Hills of the Shatemuc Part 49

"Never's a great word, Michael."

"It is, sir!"

"I think you can get down there if you try."

"Very well, sir! -- I suppose I will."

But he muttered Irish blessings or cursings to himself as he took up his trowsers and wheelbarrow handles again.

"Yer honour, do ye think we'll ever keep on our feet till the bottom?"

"If you don't come down the wheelbarrow won't, I think, Michael."

"Then I suppose we'll both be to come," said the man resignedly. "Yer honour'll consider the bad way, I expict."

'His honour' had reason to remember it. They were going down Bank St., where the fall of ground was rather rapid, and the travel of the morning had not yet been enough to break up the smooth glare of the frozen sleet. The Irishman and the barrow got upon a run, the former crying out, "Och, it _will_ go, yer honour!" -- and as it would go, it chose its own course, which was to run full tilt against a cart which stood quietly by the sidewalk. Neither Michael's gravity nor that of the wheelbarrow could stand the shock. Both went over, and the unlucky trunk was tumbled out into the middle of the street.

But the days when the old trunk could have stood such usage were long past. The hasp and hinge gave way, the cover sprang, and many a thing they should have guarded from public eyes flew or rolled from its hiding place out upon the open street.

Winthrop from higher ground had beheld the overthrow, and knew what he must find when he got to the bottom. Two or three pair of the socks little Winnie had knitted for him had bounced out and scattered themselves far and wide, one even reaching the gutter. Some sheets of ma.n.u.script lay ingloriously upon the wheelbarrow or were getting wet on the ice. One nicely "done up" s.h.i.+rt was hopelessly done for; and an old coat had unfolded itself upon the pavement, and was fearlessly telling its own and its master's condition to all the pa.s.sersby. Two or three books and several clean pockethandkerchiefs lay about indifferently, and were getting no good; an old shoe on the contrary seemed to be at home. A paper of gingercakes, giving way to the suggestions of the brother shoe, had bestowed a quarter of its contents all abroad; and the open face of the trunk offered a variety of other matters to the curiosity of whom it might concern; the broken cover giving but very partial hindrance.

The Irishman had gathered himself, and himself only, out of the fallen condition in which all things were.

"Bad luck to the ould thing, then!" -- was his sense of the matter.

"You needn't wish that," said Winthrop.

"Then, yer honour, I wouldn't wish anything better to meself, if I could ha' helped it. If meself had been in the box, I couldn't ha' taken it more tinder, till we began to go, and then, plase yer honour, I hadn't no hoult of anything at all at all."

"Take hold now, then," said Winthrop, "and set this up straight; and then see if you can get a sixpenny worth of rope anywhere."

The man went off, and Winthrop gathered up his stray possessions from the street and the gutter and with some difficulty got them in their places again; and then stood mounting guard over the wheelbarrow and baggage until the coming of the rope; thinking perhaps how little he had to take care of and how strange it was there should be any difficulty in his doing it.

More care, or an evener way, brought them at last, without further mishap, to Diamond St., and along Diamond St. to Mr.

Forriner's house and store. Both in the same building; large and handsome enough, at least as large and handsome as its neighbours; the store taking the front of the ground floor.

Mr. Forriner stood in the doorway taking a look at the day, which probably he thought promised him little custom; for his face was very much the colour of the weather.

Winthrop stopped the wheelbarrow before the house; went up and named his name.

"Winthrop Landholm!" -- the touch of Mr. Forriner's hand said nothing at all unless it were in the negative; -- "how d'ye do, sir. Come to make a visit in Mannahatta?"

"No, sir. I have come here to stay."

"Ah! -- hum. Sister well?"

"Very well, sir."

"Left home yesterday?"

"No sir -- three days ago."

"Ah? where have you been?"

"In bed, sir -- caught cold in the rain Tuesday."

"Tuesday! -- yes, it did rain considerable all along Tuesday.

Where were you?"

"By the way, sir."

"Just got here, eh? -- bad time."

"I could not wait for a good one."

"What are you calculating to do here?"

"Study law, sir."

"Law! -- hum. Do you expect to make money by that?"

"If I don't, I am afraid I shall not make money by anything,"

said Winthrop.

"Hum! -- I guess there aint much money made by the law," said Mr. Forriner taking a pinch of snuff. "It's a good trade to starve by. How long have you to study?"

"All the time I have to live, sir."

"Eh? -- and how do you expect to live in the meantime?"

"I shall manage to live as long as I study."

"Well I hope you will -- I hope you will," said Mr. Forriner.

"You'll come in and take breakfast with us?"

"If you will allow me, sir."

"You haven't had breakfast yet?"

"No sir, nor supper."

"Well, I guess wife's got enough for you. If that's your box you'd better get the man to help you in with it. You can set it down here behind the door."

"Is it the right place, sir?" inquired Michael as Winthrop came out to him.

"No" said Winthrop. "But you may help me in with the trunk."

Michael was satisfied that he had the right money, and departed; and Winthrop followed Mr. Forriner through a narrow entry cut off from the store, to a little back room, which was the first of the domestic premises. Here stood a table, and Mrs. Forriner; a hard-featured lady, in a muslin cap likewise hard-featured; there was a "not-give-in" look, very marked, in both, cap and lady. A look that Winthrop recognized at once, and which her husband seemed to have recognized a great while.

"Mrs. Forriner!" said that gentleman to his nephew. "My dear, this is Cousin Winthrop Landholm -- Orphah's son."