Round the Block Part 65

CHAPTER I.

OWNERS OF THE BEAUTIFUL.

The world and all its inhabitants had rolled round to another fragrant spring. The buds were bursting in city parks and gardens, and birds twittered in the dusty air. Every happy heart said to itself, "This green, and these opening roses, this music of the birds, this shining day, this temperate breeze, are all mine, and made for me."

There were two young persons, one sweet morning in May, who experienced a delightful sense of that universal proprietorship of the Beautiful.

They were a couple who appeared to be expressly made for each other; for the young man was tall and broad chested, the young woman short, and delicately formed; his eyes were black, hers blue; he was calm, resolute, deliberate in every movement, she quick and impulsive. There never was a clearer case of mutual fitness by virtue of entire dissimilarity.

Any one could see that they loved each other, and that, if they were not married, they were engaged--for her little hand was entwined most trustingly about his muscular arm, and she leaned toward him with that gentle inclination which seems to be a magnetism of the heart.

"Are you happy, my own Pet?" asked the young man, looking proudly down at the beautiful face beside him.

"Happy! dear Bog--for I _will_ always call you Bog. You know I am!" Her blue eyes filled with tears.

If excess of happiness had not choked her voice, she would have asked Bog if he thought she could be other than perfectly happy in the love of her adopted mother, in the love of her dear uncle--who was at once a father and brother in his tender solicitudes--in the love of that darling old gentleman, Myndert Van Quintem, and in one other love, which it was not necessary to mention.

But Bog knew that she was supremely happy, and he needed no such elaborate answer. He also knew that he possessed the first, fresh, and only love that she had ever cherished. All the events in connection with her Greenpoint adventure, both before and after it, proved that she had never loved young Van Quintem, and that her sentiments toward him were only those of grat.i.tude for his supposed saving of her life, and an innocent, childlike confidence in his good intentions.

The lovers sauntered down the street slowly, as if they would protract the walk. Not another word was said. Pa.s.sing a garden full of roses, Bog reached through the fence, and plucked a full-blown white one and handed it to Pet. She eagerly took it, and pinned it to the bosom of her dress.

"Here we are, dearest; and I am almost ashamed to show myself to uncle, for I am such a stranger," said Bog, breaking the silence, as they stood at the foot of the memorable bell tower. "Hallo, Uncle Ith!" he shouted, looking upward.

The old gentleman thrust his white head out of an open window at the top, and said, "All right. Come up."

The door at the foot of the tower was open, and the young couple proceeded to comply with the invitation. Bog led the way, and gently dragged Pet from step to step, with much laughter on his part, and many charming little feminine screams on her party until the trap door was reached. Uncle Ith had combed his hair with his five fingers, retied his old black cravat, and put on his coat, to receive them. He smiled through the trap door, as they came in sight, and said, "Be very careful of the young lady, Bog. Mind, now, how the young lady steps."

Bog jumped through the trap door into the cupola. Then he lowered a hand to Pet, and Uncle Ith lent her the same a.s.sistance, and the two raised the precious burden to a place of safety. Uncle Ith, after he had been introduced to Pet, proudly, by his nephew, looked at her for a moment in silent admiration. He had never seen her before, but he knew her well from Bog's descriptions (hurriedly communicated by Bog when they had met in the street), and said to himself that the boy had done no more than justice to her rare beauty.

Then Uncle Ith looked at his nephew. "Ah, Bog," said he, shaking his head at him, "what changes Time does make! It seems only a few days ago that you was a little scrub of a chap, runnin' 'round town and pickin'

up your livin'. And a very good and honest livin' you picked up, too.

Now, here you are, a nicely dressed, tall, handsome young man, with a snug little fortun' all of your own earnin', not to mention your bein'

the adopted son of that splendid old gentleman, Myndert Van Quintem.

And, last and best, you are goin' to be married to this dear young lady to-morrer."

Pet blushed; and Bog said, "That is why we are here to-day, dear uncle.

We must have you at the wedding."

Uncle Ith faltered. "Me at Mr. Van Quintem's! I should feel like a fish out o' water." He said nothing about the antiquated blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, the short, black trousers, and the figured satin vest, hanging up in a closet at home; but he thought of them, and what a stiff figure he would cut in them.

"But you must come, Uncle Ith!" said Pet, with her sweetest smile. "I ask it as a particular favor."

"You are my only living relative, you know, uncle," added Bog.

"We should not be happy, if you were away," said Pet, placing her hand confidingly on the old man's shoulder. Young persons always took to the good old man in this spontaneous way.

The entreaties of the couple, and the continual iteration of that name by which he loved to be called--"Uncle Ith"--finally overcame his objections. He reconciled himself to the prospect of the blue coat, short trousers, and gaudy vest, and solemnly promised to attend the wedding.

This important matter having been settled, Uncle Ith pointed out to Pet all the interesting objects to be seen from the tower, and adjusted the spygla.s.s for her, and gave her near views of Governor's Island, the Palisades, and other remote objects. He also explained to her the process of striking the bell by means of the long iron lever, and told her that, if she would wait there long enough, she could hear how the big chap sounded ten feet away. Pet put her hands to her ears, in antic.i.p.ation of the stunning noise, and laughingly said that she didn't think she would wait long.

CHAPTER II.

THE LAST OF A MYSTERY.

After Pet had looked at all the objects of interest visible from the bell tower--Uncle Ith pointing them out with the pride of an owner--Bog called Pet aside, and said, "Now, Uncle Ith, I have something to show her that I used to think most interesting of all."

Pet rested her hand upon his arm, and gazed through the southeastern window, in the direction indicated by Bog's forefinger.

"Right there," said he, "midway between those two tall chimneys, and a trifle south of the line of that steeple--the last two windows in the upper story of that old house--do you see them?"

Pet looked along his outstretched arm, to get the precise direction, and then said, hurriedly, "It is my old home."

The sight of those familiar windows, in which the calico curtains still hung, recalled the horrid vision of that dreadful night. Pet turned pale, and shuddered. "Let us look elsewhere, Bog," said she.

"I beg your pardon, dearest; but I wanted to tell you how many hours I had spent in this cupola, day and night, gazing at those two windows, and feeling, oh, so happy! if I could but catch a glimpse of you or your shadow. But I never told Uncle Ith about it."

Uncle Ith had not overheard this conversation, but he had followed with his eyes the direction pointed out by Bog. As the young couple stepped back from the window, he said:

"I see some strange sights occasionally, my children" (he was fond of calling young people his children), "I can tell you. There are a couple of windows, in the upper story of that old brick house, between the two big chimneys, that used to interest me some."

"We see them," said Bog and Pet.

"About five years back, I began to notice lights burnin' in that room, long after all other lights, except the street lamps, was put out. Of course, this attracted my attention, and I used to feel a queer kind of pleasure in looking into the room with my spygla.s.s, and wonderin' what was goin' on there. The curtains were usually drawn over the lower sashes; but, this tower bein' fifty or sixty feet higher than the house, I could look over the top of the curtains, and see somethin'. An old man, tall and slim, and a young girl, 'peared to be the only folks that lived there. Are you sick, young lady?" said he, observing that Pet looked pale.

"Oh, no; I am not sick--only a little fatigued."

"What a brute I was, not to offer you a chair! Now do sit down, young lady."

Pet did so, and Uncle Ith resumed:

"The old gentleman was a machinist, I s'pose, for I used to see his shadow on the wall, goin' through the motions of filin', sawin', and hammerin', though I could never guess what he was workin' on. I have known him sometimes to be at this queer business till daylight. For three years the strange old gentleman never missed a night at his work.

I fear you are not quite well, young lady. Take a gla.s.s of water."

Pet sipped from the proffered gla.s.s, and declared that she was much better now,

"One night, about two years ago, I took a look into this room with my spygla.s.s. I generally didn't do it until three or four o'clock in the mornin', when all the other lights in the neighborhood was out. But, on that partickler night, about eleven o'clock, I happened to observe that one of the window curtains which covered the lower sash was left partly undrawn. This had never occurred before, and so I brought my gla.s.s to bear on the room at once. A tall gentleman, whose face I had often seen movin' in the room over the top o' the curtain, was just in the act of takin' his departure, which he did without shakin' hands. The old man then went to his place at the other window, and tackled to his work again. He had been at it about twenty minutes, when a bar, or rod, which stuck up above the curtain, and was somehow connected with his work, fell forward with a quick motion, as if it was jerked away. The old man stooped, picked it up, and fixed it in its place again. His face, as well as I could see through my gla.s.s in the night time, at that distance, showed a wonderful amount of surprise and astonishment--at the fall of this rod or bar, I s'pose. He then seemed to be filin' on somethin', and afterward stooped down, as if to put it into some part of the machine, or whatever it was. Jest at that minute the Post Office struck, and I put down my gla.s.s, and turned my head toward the sound, to catch the district. It struck seven. I jumped to the lever, and started the old bell for seven, too. As I was strikin' the first round, my eyes happened to rest on the strange window again. The old man was not standin' there. The bar, or rod, had fallen out of its place again, I s'posed, and I expected every minute to see the old man appear at the window, and fix it again. But he didn't show himself any more that night--and (which is the curious part of my story) I've never seen him since. Whether he dropped dead from heart disease, I can't guess; but certain I am that he is dead, for--"

Poor Pet here exhibited such signs of faintness, that Bog, who had been leaning against the edge of the window, gazing at the well-known window with a strange fascination, sprang to her side, and instantly bathed her brow with water from Uncle Ith's old pitcher, near at hand. This restored her. "Be calm, dearest," said Bog.

"What--what is the matter with the young lady?" asked Uncle Ith, in great trepidation. "Shall I run for a doctor?"

"No, Uncle Ith; no doctor. But we won't talk any more about this strange room at present. It affects Miss Wilkeson's nerves."

"The shock is past, dear Bog," said she, "and I can bear to hear everything."

"But you must promise to control yoursell, darling," said Bog, tenderly.