Hills of the Shatemuc Part 51

"I knew you as far off as I could see you -- I said to myself, 'That's Mr. Landholm!' I am very glad to see you, sir. You've just got here?"

"This morning. But what right have I to be expected?"

"O we knew you were coming. Your room's ready for you -- empty and waiting, and we've been waiting and lonesome too, ever since Mr. William went away. How _is_ Mr. William, Mr.

Landholm?"

"Well, sir, and full of kindly remembrances of you."

"Ah, he's not forgotten here," said Mr. Inchbald. "He won't be forgotten anywhere. Here's my sister, Mr. Landholm, -- my sister, Mrs. Nettley. -- Now, my dear sir, before we sit down, tell me, -- you haven't any other place to stay?"

"I have not, Mr. Inchbald, indeed."

"Then come up and see what we have to give you, before we strike a bargain. Doll -- won't you give us a cup of tea by the time we come down? Mr. Landholm will be the better of the refreshment. You have had a tiresome journey this weather, Mr.

Landholm?"

As they mounted the stairs he listened to Winthrop's account of his illness, and looked at him when they got to the top, with a grave face of concern it was pleasant to meet. They had come up to the very top; the house was a small and insignificant wooden one, of two stories.

"This is your room," said Mr. Inchbald, opening the door of the front attic, -- "this is the room your brother had; it's not much, and there's not much in it; but now my dear friend, _till_ you find something better, will you keep possession of it? and give us the pleasure of having you? -- and one thing more, will you speak of pay when you are perfectly at leisure to think of it, and not before, or never, just as it happens; -- will you?"

"I'll take you at your word, sir; and you shall take me at mine, when the time comes."

"_That_ I'll do," said Mr. Inchbald. "And now it's a bargain.

Shake hands, -- and come let's go down and have some tea. -- Doll, I hope your tea is good to-night, for Mr. Landholm is far from well. Sit down -- I wish your brother had the other place."

That tea was a refreshment. It was served in the little back room of the first floor, which had very much the seeming of being Mrs. Nettley's cooking room too. The appointments were on no higher scale of pretension than Mrs. Forriner's, yet they gave a far higher impression of the people that used them; why, belongs to the private mystery of cups and saucers and chairs, which have an odd obstinate way of their own of telling the truth. "Doll" was the very contrast to the lady of the other tea-table. A little woman, rather fleshy, in a close cap and neat spare gown, with a face which seemed a compound of benevolent good-will, and anxious care lest everybody should not get the full benefit of it. It had known care of another kind too. If her brother had, his jovial, healthy, hearty face gave no sign.

After tea Winthrop went back to Diamond St.

"We didn't wait for you," said Mr. Forriner as he came in, -- "for we thought you didn't intend probably to be back to tea."

"What success have you had?" inquired his better half.

"I have had tea, ma'am," said Winthrop.

"Have you found any place?"

"Or the place found me."

"You have got one! -- Where is it?"

"In Beaver St. -- the place where my brother used to be."

"What's the name?" said Mr. Forriner.

"Inchbald."

"What is he?" asked Mrs. Forriner.

"An Englishman -- a miniature painter by profession."

"I wonder if he makes his living at that?" said Mrs. Forriner.

"What do you have to pay?" said her husband.

"A fair rent, sir. And now I will pay my thanks for storage and take away my trunk."

"To-night?" said Mr. Forriner.

"Well, cousin, we shall be glad to see you sometimes," said Mrs. Forriner.

"At what times, ma'am?" said Winthrop.

He spoke with a straightforward simplicity which a little daunted her.

"O," she said colouring, "come when you have an hour to spare -- any time when you have nothing better to do."

"I will come then," he said smiling.

CHAPTER XVII.

Now he weighs time, Even to the utmost grain.

KING HENRY V.

"Mannahatta, Dec. -- 1813.

"My dear friends at home,

"I am as well and as happy as I can be anywhere away from you.

That to be sure is but a modic.u.m of happiness and good condition -- very far from the full perfection which I have known is possible; but you will all be contented, will you not, to hear that I have so much, and _that I have no more?_ I don't know -- I think of your dear circle at home -- and though I cannot wish the heaven over your heads to be a whit less bright, I cannot help wis.h.i.+ng that you may miss one constellation. You can't have any more than that from poor human nature -- selfish in the midst of its best generosity.

And yet, mother and Winifred, your faces rise up to shame me; and I must correct my speech and say _man's_ nature; I do believe that some at least of your side of the world are made of better stuff than mine.

"'All are not such.'

"But you want to hear of me rather than of yourselves, and I come back to where I began.

"I went to see Mr. De Wort the day after I reached here. I like him very well. He received me politely, and very handsomely waived the customary fee ($250) and admitted me to the privileges of his office upon working terms. So I am working now, for him and for myself, as diligently as I ever worked in my life -- in a fair way to be a lawyer, Winnie. By day engrossing deeds and copying long-winded papers, about the quarrels and wrongs of Mr. A. and Mr. B. -- and at night digging into parchment-covered books, a dryer and barrener soil than any near Wut-a-qut-o or on the old mountain itself, and which must nevertheless be digged into for certain dry and musty fruits of knowledge to be fetched out of them. I am too busy to get the blues, but when I go out to take an exercise walk now and then at dusk or dawn, I do wish I could transport myself to the neighbourhood of that same mountain, and handle the axe till I had filled mother's fireplace, or take a turn in the barn at father's wheat or flax. I should accomplish a good deal before you were up; but I wouldn't go away without looking in at you.

"I am in the same house where Rufus lived when he was in Mannahatta, with his friend Mr. Inchbald; and a kinder friend I do not wish for. He is an Englishman -- a fine-looking and fine-hearted fellow -- ready to do everything for me, and putting me upon terms almost too easy for my comfort. He is a miniature painter, by profession, but I fear does not make much of a living. That does not hinder his being as generous as if he had thousands to dispose of. His heart does not take counsel with his purse, nor with anything but his heart. He lives with a widowed sister who keeps his house; and she is as kind in her way as he is in his, though the ways are different. I am as much at home here as I can be. I have Rufus's old room; it is a very pleasant one, and if there is not much furniture, neither do I want much. It holds my bed and my books; and my wardrobe at present does not require very extensive accommodations; and when I am in the middle of one of those said parchment-covered tomes, it signifies very little indeed what is outside of them or of me, at the moment.

So you may think of me as having all I desire, so far as I myself am concerned; for my license and my use of it, must be worked and waited for. I shall not be a _great_ lawyer, dear Winnie, under three years at least.

"For you all, I desire so much that my heart almost shuts up its store and says nothing. So much that for a long time, it may be, I can have no means of helping you to enjoy. Dear father and mother, I hope I have not on the whole lessened your means of enjoyment by striking out this path for myself.

I trust it will in the end be found to be the best for us all.

I have acted under the pressure of an impulse that seemed strong as life. I _could_ do no other than as I have done. Yet I can hardly bear to think of you at home sometimes. Dear Winnie and Asahel, our images rise up and lie down with me. Asahel must study hard every minute of time he can get. And Winnie, you must study too every minute that it does not tire you, and when mother does not want you. And write to me. That will do you good, and it will do me good too.