Hills of the Shatemuc Part 67

"What do you mean by 'what'?" said Elizabeth contemptuously.

"I mean, what sort of a servant?"

"I am sure I don't know -- a black servant."

"But what for?"

"To do my bidding."

"But what is she? and where did you pick her up?"

"She is an odd little fish called Clam; and I didn't pick her up at all; -- Mr. Landholm did that."

"O ho!" said Rose, -- "it's a joint concern! -- that's it. But I think you are beginning to make up your household very early."

Elizabeth flung down her shoe and lifted her head, and Miss Cadwallader shrunk; even before her companion said with imperious emphasis, "Rose, how dare you! --"

Rose did not dare, against the flushed face and eye of fire which confronted her. She fell back into her chair and her book and was dumb.

CHAPTER XX.

_Ford_. They do say, if money go before, all ways do lie open.

_Fal_. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Somewhat to Winthrop's surprise, Clam came the next day to remind him of his promise; very much in earnest to wear a clean frock and have her dinner regular. She was duly bound, and entered into clean service accordingly. The indentures were made out to Miss Haye; but for the present Clam was put to learn her business under somebody that knew it; and for that end was finally sent to Mrs. Landholm. A week or two with Mrs. Nettley proved to the satisfaction of both parties that neither would much advantage the other. At Shahweetah, Clam, as Mrs. Landholm expressed it, "took a new start," and got on admirably. What much favoured this, was the fact that she speedily became very much attached to the whole family; with the single exception of Karen, between whom and herself there was an unallayed state of friction; a friction that probably served only to better Clam's relish of her dinner, while poor Karen declared "she didn't leave her no rest day nor night."

"She's not a bad child, Karen," said her mistress.

"Which part of her 's good?" said Karen. "'Taint her eyes, nor her fingers; and if the Bible didn't say there wa'n't no such a fountain, I should think her tongue was one o' them fountains that sent out at the same place both salt water and fresh."

"Her fingers are pretty good, Karen."

"There's a two-sided will in 'em, Mrs. Landholm."

There was no two-sided will in Clam's first friend, nor in the energies which were steadily bearing him on towards his aim.

Steadily and surely, as he knew. But his life in those days had almost as little to tell of, as it had much to do. From early morning till -- almost till early morning again, or till a new day had begun to count the hours, -- every minute had its work; yet the record of the whole could be given in very few words, and those would not be interesting. How should the record be, when the reality was not, even to himself. It was all preparatory work; it must be done; but the interest of the matter lay beyond, at that point whither all these efforts tended. Meanwhile work and have patience, and work, -- was the epitome of his life.

There were some breaks, but not many. Now and then a swift and sweet run home, to live for a moment in the midst of all this preparing to live; to rest among the home hearts; to breathe a few breaths in absolute freedom; to exchange Mr. De Wort's dusty office for the bright little keeping-room of the farmhouse, and forget the business of the hard brick and stone city under the shadow or the sunshine that rested on Wut-a- qut-o. Then Winthrop threw off his broadcloth coat and was a farmer again. Then Mrs. Landholm's brow laid down its care, and shewed to her son only her happy face. Then poor Winifred was strong and well and joyous, in the spite of sickness and weakness and nervous ail. And then also, Clam sprang round with great energy, and was as Karen averred, "fifty times worse and better than ever."

But all faded and died away, save the sweet memory and refreshment; that staid yet a little while. Winthrop went back to his musty parchments and lonely attic; and the little family at home gathered itself together for a new season of duty-doing, and hope, and looking forward. The sunshine and the shadow slept upon Wut-a-qut-o, as it did a little while ago; but neither sunshine nor shadow was the same thing now, for Winthrop was away.

He had lost perhaps less than they; though the balance was struck pretty fair. But he was actively bending every energy to the accomplishment of a great object. The intensity of effort might swallow up some other things, and the consciousness of sure and growing success might make amends for them. Besides, he had been long fighting the battle of life away from home, and was accustomed to it; they never got accustomed to it. Every fresh coming home was the pledge of a fresh parting, the pleasure of the one not more sure than the pain of the other. If Winthrop had changed, in all these years and goings and comings, it might have been different; if they could have found that their lost treasure was less true or strong or fair, than when they first let it go. But he was so exactly the same Winthrop that they had been sorry for that first time, that they could only be sorry again with the same sorrow; -- the same, but for the lost novelty of that first time, and the added habit of patience, and the nearer hope of his and their reward.

So through the first winter and the first summer, and the second winter and the second summer, of his city apprenticeship, Winthrop wrought on; now with a cold room and little fire in his chimney, and now with the sun beating upon the roof, and the only hope of night's sea-breeze. But the farmer's boy had known cold and heat a great while ago, and he could bear both. He could partly forget both, sometimes in literary unbending with Mr. Herder and his friends; and at other times in a solitary walk on the Green overlooking the bay, to catch the sea-breeze more fresh and soon, and look up the river channel towards where the shadows lay upon Wut-a- qut-o. And sometimes in a visit at Mr. Haye's.

Of late, in the second summer, this last sort of pleasure- taking grew to be more frequent. Mr. Herder was less visited, and Mr. Haye more. Winthrop was always welcome, but there was no change in the manner of his being received. Unless perhaps a little more graciousness on Elizabeth's part, and a trifle less on Rose's, might be quoted.

So the sea-breezes blew through the dog-days; and September ushered in and ushered out its storms; and October came, clear and fair, with strength and health for body and mind. With October came Rufus, having just made an end of his work in the North country. He came but for a few days' stay in pa.s.sing from one scene of labours to another. For those few days he abode with his brother, sharing his room and bed.

"Well, Winthrop, I've stuck to my choice," he remarked, the second evening of his being there. The tone indicated the opening of a great budget of thoughts. Winthrop was bending over a parchment-coloured volume, and Rufus pacing up and down the longest stretch of the little room.

"I am glad of it," said Winthrop, without looking up.

"I am not sure that I am."

"What's the matter?"

"I don't see that I gain much by it, and I certainly lose."

"What do you expect to gain?"

"Nothing but money, -- and I don't get that."

"It's safe, isn't it?"

"Yes, and so are winter's snows, in their treasury; -- and I could as soon get it by asking for it."

"Let us hope it will come with the snows," said Winthrop, his head still bent down over his book.

"You may talk; -- it is easy waiting for you."

"Query, how that would give me a right to talk," said Winthrop turning over a leaf; -- "supposing it to be a fact; of which I have some doubts."

"What have you been doing all to-day?"

"The usual routine -- which after all is but preparing to do."

"What has been the routine to-day?"

"You saw my breakfast and saw me get it. -- Then I went out. -- Then I read, according to custom."

"What?"

"Cla.s.sics."

"Do you!"

"For awhile. The rest of the morning between engrossing deeds and the Record Office. First half of the afternoon, or rather a larger proportion, ditto; the rest to meet my friends Messrs. Jones and Satterthwaite."

"Satterthwaite! -- what does _he_ want?"

"To read Greek with me."

"Greek! What has put that into his head? Bob. Satterthwaite!"