CHAPTER XXIV.
THE GROCER’S BUGGY ONCE MORE.
John Morgan, Jenny’s father, was a very sensible, practical man, and he had, besides, a genial and kindly humor which had a good deal of effect that evening in quieting and comforting the troubled soul of poor Phil.
The two sat together for an hour or more after supper, talking over the various affairs connected with the farm. Phil felt so utterly crushed by his uncle’s note, which to him seemed so hard and undeserved, and which, coming at such a time, was doubly severe in its effect, that at first he took no interest in such matters.
But John Morgan knew of the boy’s troubles, having had very full accounts of them from Jenny, though, indeed, nothing had been said to him of Mr. Berkeley’s letter, and, seeing what a melancholy mood he was in, he thought the best way to comfort him was to talk of every-day matters in as cheerful and hopeful a way as possible.
He told Phil that as his harvest was over, and as his two older boys could attend to the work on his place, he would stay here and give his help until other arrangements could be made.
He had been talking with Joel, and knew pretty well what ought to be done. He knew of a man who would come to him, and with this assistance he and Joel would get in the wheat crop. As for feed for the stock, and whatever else of the kind was needed on the place, he would see that it was supplied, and when the wheat was threshed, everything could be paid for.
Although these were the least of Phil’s troubles, it was some satisfaction to know that the farm affairs would be made all right.
John Morgan also spoke about the mortgage and Mr. Berkeley’s absence; and, although he could not say anything about either of these things which could give any real encouragement, it was pleasant to Phil to be talked to by a man who was both sensible and sympathetic.
The next day Chap came around and proposed that they should set off again in the search for Mr. Berkeley, but Phil would not consent. If his uncle was so angry with him that he did not want to see him, he did not feel like forcing himself upon him.
He felt besides that they could not find his uncle now. There had been some chance, indeed, when they started off before; but by this time his uncle was probably hundreds of miles away. He had no doubt dropped the note into the post-office just before he left town.
The next day was Sunday, and on Monday morning Phil rose with a feeling that something must soon happen to put an end to this strange state of affairs. From what Mr. Harrison had told him, he supposed that legal proceedings would begin with the beginning of the week. What would happen to him if the place were sold he did not know. His uncle was his nearest relative, and he did not seem to count for much just now. Perhaps he would go and stay with Chap for a time, until something turned up. He could certainly do work enough to pay for his board. At any rate, it was too doleful a thing to walk about the place and talk of his misery, so he took off his coat, and went out into the field to help the men bind the sheaves.
Chap, like a good fellow, took off his coat also, and went out to help his friend. Binding wheat, he declared, was one of the jolliest sports in the world. He would have preferred, however, to go to work upon the old wreck, and get money enough to do away at once with all the troubles that hung over Hyson Hall. But it was of no use to talk to Phil of anything of that kind now.
While the boys were at dinner that day, Susan was standing on the front porch in a very disconsolate mood. The whole household, indeed, felt the shadow of the coming troubles, and no one, except John Morgan, made even an attempt to be cheerful. Susan had many reasons for feeling badly. She pitied Phil very much, and her conscience reproached her for having treated him so unkindly immediately after his uncle went away. But not only did she grieve that the Berkeleys should lose their home, but she was sorry on her own account. For many years Hyson Hall had been her home, and she had expected it to be such for many years to come. Her depression was greatly increased by the loss of Old Bruden. Now that the Tourons had possession of the master’s gun, the matter in her mind was pretty well settled.
While thinking over these things, she heard the sound of approaching wheels. Looking up, she saw the grocer’s buggy and the grocer’s horse coming towards the house. Her heart fell within her. It actually made her sick to think that anybody—unless, indeed, it should be Mr. Godfrey Berkeley—should come to that house. Visitors meant trouble. This could not be the French boy coming back? No; it was two gentlemen.
She went into the dining-room to tell Phil of the approaching visitors. Chap jumped up and looked out of the window.
“Borden and Tousey’s horse and buggy!” he exclaimed; “but I don’t know the men. They are a couple of solemn-looking coves.”
Phil rose from the table, a little pale.
“Of course it’s the sheriff, or some of them,” he said. “I supposed they’d come along to-day. Mr. Harrison told me that old Touron had given orders to foreclose immediately.”
“What do they do?” asked Chap, a little nervously. “Do they turn you right out, neck and heels?”
“All I know about it,” said Phil, “is that when a place has been mortgaged, and the money that ought to have been paid hasn’t been paid, the people that hold the mortgage have the matter closed up, and the sheriff sells you out. Then, if these money-lenders want your property, they buy it themselves; and after the sheriff takes out what is due to them, and all other expenses, he gives you what’s left. But as things sell awfully cheap at sheriff’s sales, there generally isn’t anything left. Uncle told me about these things, and that’s what I remember of it.”
Phil made this rather long speech as he was walking nervously about in the dining-room, waiting till the visitors should get out of the buggy and come to the house.
He did not feel at all like going out to meet them. Very soon there were steps on the porch, and then a knock on the door. In a few moments Susan came to Phil, and told him that two gentlemen wanted to see him in the parlor.
“Shall I come with you?” whispered Chap.
“No,” said Phil. “Perhaps you’d better not.”
He felt that he could better bear it alone, and resolutely, but with a fast-beating heart, he entered the parlor.
In five minutes more he rushed back into the dining-room, his eyes sparkling, his face glowing. Seizing Chap by the arm, he exclaimed,—
“It isn’t the sheriff at all! It’s two of the steamboat men from the city. They’ve come to pay us for running the Thomas Wistar ashore. What they say we have earned will more than pay the Tourons’ interest.”
Then he dragged Chap, amazed and speechless, into the parlor.