"What is the reason Winthrop Landholm don't come here any more?" said the latter lady.
"I don't know," said Mr. Haye, when the silence had threatened the failure of any answer at all.
"What's the reason, Lizzie?"
"I don't know! — how should I?"
"I am sure I can't tell," said Rose, "but I didn't know but you did. I wish you'd ask him to come again, Mr. Haye — do you know how he is getting up in the world?"
"I know how cotton is falling," said Mr. Haye, swallowing his tea and the newspaper apparently both at the same time.
"Cotton! —" said Rose. "Now Mr. Haye, just put down that paper and listen to me; — do you know how Winthrop Landholm is holding his head up?"
"No," said Mr. Haye, looking at the pretty little head which was holding itself up, over against him.
"Well, he is. You didn't hear what Mr. Satterthwaite was saying about him last night, did you?"
"I didn't hear Mr. Satterthwaite say anything."
"Well he says he's had quite a great cause come on, now, just a few days ago —"
"Who has? Mr. Satterthwaite?"
"Why no, Mr. Haye! — of course! — I mean Mr. Landholm has — a cause that he was to argue, you know — that's what I mean — before Chancellor Justice — and Mr. Satterthwaite says he did it splendidly! — he said everybody stood and looked; — and the Chancellor gave him everything he asked for — made all his exceptions, he said, whatever that means —"
"Allowed his exceptions," said Elizabeth.
"O you could listen when Mr. Satterthwaite was speaking of
Winthrop Landholm!"
"Mr. Satterthwaite don't often have so good a subject. I listened certainly, and was very much interested; — the only time I ever remember Mr. Satterthwaite's saying anything I cared to hear."
"Well, now, Mr. Haye, why isn't it just as well to say 'made an exception,' as 'allowed an exception'? I don't think 'allowed an exception' is good English."
"It is good law English, I suppose, Rose."
"Well, I don't care — at any rate, he said the Chancellor allowed every one of Mr. Landholm's exceptions, — suppose you understand it; — and wouldn't allow a single thing to Mr. Brick; and Mr. Brick was the lawyer on the other side; and Mr. Satterthwaite said it was a great triumph for Mr. Landholm."
"Dustus O. Brick?" said Mr. Haye.
"Yes," said Elizabeth.
"I don't know," said Rose; "he said Mr. Brick, — or the noted
Mr. Brick — I suppose that's the man."
"Dustus O. Brick!" said Mr. Haye — "he's one of the best men in the bar, and a very clever man too; a distinguished lawyer; there's no one more thought of."
"That's what Mr. Satterthwaite said, — he said so, — he said it was a great triumph for Mr. Landholm; — and now Mr. Haye, won't you ask him to come here again as he used to?"
"Who?"
"Winthrop Landholm."
"What for?"
"Why I want to see him — and so do you, Mr. Haye. Now Mr. Haye, won't you? — Though I don't know but Elizabeth would be the best one to ask him."
"Why?" dryly said the master of the house.
"I guess he'd be more likely to come."
"If I thought so, and it were my part to do it, I certainly should ask him," said Elizabeth. "There isn't any person so pleasant as he to take his place, among all that come here."
"You were glad of what Mr. Satterthwaite told us last night weren't you?" said Rose with a sinister smile.
"Very glad!"
"Did you ever hear Mr. Satterthwaite go on so about anybody? One would have thought Mr. Landholm was his own brother. I wonder if that was for your sake, Lizzie?"
"I presume it was for his own sake," said Elizabeth. "I should think anybody who had the privilege of being Mr. Landholm's friend, would know how to value it."
"You would value it, for instance, I suppose?"
"I have no doubt I should."
"It seems to me you are a little too sure of valuing it," said
Mr. Haye, — "for a young lady who has not that privilege."
Elizabeth's cheeks burned on the instant, but her eye was steady, and it looked full on her father while she asked him,
"Why, sir?"
"It is not worth while for you to like other people faster than they like you?"
"Why not?" — said Elizabeth, her cheek and eye both deepening in their fire, but her look as steady and full, — "Why not? — if it should happen that I am less likeable than they?"
"Pshaw!" said Mr. Haye.
"If I were to gauge the respect and esteem I give others, by the respect and esteem they might be able to give me, — I should cut off maybe the best pleasures of my life."
"Are respect and esteem the best pleasures of your life?" said
Rose satirically.
"I have never known any superior to them," said Elizabeth. But she brought, as she spoke, her eye of fire to bear upon her cousin, who gave way before it and was mum.
"And what may respect and esteem lead to?" said Mr. Haye.
"I don't know," said Elizabeth. "And I don't care — even to ask."
"Suppose they are not returned?"
"I have supposed that in the first place," she answered.
"At that rate you might be over head and ears in your regard for several people at once, none of whom cared a straw for you," said Mr. Haye.
"When I find several, men or women, that deserve the sort of respect and esteem I am talking of," said Elizabeth — "I am not talking of a common kind, that you can give common people — I shall be in a new world!"
"And have you this sort of 'respect and esteem' for Mr.
Winthrop Landholm?" said her father.
"That's another question," said Elizabeth, for the first time dropping her eye and speaking more quietly; — "I was talking of the general principle."
"And I am asking of the particular instance. Have you this respect and esteem for this particular person of your acquaintance?"
"I never gave it to many people in my life," said Elizabeth, colouring again somewhat. "He has as fair a share of it as most have."
"A little more?" said Mr. Haye smiling.
This time the answer she flashed at him was of proud and indignant bar to any further questioning — with her eyes only; her lips did not move.
"Does he know it, Elizabeth?"
"Know what, sir?"
"This favour you have expressed for him."
"I have expressed nothing but what I would express for any one to whom I thought it due."
"But I ask, does he know it?"
"I feel injured, father, by your asking me such questions! — I presume he does not know, since he has not had the honour of being told!"
The air with which this was given was regal.
"I wouldn't tell him, Lizzie," said her father quietly.
But at the insinuation conveyed in these words, Elizabeth's mood took another turn.
"I will tell whomsoever it may concern to know, at any time when I see occasion," she answered. "It is not a thing to be ashamed of; and I will neither do nor think anything I am unwilling to own."
"You had better reform public opinion in the first place," said Mr. Haye dryly.
"Why?" she said with startling quickness.
"It is apt to hold rather light of young ladies who tell their minds without being asked."
"How can you speak so, father! — I said, when I saw occasion — it seems I have very much misjudged in the present instance."
"And as that might happen again," said Mr. Haye, "it is just as safe, on the whole, that the person in question does not come here any more. I am glad that I have advertised his place for sale."
"What!" exclaimed Elizabeth and Rose both at once.
"Hush — don't fire at a man in that way. His father's place, I should say."
"What have you done to it?" said Elizabeth.
"Advertised it for sale. You don't hear me as well as you do
Mr. Satterthwaite, it seems."
"How come you to have it to sell?"
"Because it was mortgaged to me — years ago — and I can't get either principal or interest; so I am taking the best way I can to secure my rights."
"But Mr. Landholm was your friend?"
"Certainly — but I am a better friend to myself. Can't do business with your friends on different principles from those you go upon with other people, Lizzie."
Elizabeth looked at him, with eyes that would have annihilated a large portion of Mr. Haye's principles, if they had been sentient things. Rose began a running fire of entreaties that he would have nothing to do with Shahweetah, for that she could not bear the place. Elizabeth brought her eyes back to her plate, but probably she still saw Mr. Haye there, for the expression of them did not change.
"I'm not going to have anything to do with the place, Rose," said Mr. Haye — "further than to get it off my hands. I don't want to live there any more than you do. All I want to do is to pay myself."
"Father," said Elizabeth looking up quietly, "I'll buy it of you."
"You!" said Mr. Haye, — while Rose went off into a succession of soft laughs.
"Do you care who does it, so that you get the money?"
"No, — but what will you do with it?"
"Find a way, in time, of conveying it back to its right owners," said Rose. "Don't you see, Mr. Haye?"
Elizabeth favoured her with a look which effectually spiked that little gun, for the time, and turned her attention again to her father.
"Do you care who buys it of you, so that you get the money?"
"Why, no — but you don't want such a piece of property,
Lizzie."
"I want just such a piece of property."
"But my child, you can't manage it. It would be an absurd spending of your money. There's a farm of two or three hundred acres — more, — besides woodland. What could you do with it?"
"Trust me to take care of my own. May I have it, father?"
"Mr. Haye! —" Rose put in, pouting and whimpering, — "I wish you'd tell Lizzie she's not to look at me so! —"
"Will you sell it to me?" pursued Elizabeth.
"If you'll promise it shall not go back to the original owners in any such way as Rose hinted."
"Are those your terms of sale?" said Elizabeth. "Because, though I may not choose to submit myself to them, I can find you another purchaser."
"What do you want of a great piece of land like that?"
"Nothing; I want the land itself."
"You can't do anything with it."
"It don't signify, if it all grows up to nettles!" said Elizabeth. "Will you take the money of me and let me take the land of you?"
"Hum —" said Mr. Haye, — "I think you have enlightened me too much this morning. No — I'll find a more disinterested purchaser; and let it teach you to take care of your eyes as well as your tongue."
Rose bridled. Mr. Haye got up leisurely from the breakfast- table and was proceeding slowly to the door, when his path was crossed by his daughter. She stood still before him.
He might well tell her to take care of her eyes. They glowed in their sockets as she confronted him, while her cheek was as blanched as a fire at the heart could leave it. Mr. Haye was absolutely startled and stood as still as she.
"Father," she said, "take care how you drive me too far! You have had some place in my heart, but I warn you it is in danger. — If you care for it, I warn you! — "
She was gone, like a flash; and Mr. Haye after casting a sort of scared look behind him at his wife, went off too; probably thinking he had got enough for one morning.
No doubt Elizabeth felt so for her part. She had gone to her own room, where she put herself on a low seat by the window and sat with labouring breath and heaving bosom, and the fire in her heart and in her eyes glowing still, though she looked now as if it were more likely to consume herself than anybody else. If herself was not present to her thoughts, they were busy with nothing then present; but the fire burned.
While she sat there, Clam came in, now one of the smartest of gay-turbaned handmaidens, and began an elaborate dusting of the apartment. She began at the door, and by the time she had worked round to Elizabeth at the window, she had made by many times a more careful survey of her mistress than of any piece of furniture in the room. Elizabeth's head had drooped; and her eyes were looking, not vacantly, but with no object in view, out of the window.
"I guess you want my friend here just now, Miss 'Lizabeth," said Clam, her lips parting just enough to show the line of white between them.
"Whom do you mean by your friend?"
"O — Governor Landholm, to be sure — he used to fix everybody straight whenever he come home to Wuttle Quttle."
Elizabeth passed over the implication that she wanted 'fixing,' and asked, "How? —"
"I don' know. He used to put 'em all in order, in less'n no time," said Clam, going over and over the dressing-table with her duster, as that piece of furniture kept her near her mistress. "Mis' Landholm used to get her face straight the minute his two feet sounded outside the house, and she'd keep it up as long as he stayed; and Winifred stopped to be queer and behaved like a Christian; and nobody else in the house hadn't a chance to take airs but himself."
"What sort of airs did he take?" said Elizabeth.
"O I don' know," said Clam; — "his sort; — they wa'n't like nobody else's sort."
"But what do you mean by airs?"
"Can't tell," said Clam, — "nothin' like yours, Miss 'Lizabeth, — I take a notion to wish he was here, once in a while — it wouldn't do some folks no harm."
"Didn't his coming put you in order too?"
Clam gave a little toss of her head, infinitely knowing and satisfied at the same time, and once more and more broadly shewed the white ivory between her not unpretty parted teeth.
"I think you want putting in order now," said her mistress.
"Always did," said Clam with a slight arch of her eyebrows, — "always shall. Best get him to manage it, Miss 'Lizabeth — he can do it quicker'n anybody else — for me, — and I dare say he would for you."
"I don't believe you ever were put in order," said Elizabeth, — "to stay."
"I didn't use to do a wrong thing as long as he was in the house!" said Clam. "Didn't want to. — You wouldn't neither, if you was in the house with him."
"What do you mean by Mrs. Landholm's getting her face straight when he came? — was'nt it always so?"
"'Twa'n't always so," said Clam, — "for when he come, half the wrinkles went away, and the grey hairs all turned black again."
There came such a pang to Elizabeth's heart, such a gush to her eyes, that she hid her face on her knees and heard nothing of what her handmaid said for a long time after. If Clam talked, she had the talk all to herself; and when Elizabeth at last raised her head, her handmaiden was standing on the other side of the fireplace looking at her, and probably making up her mind that she wanted 'fixing' very much. There was no further discussion of the subject, however; for Miss Haye immediately called for her bonnet and veil, wrapped herself in a light scarf and went out. The door had hardly closed upon her when the bell rang again, and she came running up-stairs to her room.
"Clam, get me the newspaper."
"What news, Miss 'Lizabeth?"
"All the newspapers — every one you can find; — yesterday's and to-day's, or the day before."
Much wondering, Clam hunted the house and brought the fruits of her search; and much more wondering, she saw her mistress spend one hour in closely poring over the columns of page after page; she who never took five minutes a day to read the papers. At last a little bit was carefully cut from one of those Clam had brought up, and Elizabeth again prepared herself to go forth.
"If it had been Mr. Winthrop, now, who was doing that," said Clam, "he'd have took off his hat most likely, and sat down to it. How you do look, Miss 'Lizabeth!"
"Mr. Winthrop and I are two different people," said Elizabeth, hurriedly putting on the one glove she had drawn off.
"Must grow a little more like before you'll be one and the same," observed Clam.
Elizabeth let down her veil over her face and went out again.
With a quick nervous step she went, though the day was warm, making no delay and suffering no interruption; till she reached the University where Professor Herder made his daily and nightly abode. The professor was attending one of his classes. Elizabeth asked to be shewn to his room.
She felt as if she was on a queer errand, as she followed her conductor up the wide stone stairs and along the broad corridors, where the marks were evidently of only man's use and habitation, and now and then a man's whistle or footstep echoed from the distance through the halls. But she went on swiftly, from one corridor to another, till the guide opened a door and she stepped out from the public haunts of life to a bit of quite seclusion.
It was a pleasant enough place that Mr. Herder called home. A large, airy, light, high-ceiled apartment, where plainly even to a stranger's eye, the naturalist had grouped and bestowed around him all the things he best liked to live among. Enormous glass cases, filled with the illustrations of science, and not less of the philosopher's investigating patience, lined all the room; except where dark-filled shelves of books ran up between them from the floor to the ceiling. A pleasant cloth-covered table, with books and philosophical instruments, stood towards one side of the room, a little table with a lamp at the other; and scattered about, all over, were big stout comfortable well-worn leather arm-chairs, that said study and learning sat easy there and often received visits of pleasure in that room. Elizabeth felt herself as little akin to pleasure as to learning or study, just then. She put herself in one of the great leather chairs, with a sense of being out of her element — a little piece of busy, bustling, practical life, within the very palings of science and wisdom.
She sat and waited. But that pulse of busy life beat never the cooler for all the cool aspect of the place and the grave shade of wisdom that lingered there; nay, it throbbed faster and more flutteringly. She got up to try the power of distraction the glass cases might hold; but her eye roved restlessly and carelessly over object and object of interest that withheld its interest from her; and weariedly she went back to her arm-chair and covered her face with her hands, that her mind might be at least uninterruptedly busy in its own way.
It must have been very busy, or the quick little step of the German professor must have been very soft withal; for he had come within a few feet of her before he knew who she was or she knew that he was there.
"Miss Elisabet'!" he exclaimed with a most good-humoured face of wonderment, — "I never was so honoured before! How did you get in my arm-chair?"
Elizabeth jumped up and shook hands with him, laughing in very relief to see him come.
"How did I get here? — I came up through the sun, Mr. Herder."
"I have asked you to come in better time," said the naturalist, — "that is, better for you — dis is very good time for me. I have nozing to do, and I will give you lesson in whatever you want."
"No sir, — I am come to give you a lesson, Mr. Herder."
"Me? Well, I will take it," said the naturalist, who began at the same time to run about his room and open closet doors and jingle glasses together, apparently on his own business, — "I like always to take lessons, — it is not often that I have such a teacher. I will learn the best I can — after I have got you some lemonade. I have two lemons here, — somevere, — ah! — "
"I don't want it, Mr. Herder."
"I cannot learn nozing till you have had it," said Mr. Herder bringing his lemons and glasses to the table; — "that sun is beating my head what was beating yours, and it cannot think of nozing till I have had something to cool him off. —"
Elizabeth sat still, and looked, and thought, with her heart beating.
"I did not know what was in my room when I see you in my chair wiz your head down — you must be study more hard than me, Miss Elisabet' — I never put my head down, for nozing."
"Nor your heart either, I wonder?" thought Elizabeth.
"I was studying, Mr. Herder, — pretty hard."
"Is that what you are going to give me to study?" said the naturalist.
"Not exactly — it was something about it. I want you to do something for me, Mr. Herder, — if I may ask you, — and if you will be so very kind as to take some trouble for me."
"I do not like trouble," said the naturalist shaking his head good-humouredly over a squeeze of his lemon; — "dere is no use in having trouble — I get out of it so soon as I can — but I will get in it wiz pleasure for you, Miss Elisabet' — what you tell me — if you will tell me if that is too much sucker."
"To take trouble, and to be in trouble, are not quite the same thing, Mr. Herder," said Elizabeth, having at the moment a vivid realization of the difference.
"I thought trouble was trouble," said the naturalist, finishing the preparing his own glass of lemonade. "If you will lesson me to find trouble is no trouble — Miss Elisabet' — I will thank you much for that."
Elizabeth heartily wished anybody could teach her that particular lesson. She sipped her lemonade, slowly and abstractedly, busy yet with the study which Mr. Herder had broken off; while he talked benignly and kindly, to ears that did not hear. But the last of Elizabeth's glass was swallowed hastily and the glass set down.
"Mr. Herder, I have come to ask you to do something for me."
"I am honoured, Miss Elisabet'," said the philosopher bowing.
"Will you not speak of it to anybody?"
"Not speak of it!" said the naturalist. "Then it is a secret?"
The quick energetic little bend of Elizabeth's head said before her lips spoke the word, "Yes!"
"It is more honour yet," he said. "What am I to do, Miss
Elisabet'?"
"Nothing, if it will be any real trouble to you, Mr. Herder.
Promise me that first."
"Promise? — what shall I promise?" said Mr. Herder.
"Promise me that if what I am going to ask would be any real trouble to you or to your business, you will tell me so."
"I do not love to be troubled," said the naturalist. "It shall not be no trouble to me."
"But promise me that you will tell me, Mr. Herder."
"Suppose you was to tell me first. I cannot tell nozing till I know."
"You will not speak of it to anybody, Mr. Herder?"
"I will not speak of nozing, Miss Elisabet'."
"Mr. Herder, there is a piece of land which I want to buy; and I have come to ask you, if you can, and if you will, to buy it for me."
"Miss Elisabet'," said the naturalist looking a little surprised at his fair questioner, — "I will tell you the truth — I have no money."
"I have, Mr. Herder. But I cannot go into the market and buy for myself."
"Cer-tain-ly, you cannot do that," said Mr. Herder. "But what is it you wish to buy?"
"It is a farm, —" said Elizabeth, feeling glad that her back was to the light; — "it is a piece of land in the country — up on the Shatemuc river. I think you have been there, Mr. Herder, — it is the place where the Landholms' father lives. Wut-a-qut-o, they call it — or Shahweetah; — Wut-a-qut-o is the mountain opposite."
"Landholm!" cried the naturalist. "Is it Winthrop's place?"
Elizabeth bowed her head and answered, "His father's."
"Winthrop's place! Is that what you want, Miss Elisabet'?"
Elizabeth bowed her head again, this time without answering.
"Suppose they might not want to sell it?" said the naturalist.
"They do not — but they can't help themselves. It must be sold — they can't pay money that is owing upon it."
"Money!" — said the naturalist; — "that is de trouble of all that is in the world. I wish there was no such thing as money! It makes all the mischief."
"Or the want of it," said Elizabeth.
"No!" said the naturalist, — "it is not that! I have want money all my life, Miss Elisabet', and I have never got into no trouble at all."
"Except when you fought the duels, Mr. Herder."
"Dat was not no trouble!" said the philosopher. "There was nozing about money there; and it was not no trouble, — neizer before, neizer after."
"I have had money all my life; and it never made me any trouble."
"Ah, you have not come to the time," said Mr. Herder. "Wait, you will find it. Now you are in trouble because you want to buy this ground, and you could not do it wizout money."
"I can't do it with, unless you will help me, Mr. Herder — you or somebody."
"I could get somebody," said Mr. Herder; — "I know somebody what I could get."
"I don't know anybody who would be as good as you, sir."
"I do," said the naturalist. "Where is Mr. Haye? — is he sick?"
"No sir, — I don't wish him to know anything about it, Mr.
Herder. — He is the person making the sale."
"Your father? — do you mean that Mr. Haye is the man what is selling the ground of Mr. Landholm?"
"Yes sir. And I wish to buy it."
"Then Miss Elisabet', what for do you not ask my friend Winthrop to buy it for you? He knows all business. He will do it."
"I cannot — I have not the liberty — He is not enough a friend of mine, for me to ask him such a favour."
"But Miss Elisabet', what will you do wiz all that large ground and water?"
"Buy it, — first, sir; and then I will see. I want it."
"I see you do," said the naturalist. "Well, then I shall get it for you — if I can — I hope your money will not get me in trouble."
"If you are at all afraid of that, Mr. Herder, I will find some other way —"
"I never was afraid of nozing in my life, Miss Elisabet' — only I do not know neizer how to get money, neizer how to spend it — in this way. What will Mr. Haye say to me when I go to buy all this great land of him? He will say —"
"You're not to buy it of him, Mr. Herder."
"No?" said the naturalist. "Of who, then? I thought you said he was going to sell it."
"Yes, he is — but he has somebody else to do it for him. Here, Mr. Herder, — here is the advertisement; — see — don't read the first part, — all that has nothing to do with it, — here is the place. 'At the Merchant's Exchange, in the city of Mannahatta, on the first day of September, 1821, at 12 o'clock noon of that day' — and then comes the description of the place. It is to be sold at public auction."
"Auc-sion? —" said the naturalist.
"It's to be sold in public, to whoever offers to give most for it."
"O, I know that," said Mr. Herder.
"And dear Mr. Herder, all I ask of you is to be there, at 12 o'clock the first of September, and buy it for me; and let nobody know. Can you do it?"
"I can do so much," said the naturalist. "I think I can. But suppose somebody will give more than you."
"Do not suppose that, sir. I will give more than anybody."
"Are you sure you will?" said the naturalist. "Maybe you do not know."
"I do know, sir, and am sure."
"Well," said the naturalist, shaking his head, — "I do not know much about buying grounds — I do know a leetle of some things — but I do not know what sort of a lesson is this, Miss Elisabet'. But I will see if I can do it. Who is going to live up there wiz you?"
"Don't you suppose I can live alone, Mr. Herder."
"No, not there," said the naturalist. "You want some one to take care of you — de engineer, Miss Elisabet'," said he smiling.
Elizabeth made no answer; she had risen up to go; and he guided her through the halls and down the staircases, till she was in the open street again. Then, after a farewell squeeze of his hand and nod of her little head, she pulled her veil down and went homeward, more slowly than she had come.
"Do I want somebody to take care of me?" she thought. "I believe I do! An engineer? — I do not think the engine is under very good guidance — it is too strong for me — How could he know that? Oh what earthly thing would I give, for a hand wise and strong enough to lead me, and good enough that I could submit myself to!"
The wish was so deep drawn that her breast heaved with it, and starting tears made her draw her veil thicker before them. She bit her lip, and once more quickened her steps towards home.
CHAPTER III.
Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, —
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,
Where, as the breezes pass,
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, —
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
Or whiten in the wind, — of waters blue
That from the distance sparkle through
Some woodland gap, — and of a sky above,
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.
LOWELL.
Finding that the old farm must pass out of his hands, Mr. Landholm made up his mind not to spend another summer of labour and of life upon it; but at once with his son Asahel to move off to the West. He stayed but to reap the standing crops of winter grain, dispose of stock, and gather up all the loose ends of business; and left the hills of the Shatemuc, to seek better fortunes on a Western level.
They passed through Mannahatta on their way, that they might have a short sight of Winthrop and Winifred and say good-bye to them. It was not so joyful a visit that anybody wished it to be a long one.
"It's pretty hard," said the farmer, "to start life anew again at my time of day; — but these arms are not worn out yet; I guess they'll do something — more or less — on a new field."
"Asahel's got strong arms, father," said Winifred, who was fain to put in a word of comfort when she could.
"Ay, and a strong heart too," said his father. "He's a fine fellow. He'll do, I guess, in the long run, — at the West or somewhere; and at the West if anywhere, they say. I'm not concerned much about him."
"There's no need, I think," said Winthrop.
"Where's Will? — and what's he doing?"
"Will has just set off for Charleston — on some agency business."
"Charleston in South Carolina?"
"Yes."
"Then he is not engineering now?"
"No."
"How long does he expect to be gone?"
"Some months — more or less; — I don't know."
"Is it a good business for him?"
"He has chosen it, — not I."
"I would sooner trust your choice," said the father. "There's one thing Rufus wants; and that is, judgment."
"He'll do yet," said Winthrop. "And I shall not leave you long at the West, father. You will come when I send for you?"
"No, my boy," said the farmer looking gratified; — "I'll live by my own hands as long as I have hands to live by; and as I said, mine haven't given out yet! No — if the Lord prospers us, we'll have a visit from you and Winnie out there, I expect — by and by, when we get things in order; — you and Winnie, and anybody else you've a mind to bring along!"
It was spoken heartily, but with a tear in the eye; and nobody answered; unless it were answer, the long breath which Winnie drew at the very idea of such a visit.
Winthrop heard it; but through the long weeks of summer he could give her nothing more of country refreshment than the old walks on the Green and an occasional ride or walk on the opposite shore of one or the other of the rivers that bordered the city. Business held him fast, with a grip that he must not loosen; though he saw and knew that his little sister's face grew daily more thin and pale, and that her slight frame was slighter and slighter. His arm had less and less to do, even though her need called for more. He felt as if she was slipping away from him. August came.
"Winnie," said he one evening, when he came home and found her lying on her couch as usual, — "how would you like to go up and pay Karen a visit?"
"Karen?" — said Winnie, — "where?"
"At home. — At Wut-a-qut-o."
"Wut-a-qut-o!" said Winnie; — "is Karen there? I thought
Shahweetah was sold."
"It isn't sold yet — it won't be till September — and Karen is there yet, keeping house with her brother Anderese."
"Anderese! — is old Anderese there?" said Winnie. "O I should like to go, Governor!" she said raising herself on her elbow. "Can we?"
"Yes, if you like. Hildebrand Cowslip is down here with his father's sloop — how would you like to go up in her?"
"In the sloop? — O how good!" said Winnie bringing her thin hands together. "Can we? But dear Governor, you can't be away?"
"Yes — just as well as not. There isn't much doing in August — everybody takes a resting time; and so you and I will, Winnie," said he, bending down to kiss her.
Winnie looked up at him gratefully and lovingly with her wistful large eyes, the more expressive from the setting of illness and weakness in the face.
"I'd like you to have a rest, dear Governor."
He stood stroking back the ringlets from the thin blue-veined temple.
"Wouldn't it do you good to see Wut-a-qut-o again?"
"O I am sure it would! — And you too, wouldn't it?"
"I am good enough already," said Winthrop looking down at her.
"Too good," said Winnie looking up at him. "I guess you want pulling down!"
She had learned to read his face so well, that it was with a pang she saw the look with which he turned off to his work. A stranger could not have seen in it possibly anything but his common grave look; to Winnie there was the slight shadow of something which seemed to say the "pulling down" had not to be waited for. So slight that she could hardly tell it was there, yet so shadowy she was sure it had come from something. It was not in the look merely — it was in the air, — it was, she did not know what, but she felt it and it made her miserable. She could not see it after the first minute; his face and shoulders, as he sat reading his papers, had their usual calm stability; Winnie lay looking at him, outwardly calm too, but mentally tossing and turning.
She could not bear it. She crawled off her couch and came and sat down at his feet, throwing her arms around his knee and looking up at him.
"Dear Governor! — I wish you had whatever would do you good!"
"The skill of decyphering would do me a little good just now," said her brother. She could detect nothing peculiar in look or word, though Winnie's eyes did their best.
"But somehow I don't feel as if you had," she went on to say.
"Where is your faith?" — he said quietly, as he made a note in the margin of the paper he was reading. Winnie could make nothing of him.
"Governor, when shall we go?"
"Hildebrand moves his sloop off to-morrow afternoon."
"And shall we go to-morrow?"
"If you don't object."
Winnie left the floor, clapping her hands together, and went back to her couch to think over at large the various preparations which she must make. Which pleasant business held her all the evening.
They were not large preparations, however; longer to think of than to do; especially as Winthrop took upon himself the most of what was done. One or two nick-nackeries of preparation, in the shape of a new basket, a new book, and a new shawl, seemed delightful to Winnie; though she did not immediately see what she might want of the latter in August.
"We shall find it cooler when we get under the shadow of Wut- a-qut-o, Winnie," said her brother; and Winnie was only too glad of a pretext to take the pretty warm wrapper of grey and blue worsted along.
She did not want it when they set out, the next afternoon. It was very warm in the streets, very warm on the quays; and even when the sloop pushed her way slowly out and left the quays at her back, there was little air stirring and the August sun beat down steadily on river and shore.
"This don't look much like gettin' up to Cowslip's Mill this night," said the skipper. "Ain't it powerful!"
"The wind is coming off from the South," said Winthrop.
"Yes, I felt some little puffs on my cheek," said Winnie.
"Glad to hear it," said the sloop master, a tall, bony, ill- set-together specimen of a shore and water man; — "there ain't enough now to send an egg-shell along, and I'd like to shew you a good run, Mr. Landholm, since you're goin' along with me. She looks smart, don't she?"
"If she'll only work as well," said Winthrop. "Hild', you haven't got much cargo aboard."
"Only as much as'll keep her steady," answered the skipper. "'Seems to me nobody ain't a wantin' nothin' up our ways. I guess you're the heaviest article on board, Winthrop; — she never carried a lawyer before."
"Are lawyers heavy articles?" said Winnie laughing.
"'Cordin' to what I've heern, I should say they be; ain't they, squire? — considerable, — especially when they get on folks's hands. I hope you're a better sort, Winthrop, — or ain't there much choice in 'em?"
"You shall try me when you get into trouble," said Winthrop.
"Is this Mr. Cowslip's old sloop?" said Winnie.
"She don't look old, does she?" inquired Mr. Hildebrand.
"But I mean, is it the same he used to have? — No, she looks very handsome indeed."
"She's the old one though," said the skipper, "the same old Julia Ann. What's the use o' askin' ladies' ages? — she's just as good as when she was young; and better dressed. I've had the cabin fixed up for you, Mr. Landholm, — I guess it'll be pretty comfortable in there."
"It's a great deal pleasanter here," said Winnie. "There comes the wind! — that was a puff! —"
"Well we're ready for it," said the skipper.
And stronger puffs came after, and soon a steady fair southerly breeze set up the river and sent the Julia Ann on before it. Straight up the river their course lay, without veering a point for miles. The sun was lowering towards the horizon and the heat was lessening momently, even without the south breeze which bade it be forgotten; and the blue waters of the river, so sluggish a little while ago, were briskly curling and rippling, and heading like themselves for Wut-a- qut-o.
Winnie sat still and silent in the shadow of the huge sail. Winthrop was standing close beside her, talking with the skipper; but he knew that his little sister had hold of his hand and had laid her unbonneted head against his arm; and when the skipper left him he stooped down to her.
"What do you think of it, Winnie?"
"O Winthrop! — how delicious! — Aren't you glad it is such beautiful world?"
"What are you thinking of in particular?"
"O everything. It isn't down here like Wut-a-qut-o, but everything is so delicious — the water and the shore and the sunshine and the wind! —"
"Poor Winnie," said her brother stroking her hair, — "you haven't seen it in a good while."
She looked up at him, a glance which touchingly told him that where he was she wanted nothing; and then turned her eyes again towards the river.
"I was thinking, Governor, that maybe I shall never go up here again."
"Well Winnie? —"
"I am very glad I can go this time. I am so much obliged to you for bringing me."
"Obliged to me, Winnie!"
He had placed himself behind his little sister, with one hand holding her lightly by each shoulder; and calm as his tone was, perhaps there came a sudden thought of words that he knew very well —
"There fairer flowers than Eden's bloom,
"Nor sin nor sorrow know;
"Blest seats! through rude and stormy seas
"I onward press to you." —
For he was silent, though his face wore no more than its ordinary gravity.
"Governor," said Winnie half turning her head round to him, "I wish these people were not all round here within hearing, so that we could sing. — I feel just like it."
"By and by, Winnie, I dare say we can."
"How soon do you think we shall get to Wut-a-qut-o."
"Before morning, if the wind holds."
The wind held fair and rather strengthened than lost, as the evening went on. Under fine headway the Julia Ann swept up the river, past promontory and bay, nearing and nearing her goal. Do her best, however, the Julia Ann could not bring them that night to any better sleeping advantages than her own little cabin afforded; and for those Winthrop and Winnie were in no hurry to leave the deck. After the skipper's hospitality had been doubtfully enjoyed at supper, and after they had refreshed themselves with seeing the sun set and watching the many-coloured clouds he left behind him, the moon rose in the other quarter and threw her 'silver light' across the deck, just as duskiness was beginning to steal on. The duskiness went on and shrouded the hills and the distant reaches of the river in soft gloom; but on board the Julia Ann, on her white sails and deck floor where the brother and sister were sitting, and on a broad pathway of water between them and the moon, her silver light threw itself with brightening and broadening power. By and by Mr. Hildebrand's two or three helpers disposed of themselves below deck, and nobody was left but Mr. Hildebrand himself at the helm.
"Now we can sing!" exclaimed Winnie, when one or two turns of her head had made her sure of this; and to Winthrop's surprise she struck up the very words part of which had been in his own remembrance.
"'Jerusalem! my happy home —
"'Name ever dear to me —
"'When shall my labours have an end,
"' In joy and peace in thee!"'
Winnie's voice was as sweet and clear as a bird's, if weakness left it not much stronger; that of her brother was deep, mellow, and exceeding fine; it was no wonder that the skipper turned his head and forgot his tiller to catch the fulness of every note. When the last had sounded, there was nothing to be heard but the rippling of water under the sloop's prow; the sails were steady and full, the moonlight not more noiseless; the wind swept on with them softly, just giving a silent breath to their cheeks; the skipper held his tiller with a moveless hand.
"What next, Winnie?" her brother whispered. The soft gurgle of the water had been heard for several minutes.
"How fond Karen is of that hymn," said Winifred. "Governor, do you think I shall live long in this world?"
She was leaning, half lying, upon Winthrop, with his arm round her. Her voice had put the question in precisely the same tone that it had given the remark.
"Why do you ask me that, Winnie?"
"Because — sometimes I think I sha'n't, — and I want to know what you think."
"You will live, I am sure, dear Winnie, till God has done for you all he means to do; — till he has fitted his child for heaven; — and then he will take her."
"I know that," said Winifred with a grateful half look up at him; — "but I mean — you know I am not well quite, and weak, and I don't think I get any better; — don't you think that it won't take a very great while, very likely?"
"How would you feel, Winnie, if you thought that was so?"
"I do think it sometimes — pretty often," — said Winnie, "and it don't make me feel sorry, Governor."
"You think heaven is better than earth."
"Yes, —and then — that's one good thing of my sickness — it don't seem as if I ever could do much if I lived, so it matters the less."
"Nobody knows how much he does, who does his duty," said
Winthrop.
"Why I can't do anything at all!" said Winnie.
"Every talent that isn't buried brings something into the treasury," said Winthrop.
"Yes — that's pleasant," said Winnie; — "but I don't know what mine is."
"The good that people do unconsciously is often more than that they intend."
"Unconsciously! — But then they don't know whether they do it or not?"
"It don't hurt them, not to know," said her brother smiling.
"But what sort of good-doing is that, Winthrop?"
"It only happens in the case of those persons whose eye is very single; — with their eye full of the light they are reflecting, they cannot see the reflection. But it is said of those that 'their works do follow them.'"
Winnie was tearfully silent, thinking of the ingathering of joy there would be for one that she knew; and if Winthrop's arm was drawn a little closer round her little figure, perhaps it was with a like thought for her. How bright the moonlight shone!
"That's pleasant to think, Governor, — both parts of it," said Winifred softly, beating his hand slightly with one of her own. He was silent.
"Now won't you sing something else? — for I'm tired," she said, nestling her head more heavily on his breast.
And he sang again. —
"'Vain are all terrestrial pleasures,
"' Mixed with dross the purest gold;
"'Seek we then for heavenly treasures,
"'Treasures never growing old.
"'Let our best affections centre
"'On the things around the throne;
"'There no thief can ever enter, —
"'Moth and rust are there unknown.
"'Earthly joys no longer please us,
"'Here would we renounce them all,
"'Seek our only rest in Jesus,
"'Him our Lord and Master call.
"'Faith, our languid spirits cheering,
"'Points to brighter worlds above;
"'Bids us look for his appearing,
"'Bids us triumph in his love.
"'Let our lights be always burning,
"'And our loins be girded round,
"'Waiting for our Lord's returning,
"'Longing for the joyful sound.
"'Thus the christian life adorning,
"'Never need we be afraid,
"'Should he come at night or morning,
"'Early dawn, or evening shade."'
The air was slow, tender, and plaintive, and borne by the deep voice over all the breadth of the moon-lit river. Winnie's breath was fuller drawn; the skipper held his, and forgot his helm; and in every pause of the song, the sweet interlude was played by the water under the sloop's prow.
"Governor —" said Winnie, when the bubbling water had been listened to alone for a while.
"What?"
"Do you think those words are quite true?"
"Those words of the hymn?"
"Yes — some of them. I think you like that hymn better than I do. 'Earthly joys no longer please us'; — do you think that is right? — They please me."
"It is only by comparison that they can be true, Winnie, certainly; — except in the case of those persons whose power of enjoyment is by some reason or other taken away."
"But you like that hymn very much?"
"Yes. Don't you?"
"I like part of it very much, and I like the tune; but I like to be able to say all the words of a hymn. How sweet that was! — Governor, don't you think it would be pleasant to stay here all night?"
"Singing?"
"No — but talking, and sleeping."
"I am afraid it would sadly hinder to-morrow's talk, and oblige you to sleep instead."
"Then I'll go right away. Do you think we shall be at Wut-a- qut-o in the morning?"
"If the wind holds."
By Winthrop's care and management the little cabin was made not absolutely uncomfortable, and Winnie's bed was laid on the floor between door and window so that she could sleep without being smothered. He himself mounted guard outside, and sleeping or waking kept the deck for the whole night.
"Governor," said Winnie cautiously putting her head out at the door, just as the summer dawn was growing into day, — "Governor! — are we there?"
"We are here."
"Where?"
"Lying at Cowslip's Mill."
"Oh! —"
The rest of Winnie's joyous thought was worked into her shoes and dress and bonnet-strings, and put away in her bag with her night-cap. How fast it was all done! and she pushed open her cabin door and stood on the deck with Winthrop.
Yes — there was the green wooded shore — how fresh to her eyes! — There was Mr. Cowslip's brown old house and mill; there was the old stage road; and turning, there two miles off lay Shahweetah, and there rose up Wut-a-qut-o's green head. And with a sob, Winnie hid her face in Winthrop's arms. But then in another minute she raised it again, and clearing away the mute witnesses of joy and sorrow, though it was no use for they gathered again, she looked steadily. The river lay at her feet and stretched away off up to Shahweetah, its soft gray surface unbroken by a ripple or an eddy, smooth and bright and still. Diver's Rock stood out in its old rough outline, till it cut off the west end of Shahweetah and seemed to shut up the channel of the river. A little tiny thread of a north wind came down to them from Home, over the river, with sweet promise. And as they looked, the morning light was catching Wut-a-qut-o's grave head, and then hill-top after hill-top, and ridge after ridge of the high mountain land, till all of them were alight with the day's warm hues, while all beneath slept yet in the greys of the dawn. The brother and sister stood side by side, perfectly silent; only Winnie's tears ran, sometimes with such a gush that it brought her head down, and sobs that could be heard came to Winthrop's ears. They stood till they were hailed by the old miller.
"Ha! Winthrop — glad to see ye! how do you do? Haven't seen your face this great while. Winnie? is it? — Glad to see ye! She's growed a bit. Come right along into the house — we'll have something for breakfast by and by, I expect. I didn't know you was here till five minutes ago — I was late out myself — ain't as spry as I used to be; — Come!" —
"Oh Governor, let's go straight home!" said Winnie.
"There's time enough yet, Mr. Cowslip, for your purposes. What o'clock do you suppose it is?"
"Well, I s'pose it's somewhere goin' on to six, ain't it?"
"It has left five. We can breakfast with Karen yet, Winnie."
"Oh do, Governor!"
"If you'll give us a boat instead of a breakfast, Mr. Cowslip, we will thank you just as much, and maybe take your hospitality another time."
"But won't you stop and take just a mouthful first? you'd better."
"No thank you. We shall have to take it up there; and two breakfasts a day don't agree with me."
With some sorrow on Mr. Cowslip's part, this was submitted to. The boat was got out; Hildebrand dropped into it and took the oars, "guessing he wouldn't mind going himself;" and Winthrop and Winnie sat close together in the stern. Not to steer; for Hildebrand was much too accustomed an oarsman to need any such help in coasting the river for miles up and down.
CHAPTER IV.
Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs —
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind.
SHELLEY.
Winnie drew a breath of gratification, as the oars began to dimple the still water and the little boat rounded out from behind the wharf and headed up the river; the very same way by which Winthrop had taken Mr. Haye's two young ladies once long before. The tide was just at the turn, and Hildebrand made a straight run for the rocks.
"How pleasant it is to hear the oars again!" Winnie said.
Winthrop said nothing.
Swiftly they pulled up, dappling the smooth grey water with falling drops from the oar-blades, and leaving behind them two lines of spreading wavelets that tracked the boat's way. Cowslip's Mill fell into the distance, and all that shore, as they pulled out into the middle of the river; then they drew near the old granite ridge of Diver's Rock on the other side. The sun had got so low down as that now, and the light of years ago was on the same grey bluffs and patches of wood. It was just like years ago; the trees stood where they did, ay, and the sunlight; the same shadows fell; and the river washed the broken foot of the point with, it might be, the very same little waves and eddies. And there, a mile further on, Wut-a- qut-o's high green side rose up from the water. Winnie had taken off her bonnet and sat with her head resting upon Winthrop's side or arm, her common position whenever she could get it. And she sat and looked, first at one thing and then at another, with quiet tears running and some times streaming down her face. Then the boat struck off from Diver's Rock and pushed straight over for the rocks of Shahweetah. As it neared them, the dear old trees stood forth more plainly to view, each one for itself; and the wonted footholds, on turf and stone, could be told and could be seen, apart one from the other. Poor Winnie could not look at them then, but she put her head down and sobbed her greeting to them all.
"Winnie," — said Winthrop softly, and she felt his arm closer drawn around her, — "you must not do that."
It mattered little what Winthrop asked Winnie to do; she never failed to obey him. She stopped crying now, and in another moment was smiling to him her delight, through the drops that held their place yet in her eyes and on her cheeks.
The little boat was shoved in to the usual place among the rocks and the passengers got out.
"What's the fare, Hild'? — sloop and all?"
The skipper stood on the rocks and looked into the water.
"Will you let me come to you to clear me out, the first time I get into trouble?"
"Yes."
"Then we're square!" he said, preparing to jump back into his boat.
"Then hasn't come," said Winthrop; "let's keep things square as we go along."
"All right," said the skipper. "Couldn't take nothin' from you the first time, Governor."
And Hildebrand after giving Winthrop's hand a shake, into which there went a sort of grateful respect which he would never have yielded to one who had laid any manner of claim to it, dropped into his seat again and pushed off. Winthrop and Winnie turned their steps slowly towards the house.
Very slowly; for each step now was what they had come for. How untravelled the road was!
"How it looks as if we didn't live here, Governor," Winnie said with half a sigh.
"Old Karen and Anderese don't come this way very often," replied her brother.
"Governor, I am very sorry it has got to be sold!"
They walked a few more steps up the rocky path in silence.
"O Governor, look at that great limb of that cedar tree — all dragging! What a pity."
"Broken by the wind," said Winthrop.
"How beautifully the ivy hangs from that cedar — just as it did. Dear Governor, won't you get a saw while you're here, and take off the branch and make it look nice again? — as nice as it can; — and there's the top of that little white pine!" —
"Winter-killed," said Winthrop.
"Won't you put it in order, as you used to do, this one time more?"
"If I can get a saw, I will, Winnie, — or a hatchet."
"I'm sorry we can't do it but this one time more," said Winnie, with a second and a better defined sigh, as they reached the house level. "O how funny it looks, Governor! how the grass has run up! and how brown it is! But the cedars don't change, do they?"
"It is August, Winnie," was all Winthrop's remark.
The front of the house was shut up; they went round. Old Anderese was cutting wood at the back of the house; but without stopping to enlighten him, Winthrop passed on and led Winnie into the kitchen. There the kitchen fire was burning as of yore, and on the hearth before it stood Karen, stooping down to oversee her cooking breakfast. At Winthrop's voice she started and turned. She looked at them; and then came a long and prolonged "Oh! —" of most mingled and varied tone and expression; hands and eyes keeping it company.
"Karen, we have come to see you."
In perfect silence she shook the hand of each, and then sat down and threw her apron over her face. Winnie stood still and sobbed; Winthrop walked off.
"Oh, dear," said the old woman presently rising and coming up to Winnie, — "what's made ye come to see me again? What did you come for, dear?"
The tone was wondering and caressing, and rejoicing, all in a breath. Winnie dried her eyes and answered as well as she could.
"Why we wanted to see the old place again, Karen, and to see you; and Governor thought it would do me good to be in the country a little while; and he couldn't come before, and so we have come up now to stay a few days. And we've brought things to eat, so you needn't be troubled about that."
"Ye needn't," said old Karen. "Anderese and me'd find something for you to eat, in all the wide country — do ye think we wouldn't? And how are you, dear," said she scanning Winnie's pale face; — "are ye ever yet any stronger?"
Winnie shook her head smiling and answered, "Not much."
"I see ye ain't. Well — ye're the Lord's child. He'll do what he will with his own. Where did ye come from, dear?"
"Up from Mr. Cowslip's mill," said Winnie. "We came in his sloop last night."
"The sloop!" said Karen. "Why then ye haven't had anything to eat! — and what was I thinking of! Sit down, dear — take your own chair, till I get the other room fit for ye; and you shall have breakfast jus' so soon I can make it. Where's the Governor gone to?"
He came in; and Karen's face grew bright at the sight of him. All the while she was getting the breakfast he stood talking with her; and all the while, her old face kept the broad gleam of delight that had come into it with his entering the kitchen. With what zeal that breakfast was cooked for him; with what pleasure it was served. And while they were eating it, Karen sat in the chimney corner and looked at them, and talked.
"And isn't the place sold then, Governor?"
"Not yet, Karen — in a few weeks it will be."
"And who's goin' to buy it?"
"I don't know."
"And ye ain't goin' fur to buy it yourself?"
"No Karen — I am not rich enough to keep a country house."
"You had ought to have it," said Karen. "It don't belong to nobody else but you. And you don't know who's a goin' to have it, Governor?"
"I don't know."
"'Tain't likely they'll let the old woman stay in her corner, whoever they'll be," said Karen. "Well — 'tain't fur now to the end, — and then I'll get a better place where they won't turn me out. I wish I was there, Governor."