a period of frost and oblivion, and to-day they made their appearance in due form on the table again; my horror at which appearance has I believe given me an indigestion, to which you may attribute whatever of gloominess there may be contained in this letter. I certainly felt very heavy when I sat down; but the sight of all your faces through fancy's sweet medium has greatly refreshed me.
"Nevertheless answer me speedily, for I am in earnest, although I am in jest.
"I intend to see you at all events soon.
"Love to the little ones and to dear ma and pa from
"Rufus."
"What does father say, mother?" was all Winthrop's commentary on this epistle. She gave him the other letter, and he yielded his brother's again to her stretched-out hand.
"Vantassel, March 22, 1809.
"My dear Orphah,
"I am really coming home! I never knew any months so long, it seems to me, as these three. The business will be finished I believe next week, and the Session will rise, and the first use I shall make of my recovered freedom will be — can you doubt it? — to hasten home to my family. My dear family — they are closer to me all the time than you think, and for some weeks past it seems to me they have had half of every thought. But I will be with you now, Providence willing, by the middle of the week, I hope, or as soon after as I can.
"The last fortnight has been spent in talking — we have had a very stormy discussion of that point I spoke to you of in my last. The opposition of parties has run very high. It is gaining fearful ground in the country. I tremble for what may be the issue.
"I am quite well again. Mr. Haye has been very attentive and kind, and the Chancellor has shewn himself very friendly.
"I expect Will will be at home as soon as I am myself. I wrote to him that he had better do so. I cannot afford to keep him any longer there, and there seems nothing better for him to do at present but to come home. I hope for better days.
"Love to all till I see you, my dear wife and children,
"W. Landholm.
"My son Winthrop, this word is for you. I am coming home soon I hope to relieve you of so much care. Meanwhile a word. I want Sam to go into the north hill-field with the plough, as soon as he can; I think the frost must be out of the ground with you. I intend to put wheat there and in the big border meadow. The bend meadow is in no hurry; it will take corn, I guess. You had better feed out the turnips to the old black cow and the two heifers."
The letters were read at last, and folded up, by the respective hands that held them.
"Well, Will's coming home," the mother said, with half a sigh.
Winthrop did not answer; he made over to her hand the letter he held in his own.
"The north hill-field is pretty much all ploughed already," he remarked.
"You're a good farmer, Governor," said his mother. "But I am afraid that praise doesn't please you."
"Yes it does, mamma," he answered smiling a little.
"But it don't satisfy you?"
"No more than it does you, mamma. It helps my hope of being a good something else some day."
"I don't care much what you are, Governor, if it is only something good," she said.
He met her grave, wistful eyes, but this time he did not smile; and a stranger might have thought he was exceedingly unimpressible. Both were silent a bit.
"Well, it will be good to see them," Mrs. Landholm said, again with that half sighing breath; "and now we must make haste and get all ready to welcome them home."
CHAPTER VII.
Happy he
With such a mother! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
Comes easy to him.
TENNYSON.
What a coming home that was. Who could have guessed that any ungrateful cause had had anything to do with it. What kisses, what smiles, what family rejoicings at the table, what endless talks round the fire. What delight in the returned Member of Assembly; what admiration of the future Collegian. For nobody had given that up; wishes were bidden to wait awhile, that was all; and as the waiting had procured them this dear home- gathering, who could quarrel with it. Nay, there was no eye shaded, there was no voice untuned for the glad music of that time.
"Well it's worth going away, to come back again, ain't it?" said Mr. Landholm, when they were gathered round the fire that first evening.
"No," said his wife.
"Well, I didn't think so last winter," said the father of the family, drawing his broad hand over his eyes.
"I can tell you, I have thought so this great while," said Rufus. "It's — it's seven or eight months now since I have been home."
"Papa," said little Winifred, squeezing in and climbing up on her father's knees, — "we have wanted you every night."
"You did!" said her father, bending his face conveniently down to her golden curls; — "and what did you do by day?"
"O we wanted you; but then you know we were so busy in the day-time."
"Busy!" said her father, — "I guess you were busy!"
She made herself busy then, for putting both arms round his neck she pressed and kissed his face, till feeling grew too excited with the indulgence of it, and she lay with her head quite still upon his shoulder where nobody could see her eyes. The father's eyes told tales.
"I think Winifred has forgotten me," observed Rufus.
But Winifred was in no condition to answer the charge.
"Winifred doesn't forget anybody," said her father fondly. "We're none of us given to forgetting. I am thankful that we have one thing that some richer folks want — we all love one another. Winifred, —I thought you were going to shew me that black kitten o' your'n?"
"I haven't any kitten, papa, — it is Asahel's."
"Well, let Asahel bring it then."
Which Asahel did.
"Have you looked at the cattle, Mr. Landholm?" said his wife.
"No — not yet — this is the first specimen of live stock I've seen," said Mr. Landholm, viewing attentively a little black kitten which was sprawling very uncomfortably upon the painted floor. "I've heard of 'em though. Asahel has been giving me a detail at length of all the concerns of the farm. I think he'll make an excellent corresponding secretary by and by."
"I was only telling papa what Governor had been doing," said
Asahel.
"You were afraid he would be forgotten. There, my dear, I would let the little cat go back to its mother."
"No papa, — Asahel wanted you should know that Governor didn't forget."
"Did you ever hear of the time, Asahel," said his elder brother, "that a cat was sold by the length of her tail?"
"By the length of her tail!" said Asahel unbelievingly.
"Yes — for as much wheat as would cover the tip of her tail when she was held so —"
And suiting the action to the word, Rufus suspended the kitten with its nose to the floor and the point of its tail at the utmost height it could reach above that level. Winifred screamed; Asahel sprang; Rufus laughed and held fast.
"It's a shame!" said Winifred.
"You have no right to do it!" said Asahel. "It isn't the law, if it was the law; and it was a very cruel law!"
But Rufus only laughed; and there seemed some danger of a break in that kindliness of feeling which their father had vaunted, till Mrs. Landholm spoke. A word and a look of hers, to one and the other, made all smooth; and they went on again talking, of happy nothings, till it was time to separate for the night. It was only then that Mr. Landholm touched on any matter of more than slight interest.
"Well, Rufus," he said when at last they rose from their chairs, — "are you all ready for College?"
"Yes sir."
A little shadow upon both faces — a very little.
"I am glad of it. Well keep ready; — you'll go yet one of these days — the time will come. You must see if you can't be contented to keep at home a spell. We'll shove you off by and by."
Neither party very well satisfied with the decision, but there was no more to be said.
To keep at home was plain enough; to be contented was another matter. Rufus joined again in the farm concerns; the well-worn Little River broadcloth was exchanged for homespun; and Winthrop's plough, and hoe, and axe, were mated again as in former time they used to be. This at least was greatly enjoyed by the brothers. There was a constant and lively correspondence between them, on all matters of interest, past, present, and future, and on all matters of speculation attainable by either mind; and though judgments and likings were often much at variance, and the issues, to the same argument, were not always the same with each; on one point, the delight of communication, they were always at one. Clearly Rufus had no love for the axe, nor for the scythe, but he could endure both while talking with Winthrop; though many a time it would happen that axe and scythe would be lost in the interest of other things; and leaning on his snathe, or flinging his axe into a cut, Rufus would stand to argue, or demonstrate, or urge, somewhat just then possessing all his faculties; till a quiet reminder of his brother's would set him to laughing and to work again; and sweetly moved the scythes through the grass, and cheerily rung the axes, for the winrows were side by side and the ringing answered from tree to tree. And the inside of home gave Rufus pleasure too. Yet there were often times, — when talk was at a standstill, and mother's "good things" were not on the table, with a string of happy faces round it, and neither axe nor scythe kept him from a present feeling of inaction, — that the shadow reappeared on Rufus's brow. He would sit in the chimney corner, looking far down into the hearth-stones, or walk moodily up and down the floor, behind the backs of the other people, with a face that seemed to belong to some waste corner of society.
"My son," said Mrs. Landholm, one evening when Mr. Landholm was out and the little ones in bed, — "what makes you wear such a sober face?"
"Nothing, mother, — only that I am doing nothing."
"Are you sure of that? Your father was saying that he never saw anybody sow broadcast with a finer hand — he said you had done a grand day's work to day."
An impatiently drawn breath was the answer.
"Rufus, nobody is doing nothing who is doing all that God gives him leave to do."
"No mother — and nobody ever will do much who does not hold that leave is given him to make of himself the utmost that he can."
"And what is that?" she said quietly.
Nobody spoke; and then Rufus said, not quietly,
"Depends on circumstances, ma'am; — some one thing and some another."
"My son Rufus, — we all have the same interest at heart with you."
"I am sorry for it, ma'am; I would rather be disappointed alone."
"I hope there will be no disappointment — I do not look for any, in the end. Cannot you bear a little present disappointment?"
"I do bear it, ma'am."
"But Winthrop has the very same things at stake as you have, and I do not see him wear such a disconsolate face, — ever."
"Winthrop —" the speaker began, and paused, every feature of his fine face working with emotion. His hearers waited, but whatever lay behind, nothing more of his meaning came out.
"Winthrop what? —" said his brother laughing.
"You are provokingly cool!" said the other, his eye changing again.
"You have a right to find fault with that," said Winthrop still laughing, "for certainly it is a quality with which you never provoked anybody."
Rufus seemed to be swallowing more provocation than he had expressed.
"What were you going to say of me, Rufus?" said the other seriously.
"Nothing —"
"If you meant to say that I have not the same reason to be disappointed that you have, you are quite right."
"I meant to say that; and I meant to say that you do not feel any disappointment as much as I do."
Winthrop did not attempt to mend this position. He only mended the fire.
"I wish you need not be disappointed!" the mother said sighing, looking at the fire with a very earnest face.
"My dear mother," said Winthrop cheerfully, "it is no use to wish that in this world."
"Yes it is — for there is a way to escape disappointments, — if you would take it."
"To escape disappointments!" said Rufus.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"Will you promise to follow it?"
"No mother," he said, with again a singular play of light and shade over his face; — "for it will be sure to be some impossible way. I mean — that an angel's wings may get over the rough ground where poor human feet must stumble."
How much the eyes were saying that looked at each other!
"There is provision even for that," she answered. "'As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings,' so the Lord declares he did once lead his people, — and he will again, — over rough ground or smooth."
"My dear mother," said Rufus, "you are very good, and I — am not very good."
"I don't know that that is much to the point," she said smiling a little.
"Yes it is."
"Do you mean to say you cannot go the road that others have gone, with the same help?"
"If I should say yes, I suppose you would disallow it," he replied, beginning to walk up and down again; "but my consciousness remains the same."
There was both trouble and dissatisfaction in his face.
"Will your consciousness stand this? — 'Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall; but they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength: they shall mount up with wings as eagles,' — just what you were wishing for, Rufus; — 'they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.'"
He was silent a minute; and then replied, "That will always continue to be realized by some and not by others."
"If you were as easily disheartened in another line, Rufus, you would never go through College."
"My dear mother!" he said, "if you were to knock all my opinions to pieces with the Bible, it wouldn't change me."
"I know it!" she said.
There was extreme depression in voice and lip, and she bent down her face on her hand.
Two turns the length of the room Rufus took; then he came to the back of her chair and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"But mother," he said cheerfully, "you haven't told us the way to escape disappointments yet; I didn't understand it. For aught I see, everybody has his share. Even you — and I don't know who deserves them less — even you, I am afraid, are disappointed, in me."
It was as much as he could do, evidently, to say that; his eyes were brilliant through fire and water at once. She lifted up her head, but was quite silent.
"How is it, mamma? or how can it be?"
"I must take you to the Bible again, Rufus."
"Well, ma'am, I'll go with you. Where?"
She turned over the leaves till she found the place, and giving it to him bade him read.
"'Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful; but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in his law doth he meditate, day and night.
"'And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in due season; his leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.'"
Rufus stopped and stood looking on the page.
"Beautiful words!" he said.
"They will bear looking at," said Mrs. Landholm.
"But my dear mother, I never heard of anybody in my life of whom this was true."
"How many people have you heard of, in your life, who answered the description?"
Rufus turned and began to walk up and down again.
"But suppose he were to undertake something not well — not right?"
"The security reaches further back," said Winthrop.
"You forget," said his mother, "he could not do that; or could not persist in it."
Rufus walked, and the others sat still and looked at the fire, till the opening of the door let in Mr. Landholm and a cold blast of air; which roused the whole party. Winthrop put more wood on the fire; Mr. Landholm sat down in the corner and made himself comfortable; and Mrs. Landholm fetched an enormous tin pan of potatoes and began paring them. Rufus presently stopped behind her chair, and said softly, "What's that for, mother?"
"For your breakfast to-morrow, sir."
"Where is Karen?"
"In bed."
"Why don't you let her do them, mother?"
"She has not time, my son."
Rufus stood still and looked with a discontented face at the thin blue-veined fingers in which the coarse dirty roots were turning over and over.
"I've got a letter from my friend Haye to-day," Mr. Landholm said.
"What Haye is that?" said his wife.
"What Haye? —there's only one that I know of; my old friend Haye — you've heard me speak of him a hundred times. I used to know him long ago in Mannahatta when I lived at Pillicoddy; and we have been in the Legislature together, time and again."
"I remember now," said Mrs. Landholm paring her potatoes.
"What does he want?"
"What do you guess he wants?"
"Something from the farm, I suppose."
"Not a bit of it."
"Mr. Haye of Asphodel?" said Rufus.
"Asphodel? no, of Mannahatta; — he used to be at Asphodel."
"What does he want, sir?"
"I am going to tell your mother by and by. It's her concern."
"Well tell it," said Mrs. Landholm.
"How would you like to have some company in the house this summer?"
Mrs. Landholm laid the potatoe and her knife and her hands down in the pan and looking up asked, "What sort of company?"
"You know he has no wife this many years?"
"Yes —"
"Well — he's a couple of little girls that he wants to put somewhere in the country this summer, for their health, I understand."
Mrs. Landholm took up her knife again and pared potatoes diligently.
"Does he want to send them here?"
"He intimates as much; and I have no doubt he would be very glad. It wouldn't be a losing concern to us, neither. He would be willing to pay well, and he can afford it."
"What has he done with his own place, at Asphodel?" said
Winthrop.
"Sold it, he tells me. Didn't agree with his daughter, the air there, or something, and he says he couldn't be at the bother of two establishments without a housekeeper in nary one of 'em. And I think he's right. I don't see how he could."
Winthrop watched the quick mechanical way in which his mother's knife followed the paring round and round the potatoes, and he longed to say something. "But it is not my affair," he thought; "it is for Rufus. It is not my business to speak."
Nobody else spoke for a minute.
"What makes him want to send his children here?" said Mrs.
Landholm without looking up from her work.
"Partly because he knows me, I suppose; and maybe he has heard of you. Partly because he knows this is just the finest country in the world, and the finest air, and he wants them to run over the hills and pick wild strawberries and drink country milk, and all that sort of thing. It's just the place for them, as I told him once, I remember."
"You told him! —"
"Yes. He was saying something about not knowing what to do with his girls last winter, and I remember I said to him that he had better send them to me; but I had no more idea of his taking it up, at the time, than I have now of going to Egypt."
Mrs. Landholm did not speak.
"You have somewhere you can put them, I suppose?"
"There's nobody in the big bedroom."
"Well, do you think you can get along with it? or will it give you too much trouble?"
"I am afraid they would never be satisfied, Mr. Landholm, with the way we live."
"Pho! I'll engage they will. Satisfied! they never saw such butter and such bread in their lives, I'll be bound, as you can give them. If they aren't satisfied it'll do 'em good."
"But bread and butter isn't all, Mr. Landholm; what will they do with our dinners, without fresh meat?"
"What will they do with them? Eat 'em, fast enough, only you have enough. I'll be bound their appetites will take care of the rest, after they have been running over the mountains all the morning. You've some chickens, hav'n't you? — and I could get a lamb now and then from neighbour Upshur; and here's Winthrop can get you birds and fish any day in the year."
"Winthrop will hardly have time."
"Yes he will; and if he don't we can call in Anderese. He's a pretty good hunter."
"I'm not a bad one," said Rufus.
"And you have Karen to help you. I think it will be a very fine thing, and be a good start maybe towards Rufus's going to College."
Another pause, during which nothing moved but the knife and
Mrs. Landholm's fingers.
"Well — what do you say?" said her husband.
"If you think it will do — I am willing to try," she answered.
"I know it will do; and I'll go and write directly to Haye — I suppose he'd like to know; and to-morrow my hands will have something to hold besides pens."
There was profound silence again for a little after he went out.
"How old are these children?" Mrs. Landholm said.
Neither answered promptly.
"I saw one of them when I was at Asphodel," said Winthrop; "and she was a pretty wellgrown girl; she must have been thirteen or fourteen."
"And that was a year and a half ago! Is her sister younger or older?"
"It isn't her sister," said Rufus; "it's her cousin, I believe; Mr. Haye is her guardian. She's older."
"How much?"
"A year or two — I don't know exactly."
Mrs. Landholm rose and took up her pan of potatoes with an air that seemed to say Miss Haye and her cousin were both in it, and carried it out into the kitchen.
Some little time had passed, and Winthrop went there to look for her. She had put her pan down on the hearth, and herself by it, and there she was sitting with her arms round her knees.
Winthrop softly came and placed himself beside her.
"Mother —"
She laid her hand upon his knee, without speaking to him or looking at him.
"Mother — I'll be your provider."
"I would a great deal rather be yours, Governor," she said, turning to him a somewhat wistful face.
"There isn't anything in the world I would rather," said he, kissing her cheek.
She gave him a look that was reward enough.
"I wonder how soon they will come," she said.
"That is what I was just asking; and pa said he supposed as soon as the weather was settled."
"That won't be yet awhile. You must see and have a good garden, Governor. Perhaps it will be all for the best."
CHAPTER VIII.
Hills questioning the heavens for light —
Ravines too deep to scan!
As if the wild earth mimicked there
The wilder heart of man;
Only it shall be greener far
And gladder, than hearts ever are.
E. B. BROWNING.
It was the first of June; a fair lovely summer morning, June- like.
"I suppose Mr. Haye will come with them," said Mr. Landholm, as he pushed back his chair from the breakfast-table; — "have you anywhere you can put him?"
"There's the little bedroom, he can have," said Mrs. Landholm.
"Asahel can go in the boys' room."
"Very good. Winthrop, you had better take the boat down in good time this afternoon so as to be sure and be there — I can't be spared a moment from the bend meadow. The grass there is just ready to be laid. It's a very heavy swath. I guess there's all of three tons to the acre."
"Take the boat down where?" said Asahel.
"To Cowslip's mill," said his brother. "What time will the stage be along, sir?"
"Not much before six, I expect. You'll have the tide with you to go down."
"It's well to look at the fair side of a subject," said
Winthrop, as his father left the room.
"May I go with you, Governor?" said Asahel.
"No sir."
"Why?"
"Because I shall have the tide hard against me coming back."
"But I am not much, and your arms are strong," urged Asahel.
"Very true. Well — we'll see. Mother, do you want any fish to- day?"
A sort of comical taking of the whole subject somehow was expressed under these words, and set the whole family a- laughing, All but Rufus; he was impenetrable. He sat finishing his breakfast without a word, but with a certain significant air of the lip and eyebrow, and dilating nostril, which said something was wrong.
It was the fairest of summer afternoons; the sky June's deep and full-coloured blue, the sun gay as a child, the hills in their young summer dress, just put on; and the water, — well, it was running down very fast, but it was running quietly, and lying under the sky and the sunshine it sparkled back their spirit of life and joy. The air was exceeding clear, and the green outlines of the hills rose sharp against the blue sky.
Winthrop stood a minute on one of the rocks at the water's edge to look, and then stepped from that to the one where his boat was moored, and began to undo the chain.
"Are you going down after those people?" said the voice of
Rufus behind him. It sounded in considerable disgust.
"What do you advise?" said Winthrop without looking up.
"I would see them at the bottom of the river first!"
"Bad advice," said Winthrop. "It would be a great deal harder to go after them there."
"Do you know what effect your going now will have?"
"Upon them?"
"No, upon you."
"Well — no," said Winthrop looking at the river; "I shall have a pull up, but I shall hardly hear any news of that to- morrow."
"It will make them despise you!"
"That would be rather an effect upon them," said Winthrop, throwing the loosened chain into the boat's head and stepping in himself; — "as it strikes me."
"I wish you would take my advice," said Rufus.
"Which?" said his brother.
"Let them alone!"
"I will," said Winthrop; "I mean that."
"You are excessively provoking!"
"Are you sure?" said Winthrop smiling. "What do you propose that I should do, Rufus?"
"Send Sam Doolittle in your place."
"Willingly; but it happens that he could not fill my place.
You must see that."
"And are you going to bring up their baggage and all?"
"I must know the sum of two unknown quantities before I can tell whether it is just equal to a boat-load."
Rufus stood on the shore, biting his lip. The little boat was silently slipping out from between the rocks, after a light touch or two of the oars, when Asahel came bounding down the road and claimed Winthrop's promise for a place in it.
"You don't want this child with you!" said Rufus.
But Winthrop gave one or two pushes in the reverse direction and with great skill laid the skiff alongside of the rock. Asahel jumped in triumphantly, and again slowly clearing the rocks the little boat took the tide and the impulse of a strong arm at once, and shot off down the stream.
They kept the mid-channel, and with its swift current soon came abreast of the high out-jutting headland behind which the waters turned and hid themselves from the home view. Diver's Rock, it was called, from some old legend now forgotten. A few minutes more, and the whole long range of the river below was plain in sight, down to a mountain several miles off, behind which it made yet another sharp turn and was again lost. In that range the river ran a little west of south; just before rounding Diver's Rock its direction was near due east, so that the down tide at the turn carried them well over towards the eastern shore. That was what they wanted, as Cowslip's mill was on that side. So keeping just far enough from the shore to have the full benefit of the ebb, they fell softly and quick down the river; with a changing panorama of rocks and foliage at their side, the home promontory of Shahweetah lying in sight just north of them, and over it the heads of the northern mountains; while a few miles below, where the river made its last turn, the mountains on either side locked into one another and at once checked and rested the eye. The lines of ground there were beautiful; the western light sported among them, dividing hill from hill, and crowning their heads with its bright glory. It was the dynasty of the East, just then. The eastern mountains sat in stately pride; and their retainers, the woods, down to the water side, glittered in the royal green and silver; for on their fresh unsullied leaves the light played with many a sheen. The other shore was bright enough still; but the shadows were getting long and the sun was getting low, and the contrast was softly and constantly growing.
"It's pretty, aint it, Winthrop?" said Asahel.
"Yes."
"I wonder what's the reason you row so much better than Rufus — Rufus bites his lip, and works so, and makes such a splash, — and you don't seem as if you worked at all."
"Perhaps because I am stronger," said Winthrop.
"Rufus is strong enough. But that can't be the reason you do everything better than he does."
"That don't happen to be the state of the case."
"Yes it does; for you always catch the most fish, and papa said last summer he never saw any one bind and tie as fast as you did."
Again silently the boat fell down along the shore, a little dark speck amidst the glow of air and water.
"How nice you look in your white jacket and trousers," said
Asahel.
"I am glad to hear it," said Winthrop laughing. "Is it such an uncommon thing?"
"It is uncommon for you to look so nice. You must take great care of them, Winthrop; — it took mother so long to make them."
"I have another pair, boy," said Winthrop, biting his lips, as the boat rounded to the little flight of steps at Cowslip's mill.
"Yes, but then you know, Karen — There's the stage, Governor! — and the folks are come, I guess. Do you see those heads poking out of the windows?" —
"You stay here and mind the boat, Asahel."
And Winthrop sprang ashore and went up to the crossing where the stage-coach had stopped.
At 'Cowslip's mill' there was a sloop landing; a sort of wharf was built there; and close upon the wharf the mill and storage house kept and owned by Mr. Cowslip. From this central point a road ran back over the hills into the country, and at a little distance it was cut by the high road from Vantassel. Here the stage had stopped.
By the time Winthrop got there, most of the effects he was to take charge of had been safely deposited on the ground. Two young ladies, and a gentleman seeming not far from young, stood at the end of the coach to watch the success of the driver and Mr. Cowslip in disinterring sundry trunks and boxes from under the boot and a load of other trunks and boxes.
"Where's Mr. Landholm? isn't Mr. Landholm here?" said the gentleman impatiently.
"There's somebody from Mr. Landholm ahint you," remarked Mr.
Cowslip in the course of tugging out one of the trunks.
The gentleman turned.
"Mr. Landholm could not be here, sir," said Winthrop; "but his boat is here, and he has sent me to take care of it."
"He has! Couldn't come himself, eh? I'm sorry for that. — The box from the top of the stage, driver — that's all. — Do you understand the management of a boat?" said he eyeing Winthrop a little anxiously.
"Certainly, sir," said Winthrop. "I am accustomed to act as
Mr. Landholm's boatman. I am his son."
"His son, are you! Ah well, that makes all straight. I can trust you. Not his eldest son?"
"No sir."
"I thought it couldn't be the same. Well he's a deuced handsome pair of sons, tell him. I'm very sorry I can't stop, — I am obliged to go on now, and I must put my daughter and Miss Cadwallader in your charge, and trust you to get them safe home. I will be along and come to see you in a few days."
"The trunks is all out, sir," said the driver. "We oughtn't to stop no longer. It's a bad piece atween here and Bearfoot."
"I leave it all to you, then," said Mr. Haye. "Elizabeth, this young gentleman will see you and your baggage safe home. You won't want me. I'll see you next week."
He shook hands and was off, stage-coach and all. And Mr. Cowslip and Winthrop were left mounting guard over the baggage and the ladies. Elizabeth gave a comprehensive glance at the "young gentleman" designated by her father, and then turned it upon the black leather and boards which waited to be disposed of.
"You won't want the hull o' this for ballast, I guess, Winthrop, this arternoon," remarked Mr. Cowslip. "You'll have to leave some of it 'long o' me."
"Can't it all go?" said Elizabeth.
"It would be too much for the boat," said Winthrop.
"If 'twouldn't for you," — Mr. Cowslip remarked in a kind of aside.
"Isn't there another boat?"
"There is another boat," said Mr. Cowslip — "there's mine — but she's up stream somewheres; comin' along, I guess, but she won't be here time enough for your purposes."
It was necessary to make a selection. The selection was made, and two stout trunks were successively borne down to the shore by the hands of Winthrop and Mr. Cowslip and stowed in the boat's bow. The two girls had walked down and stood looking on.
"But I haven't got any books!" said Elizabeth suddenly when she was invited to get in herself. "Won't the book-box go?"
"Is it that 'ere big board box?" inquired Mr. Cowslip. "Won't do! It's as heavy as all the nation."
"It will not do to put anything more in the boat," said
Winthrop.
"I can't go without books," said Elizabeth.
"You'll have 'em in the mornin'," suggested the miller.
"O leave it, Lizzie, and come along!" said her companion. "See how late it's getting."
"I can't go without some books," said Elizabeth; "I shouldn't know what to do with myself. You are sure you can't take the box?"
"Certainly," said Winthrop smiling. "She would draw too much water, with this tide."
"Yes, you'd be on the bottom and no mistake, when you got in the bay," said Mr. Cowslip.
Elizabeth looked from one to the other.
"Then just get something and open the box if you please," she said, indicating her command to Winthrop; "and I will take out a few, till I get the rest."
"O Lizzie!" urged her companion, — "let the books wait!"
But she and her expostulation got no sort of attention. Miss Lizzie walked up the hill again to await the unpacking of the box. Miss Cadwallader straightened herself against a post, while Mr. Cowslip and Winthrop went to the store for a hammer.
"She's got spunk in her, ha'n't she, that little one?" said the miller. "She's a likely lookin' little gal, too. But I never seen any one so fierce arter books, yet."
Tools were soon found, in Mr. Cowslip's store, but the box was strongly put together and the opening of it was not a very speedy business. The little proprietor looked on patiently. When it was open, Miss Lizzie was not very easy to suit. With great coolness she stood and piled up book after book on the uncovered portion of the box, till she had got at those she wanted. She pleased herself with two or three, and then the others were carefully put back again; and she stood to watch the fastening up of the box as it was before.
"It will be safe here?" she said to the miller.
"Safe enough!" he answered. "There's nobody here 'll want to pry open these here books, agin this night."
"And will the other things be safe?" said Miss Cadwallader, who had come up the hill again in despair. The miller glanced at her.
"Safe as your hair in curl-papers. You can be comfortable. Now then —"
The sun was not far from the mountain tops, when at last Miss Lizzie stood again at the water's edge with her volumes. Miss Cadwallader grumbled a little, but it met the utmost carelessness. The tide was very low; but by the help of Winthrop in the boat and Mr. Cowslip on the muddy steps, the young ladies were safely passed down and seated in the stern- sheets, not without two or three little screams on the part of Miss Cadwallader. The other, quite silent, looked a little strangely at the water coming within three or four inches of her dress, an expression of grave timidity becoming her dark eye much better than the look it had worn a few minutes before. As the boat lurched a little on pushing off, the colour started to her cheeks, and she asked "if there was any danger?"
"Not the least," Winthrop said.
Elizabeth gave another look at the very self-possessed calm face of her boatman, and then settled herself in her place with the unmistakable air of a mind at ease.
The boat had rounded the corner of the wharf and fell into its upward track, owing all its speed now to the rower's good arm; for a very strong down tide was running against them. They crept up, close under the shore, the oars almost touching the rocks; but always, as if a spirit of divination were in her, the little boat turned its head from the threatened danger, edged in and out of the mimic bays and hollows in the shores, and kept its steady onward way. The scene was a fairy-land scene now. Earth, water, and air, were sparkling with freshness and light. The sunlight lay joyously in the nest of the southern mountains, and looked over the East, and smiled on the heads of the hills in the north; while cool shadows began to walk along the western shore. Far up, a broad shoulder of the mountain stood out in bright relief under the sun's pencil; then lower down, the same pencil put a glory round the heads of the valley cedars; the valley was in shadow. Sharp and clear shewed sun-touched points of rock on the east shore, in glowing colours; and on the west the hills raised huge shadowy sides towards the sun, whom they threatened they would hide from his pensioners. And the sun stood on the mountain's brow and blinked at the world, and then dropped down; and the West had it! Not yet, but soon.
The two girls were not unmindful of all the brightness about them, for their eyes made themselves very busy with it, and little low-toned talks were held which now and then let a word escape, of "pretty!" — and "lovely!" — and "wouldn't it be lovely to have a little boat here? — I'll ask papa!" —
"Is it hard to row?" asked the last speaker suddenly of
Winthrop.
"No," he said, "not at all, wind and water quiet."
"Aren't they quiet to-night?"
"The tide is running down very strong. Asahel, trim the boat."
"How on earth can such a child do anything to the boat?" said
Miss Cadwallader. "What do you want done, sir?"
"Nothing," he said. "It is done."
"What is done?" said the young lady, with a wondering face to her companion. "Oh aren't you hungry?" she added with a yawn. "I am, dreadfully. I hope we shall get a good supper."
"Whereabouts is Mr. Landholm's house?" said Elizabeth presently. Winthrop lay on his oars to point it out to her.
"That?" she said, somewhat expressively.
"Then why don't you go straight there?" inquired her companion. "You are going directly the other way."
A slight fiction; but the boat had turned into the bay, and was following the curve of its shores, which certainly led down deep into the land from the farmhouse point.
"I go here for the eddy."
"He is going right," said Asahel, who was sitting on the thwart next to the ladies.
"Eddy?" said Miss Cadwallader, with a blank look at her cousin.
"What is an eddy?" said Elizabeth.
"The return water from a point the tide strikes against."
Elizabeth eyed the water, the channel, and the points, and was evidently studying the matter out.
"What a lovely place!" she said.
"I wonder if the strawberries are ripe," said Miss Cadwallader. "Little boy, are there any strawberries in your woods?"
"My name is Asahel," said the 'little boy' gravely.
"Is it? I am very glad indeed to know it. Are there any strawberries in the woods here?"
"Lots of 'em," said Asahel.
"Are they ripe yet?"
"I haven't seen more than half a dozen," said Asahel.
"They are just beginning in the sunny spots," said his brother smiling.
"And do you have anything else here besides strawberries?"
The question was put to Asahel. He looked a little blank. It was a broad one.
"Any other fruit," said Elizabeth.
"Plenty," said Asahel.
"What?" said Miss Cadwallader; "tell us, will you; for I've come here to live upon wild fruit."
"Yes, ma'am," said Asahel staring a little; — "there's red raspberries, and black raspberries, and low-bush blackberries and high blackberries, and huckleberries, and bearberries, and cranberries; besides nuts, and apples. I guess that ain't all."
"Thank you," said his questioner. "That will do. I don't intend to stay till nut-time. Oh what a way it is round this bay!"
"I wish it was longer," said Elizabeth.
The sun had left all the earth and betaken himself to the clouds; and there he seemed to be disporting himself with all the colours of his palette. There were half a dozen at a time flung on his vapoury canvass, and those were changed and shaded, and mixed and deepened, — till the eye could but confess there was only one such storehouse of glory. And when the painting had faded, and the soft scattering masses were left to their natural grey, here a little silvered and there a little reddened yet, — the whole West was still lit up with a clear white radiance that shewed how hardly the sun's bright track could be forgotten.
"Are we here!" said Elizabeth with a half sigh, as the boat touched the rocks.
"Yes, to be sure," said her cousin. "Where have you been?"
"In the clouds; and I am sorry to come down again."
Mr. Landholm was standing on the rocks, and a very frank and hearty reception he gave them. With him they walked up to the house; Asahel staid behind to wait till Winthrop had made fast the boat.
"How do you like 'em, Governor?" whispered the little boy, crouching upon the rocks to get nearer his brother's ear.
"How do I like 'em?" said Winthrop; — "I can't like anybody upon five minutes' notice."
"One of 'em's pretty, ain't she? — the one with the light- coloured hair?"
"I suppose so," said Winthrop, tying his chain.
"I guess they like it here pretty well," Asahel went on.
"Didn't you see how they looked at everything?"
"No."
"They looked up, and they looked down, and on one side and the other side; and every now and then they looked at you."
"And what did you look at?"
"I looked at them, — some."
"Well," said Winthrop laughing, "don't look at them too much,
Asahel."
"Why not?"
"Why, you wouldn't want to do anything too much, would you?"
"No. But what would be too much?"
"So much that they would find it out."
"Well, they didn't find it out this evening," said Asahel.
But that little speech went home, and for half the way as he walked up to the house holding Asahel's hand, there was something like bitterness in the heart of the elder brother. So long, but no longer. They had got only so far when he looked down at the little boy beside him and spoke with his usual calm clearness of tone, entire and unchanged.
"Then they aren't as clear-sighted as I am, Asahel, for I always know when you are looking at me."
"Ah, I don't believe you do!" said Asahel laughing up at him;
"I very often look at you when you don't look at me."
"Don't trust to that," said Winthrop.
There was in the little boy's laugh, and in the way he wagged his brother's hand backwards and forwards, a happy and confident assurance that Winthrop could do anything, that it was good to do.
Everybody was at the supper-table; there was nothing for Winthrop then to do but to take his place; but his countenance to his mother, all supper-time, was worth a great deal. His cool collected face at her side heartened her constantly, though he scarcely spoke at all. Mr. Landholm played the part of host with no drawback to his cheerfulness; talked a great deal, and pressed all the good things of the table upon Miss Cadwallader; who laughing, talking, and eating, managed to do her full share of all three. She was certainly very pretty. Her "light-coloured" hair was not so light as to be uncomely, and fell in luxuriant ringlets all round the sides of her pretty head; and the head moved about enough to shake the ringlets, till they threatened to form a mazy net to catch men's eyes. The prettiest mouth in the world, set with two little rows of the most kissable teeth, if that feature ever is contemplated in a kiss; and like the ringlets, the lips seemed to be in a compact to do as much mischief as they could; to keep together and mind their own business was the last thing thought of. Yet it was wonderful how much business they managed to transact on their own account, too. The other girl sat grave and reserved, even almost with an air of shyness, eat much less, and talked none at all; and indeed her face was pale and thin, and justified what her father had said about her wanting the country. Rufus seemed to have got back his good-humour. He quite kept up the credit of his side of the table.
Immediately after supper the two girls went to their room.
"Well, how do you like 'em?" said Mr. Landholm. "Did ye ever see a prettier creature, now, than that Rose? Her face is like a rose itself."
"It is more like a peach-blossom," said Rufus.
"The little one don't look well," said Mrs. Landholm.
"I wonder who'll go strawberrying with them," said Asahel.
CHAPTER IX.
Mat. "He is of a rustical cut, I know not how; he doth not carry himself like a gentleman of fashion." Wet. "Oh, Mr. Matthew, that's a grace peculiar but to a few." EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
The 'big bedroom,' which belonged to the strangers by right of usage, opened from the kitchen; with another door upon the tiny entry-way once described. It had a fireplace, at present full of green pine bushes; a very clean bed covered with patchwork; the plainest of chairs and a table; and a little bit of carpet on one spot of the floor; the rest was painted. One little window looked to the south; another to the east; the woodwork, of doors and windows, exceeding homely and unpainted. An extraordinary gay satin toilet-cushion; and over it a little looking-glass, surrounded and surmounted with more than an equal surface of dark carved wooden framing.
It was to this unwonted prospect that the early June sun opened the young ladies' eyes the next morning. Elizabeth had surveyed it quietly a few minutes, when a little rustling of the patchwork called her attention to the shaking shoulders of her companion. Miss Cadwallader's pretty face lay back on the pillow, her eyes shut tight, and her open mouth expressing all the ecstatic delight that could be expressed without sound.
"What is the matter?" said Elizabeth.
Her cousin only laughed the harder and clapped her hands over her eyes, as if quite beyond control of herself. Elizabeth did not ask again.
"Isn't this a funny place we've come to!" said Miss
Cadwallader at last, relapsing.
"I don't see anything very laughable," said Elizabeth.
"But isn't it a quizzical place?"
"I dare say. Every place is."
"Pshaw! don't be obstinate, — when you think just as I do."
"I never did yet, about anything," said Elizabeth.
"Well, how do you like eating in a room with a great dresser of tin dishes on one side and the fire where your meat was cooked on the other? — in June?"
"I didn't see the tin dishes; and there wasn't any fire, of consequence."
"But did you ever see such a gallant old farmer? Isn't he comical? didn't he keep it up?"
"Not better than you did," said Elizabeth.
"But isn't he comical?"
"No; neither comical nor old. I thought you seemed to like him very well."
"O, one must do something. La! you aren't going to get up yet?"
But Elizabeth was already at the south window and had it open. Early it was; the sun not more than half an hour high, and taking his work coolly, like one who meant to do a great deal before the day was ended. A faint dewy sparkle on the grass and the sweetbriars; the song sparrows giving good-morrow to each other and tuning their throats for the day; and a few wood thrushes now and then telling of their shyer and rarer neighbourhood. The river was asleep, it seemed, it lay so still.
"Lizzie! — you ought to be in bed yet these two hours — I shall tell Mr. Haye, if you don't take care of yourself."
"Have the goodness to go to sleep, and let me and Mr. Haye take care of each other," said the girl dryly.
Her cousin looked at her a minute, and then turning her eyes from the light, obeyed her first request and went fast asleep.
A little while after the door opened and Elizabeth stood in the kitchen. It was already in beautiful order. She could sec the big dresser now, but the tin and crockery and almost the wooden shelves shone, they were so clean. And they shone in the light of an opposite fire; but though the second of June, the air so early in the morning was very fresh; Elizabeth found it pleasant to take her stand on the hearth, near the warm blaze. And while she stood there, first came in Karen and put on the big iron tea-kettle; and then came Mrs. Landholm with a table-cloth and began to set the table. Elizabeth looked alternately at her and at the tea-kettle; both almost equally strange; she rather took a fancy to both. Certainly to the former. Her gown was spare, shewing that means were so, and her cap was the plainest of muslin caps, without lace or bedecking; yet in the quiet ordering of gown and cap and the neat hair, a quiet and ordered mind was almost confessed; and not many glances at the calm mouth and grave brow and thoughtful eye, would make the opinion good. It was a very comfortable home picture, Elizabeth thought, in a different line of life from that she was accustomed to, — the farmer's wife and the tea-kettle, the dresser and the breakfast table, and the wooden kitchen floor and the stone hearth. She did not know what a contrast she made in it; her dainty little figure, very nicely dressed, standing on the flag-stones before the fire. Mrs. Landholm felt it, and doubted.
"How do you like the place, Miss Haye?" she ventured.
To her surprise the answer was an energetic, "Very much."