The young master of Hyson Hall

When Phil Berkeley read the note that was brought to him by the man with the black straw hat, he gave a shout of joy which rang through the house.

“Read that,” he cried to Chap, who had been on the porch, making calculations on a piece of paper, and who now ran in to see what was the matter.

Chap seized the note and read:

The joyful news spread rapidly over the place, and in ten minutes Joel was driving a light wagon toward town, to meet Mr. Berkeley and bring him home.

Never was prodigal uncle received more warmly. Phil, of course, was wild with joy. Even if Mr. Berkeley had not returned that day, the note he had received would have made him the happiest boy on earth.

Chap was a good deal more overjoyed than if one of his own uncles had arrived, and Susan’s face had not been so radiant for many a year.

Even Mr. Muller, possessed with the pervading spirit, could scarcely resist welcoming Mr. Berkeley to Hyson Hall. But as he had not the slightest right to do so, he kept discreetly in the background and smiled his gratification.

During supper, and long after the meal was over, the talking, the questioning, and the explanations went on. There was so much to ask and to tell that there seemed to be no end to it all. Mr. Muller went to bed early, for he had done a great deal of walking that day. Chap would have been glad to sit up all night to talk and listen, but, after a time, he discreetly followed the example of Mr. Muller.

As he was about to pass the open door of the room which that gentleman occupied, he stopped and asked,—

“Are you asleep, sir?”

Mr. Muller felt very much inclined to say that he was, but instead of that he muttered that he was not quite asleep yet—just dropping off, he thought.

“I’ll not bother you now,” said the considerate Chap; “but to-morrow you’ll find me all ready to talk about that business.”

And he passed on.

“That is more than I shall be,” said Mr. Muller to himself. “I wonder if there is such a thing as a sunken ship on the place?”

And he went to sleep and dreamed that he had gone to bed in a ship that was buried three hundred feet under mud and sand; and he was in a great deal of trouble when he thought how difficult it would be for him to get out when it was time for him to go ashore for breakfast.

Phil and his uncle sat up until long after their usual bedtime. As soon as they were alone, Mr. Berkeley explained to Phil the reason he wrote the note which had caused the boy so much grief.

“When I walked over this way on the morning of that day,” said Mr. Berkeley. “I came after Old Bruden, because I thought it would be a good thing to have a gun out there in the woods with me, and I picked up a little fellow on the road to send to the house. I thought it very likely you would come running to meet me when you heard where I was, and so I did not stay by the bridge where the boy left me, but went over to the top of one of the little hills in the field, to watch and see who came from the house.

“I knew very well that if you came to me you would wheedle and coax me into giving up my splendid plan of study. When I saw you coming, and without the gun, as if my wishes and requests were not worth considering, I was a little provoked, and hurried down the other side of the hill, and by the time you reached the bridge I was far enough away. I did not, however, go back to my little hut, and after a time I began to think how disappointed you must have been when you came to the bridge and did not find me. It also dawned upon me that I was not behaving in a very sensible manner. It would be much better to go home and get what I wanted and trust to you not to annoy me with questions as to where I was and what I was doing. So, in the course of the afternoon, I started back for Hyson Hall, thinking it very likely I should spend the night there and return to my hut the next day; but when I came near the house, I heard those bells and soon saw them on the roof. I don’t know of any sound that could have affected me more disagreeably than the jingling of those bells. I knew that you understood how much I disliked them, and it pained me to think you should hang them up while I was gone. And when I considered that you knew I had been in the neighborhood that morning, it seemed to me that you had hung them in revenge for my having taken myself out of your way. I was so angry at this imagined insult that I marched off and mailed you that abominable note.”

“It’s all right now, uncle,” said Phil. “I don’t wonder you thought I was a contemptible rascal. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to start off and look for you, Emile would not have dared to come here, the bells would not have been hung up, you would have been home in the afternoon, and everything would have been all right.”

“It often happens that way, my boy,” said Mr. Berkeley. “But you have had a hard time, Phil, and you have done splendidly. If any mistakes were made they were not your fault. You have saved me this property, and I shall never forget what I owe you. When I went away, I expected you would have some bothers and perplexities, but I thought it would be a useful experience for you to weather through them. It would have been impossible for me to imagine that you would have such anxieties and trials as those you have gone through. And, although I always had a good opinion of you, I would not have supposed that you would have stood up against your difficulties so manfully.”

As to the deficiency in money for household and other expenses, Mr. Berkeley easily explained that. He had expected a certain sum which was owing to him to be paid on his account to Mr. Welford, which that gentleman had not received. If this payment had been properly made, there would have been no difficulty in carrying on the Hyson Hall establishment until Mr. Berkeley’s return.

“But, uncle,” said Phil, as they were preparing to go up-stairs, “there’s one thing I don’t understand. You said, in the long letter you left for me when you went away, that you couldn’t stay at home any longer because life here was so monotonous. Now, it seems to me it must have been ever so much more monotonous in a little log hut in the woods, where you never saw a soul. Of course I can understand why you couldn’t study here, where you are interrupted every five minutes by some of us.”

“It was the monotony of interruption that disturbed me,” said Mr. Berkeley, smiling. “Every day it was the same thing. I would plan out a certain amount of reading, and the day would often pass without my opening a book. In the woods it was very different. Law is generally considered a very dry and musty subject, but my studies were very fresh and interesting to me. The whole affair seemed like an adventure. It reminded me of part of my life in South America, and I enjoyed it greatly. I was not only leading an untrammelled life in the woods, but I was doing something useful and sensible besides, and this is more than I can say of a good deal of the out-door life of my earlier years. And, then, there was the spice of running away from a tyrannical nephew. That made it all the jollier, don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t,” said Phil. “But some of these days I may run away from you, just to see how pleasant it is.”

“If you do,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I’ll let old Touron buy Hyson Hall, and when you are tired of roving you can come back and live with Emile.”

When the two went up-stairs, Chap called out to them from his room. He had evidently been keeping himself awake on purpose to hail them when they came up.

“Phil,” cried Chap, “did you ask your uncle if he saw anything of the lonely sumach when he was in the Green Swamp?”

“That boy again!” groaned Mr. Muller, as he turned over in his bed.

“No, I didn’t,” said Phil. “I never thought of it. But you have heard of that lonely sumach, haven’t you, uncle? Did you see it?”

Mr. Berkeley stopped at the door of Chap’s room, which, like the other bedrooms on that floor, opened on the large central hall.

“Yes, I have heard of it,” he said, “and I am quite sure I have found it. It was not far from my hut, and I did most of my reading in its shade.”

“In its shade!” cried both of the boys together.

“Yes,” said Mr. Berkeley. “The ground under it was smooth and grassy, and, as it stands by itself on a little hill, there was more air out there than in the thick woods about my hut.”

“Then it isn’t poisonous, after all!” cried Chap, who was sitting up in bed.

“No,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I certainly did not find it so.”

“That is a disappointment!” cried Chap.

“What!” exclaimed Phil. “Did you want me to have a dead uncle?”

“No,” replied Chap, “I didn’t mean that; but still—— Oh, you understand! Good-night!”

And he lay down, and drew the bed-covers around his ears.

He had earnestly longed to find that tree, and now, alas! it was not a deadly tree at all. One of life’s charms had vanished.

The next morning, after breakfast, Mr. Berkeley noticed Old Bruden standing in a corner of the hall, where Mr. Muller had placed it when he brought it home, the afternoon before. Taking up the gun, Mr. Berkeley raised the hammers, and then remarked,—

“Have you forgotten, Phil, that it is against orders to leave a loaded gun about the house in this way? There is a fresh cap on one of these barrels.”

Phil explained that he had had so much to think about the night before he had not noticed the gun at all.

Thereupon Mr. Berkeley, having put upon the other nipple a percussion-cap, which Mr. Muller produced from one of his pockets, went out on the porch to fire out the loads.

He pointed the gun over the lawn, where there was nothing that could be injured, and pulled one trigger. A cap snapped. Then the other trigger. Another snap.

“What is the matter with this old gun?” said Mr. Berkeley, coming into the hall. “I must draw the loads. Where is the ramrod?”

Phil got it from the umbrella-rack, where he had put it when he brought it home. Mr. Berkeley then fixed the screw and, running the ramrod into one of the barrels, proceeded to draw the load. First he pulled out a piece of raw cotton, then another piece, and then some more.

“Why, this load seems to be all wadding!” said Mr. Berkeley, in surprise. “Here is quite a pile of it.”

The interested and somewhat amazed group standing around the gun was now joined by Jenny.

“Them’s Susan’s loads,” she said to Phil. “She put ’em in when she took the gun up to her room. She wanted to make sure it wouldn’t go off.”

“And she certainly did make sure of it!” cried Phil, as his uncle pulled the cotton from the other barrel.

Phil was now obliged to tell the story of Susan and the gun, though he touched so lightly upon the bad points of it that Chap stuck his hands in his pockets and strutted up and down in disgust. Mr. Berkeley understood the story quite well, although he chose to say little about it.

“Susan is a prudent woman,” he remarked, “and her cotton loads have probably saved at least one of our lives.”