Hills of the Shatemuc Part 87

"I don't fall out of it," said her brother quietly.

"It isn't comfortable!"

"I am, when I am on it."

"But it's hard!"

"Not if I don't think it is hard."

"I don't see how that makes any difference," said Winnie discontentedly. "It's hard to me."

"But it's not your bed, Winnie."

"I don't like it to be yours, Winthrop."

He was busy laying a slice of ham on the coals and putting a skillet of water over the fire; and then coming to her side he began, without speaking, and with a pleasant face, to untie the strings of her bonnet and to take off that and her other coverings, with a gentle sort of kindness that made itself felt and not heard. Winnie bore it with difficulty; her features moved and trembled.

"It's too much for you to have to take care of me," she said in a voice changed from its former expression.

"Too much?" said Winthrop.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's too much. Can you do it?"

"I think I can take care of you, Winnie. You forget who has promised to take care of us both."

She threw her arms round his neck exclaiming, "I forget everything! --"

"No, not quite," said he.

"I do! -- except that I love you. I wish I could be good, Winthrop! -- even as good as I used to be."

"That wouldn't content me," said her brother; -- "I want you to be better."

She clasped her arms in an earnest clasp about his neck, very close, but said nothing.

"Now sit down, Winnie," said he presently, gently disengaging her arms and putting her into a chair, -- "or something else will not be good enough."

She watched him again, while he turned the ham and put eggs in the skillet, and fetched out an odd little salt-cellar and more spoons and cups for the eggs.

"But Winthrop!" she said starting, -- "where's your tea- kettle?"

"I don't know. _I_ have never had it yet, Winnie."

"Never had a tea-kettle?"

"No."

"Then how do you do, Winthrop?"

"I do without," he said lightly. "Can't you?"

"Do without a tea-kettle!"

"Yes."

"But how do you make tea and coffee?"

"I don't make them."

"Don't you have tea and coffee?"

"No, except when somebody else makes it for me."

"I'll make it for you, Winthrop!"

"No, Winnie -- I don't want you to have it any more than myself."

"But Winthrop -- I can't drink water!"

"I think you can -- if I want you to."

"_I won't_," was in Winnie's heart to say; it did not get to her lips. With a very disturbed and unsettled face, she saw her brother quietly and carefully supply her plate -- the ham and the eggs and the bread and the b.u.t.ter, -- and then Winnie jumped up and came to his arms to cry; the other turn of feeling had come again. He let it have its way, till she had wept out her penitence and kissed her acknowledgment of it, and then she went back to her seat and her plate and betook herself to her breakfast. Before much was done with it, however, Mrs. Nettley and Mr. Inchbald came to the door; and being let in, overwhelmed them with kind reproaches and welcomes. Winnie was taken down stairs to finish her breakfast _with_ tea and coffee; and Winthrop leaving her in hands that he knew would not forget their care of her, was free to go about his other cares, with what diligence they might require.

That same morning, before she had left her own room, Miss Haye was informed that a black girl wished to speak with her. Being accordingly ordered up, said black girl presented herself. A comely wench, dressed in the last point of neatness, though not by any means so as to set off her good accidents of nature. Nevertheless they could not be quite hid; no more than a certain air of abundant capacity, for both her own business and other people's. She came in and dropped a curtsey.

"Who are you?" said Elizabeth.

"I am Clam, ma'am."

"Clam!" said Elizabeth. "O, are you Clam? Where have you come from?"

"From the boat, last place, ma'am."

"Boat! what boat?"

"The boat what goes with wheels and comes down the river,"

said Clam lucidly.

"Oh! -- And have you just come down?"

"We was comin' down all yesterday and last night, ma'am."

"_Who_ were coming?"