he said to himself; "Noll shall stay only because it is his choice.

Never will I, by look or voice, influence him to share my life and loneliness. If he stays, and I love him as my own, just so surely will death s.n.a.t.c.h him away."

But that the boy was a great comfort and delight to him he could not but confess to himself. He was surprised to find how, in those few short weeks, his cheery presence had won upon his heart. He watched him from the window as he walked on the sand below, searching for sea treasures, and could not endure the thought of having the boyish figure gone forever out of his sight. Neither could he think of the loneliness and silence which would settle down upon the old house when the gladsome voice and quick footsteps were gone, without a sigh.

Now it was a great pleasure to go out to the tea-table at evening and find Noll, fresh and ruddy from his ramble on the sh.o.r.e and rocks, awaiting him one side the table with his grave and yet merry face. How would it be when he was gone? It were a great deal better, Trafford thought, that the boy had never come to brighten the old house with sunshine for a brief s.p.a.ce, if now he went and left it darker and gloomier than before. And would he go? He should be left to choose for himself, the uncle thought, though the decision proved an unfavorable one.

CHAPTER VIII.

NOLL'S DECISION.

Noll stayed. The day on which the decision was to be made he came into the library, where Trafford sat, saying, gravely, "Uncle Richard, to-day I was to choose, you know; and I would rather stay at Culm Rock and be your boy than to go back. May I?"

"May you?" exclaimed Trafford, on the impulse of the moment, while even his heavy heart was glad. "How can you ask that? Oh, Noll! do you know what you are doing?"

"To be sure, Uncle Richard! I'm going to stay with you," replied Noll, without any shadow of regret in his eyes.

"Ah, boy, I fear you will rue it," said his uncle, shaking his head mournfully; "remember, whatever befalls, that I did not bid you stay,--it was at your own risk."

"Why, what do you mean?" Noll asked, with a puzzled face,--"what is to befall me, Uncle Richard?"

"I know not,--I know not," Trafford answered; "there may be nothing to harm you; yet death ever s.n.a.t.c.hes all that is dear to me, and I tremble for you, my boy."

Noll looked grave and puzzled still. "I don't understand, Uncle Richard," he said.

"No; how can you?" his uncle said, after a pause. "To _you_, death is only G.o.d's hand; to me, it--oh, Noll, I cannot tell you what it is! I don't wish to shock you, boy, but I'm a long way from where your father was when he penned me that calm note,--lying in the very arms of death at the moment." Noll was silent. "Yes," continued Trafford, "for me there is no brightness beyond the depths of the grave. All is dark,--dark! and so many of my friends have vanished in it,--so many have been lost to me there! Ah, my hope was all wrecked long ago!"

Noll looked up quickly, with, "Papa lost to you, to me, Uncle Richard?

Oh, that is not true at all! Papa _lost_ to us?"

"Not to you, not to you, Noll, thank G.o.d!" Trafford replied; "but to me,--yes! His faith he left to you,--I can see, I feel it; but I have none."

Noll looked up to the sad-eyed, gloomy man, and fathomed the mystery of his sorrow at once. Who would not be forever sad with nothing beyond the grave but blank and darkness in which loved hearts were alway vanishing?

"Oh, Uncle Richard," said he, "I'm sorry for you!"

"I don't deserve it," Trafford said, with unusual tenderness. "How can you love such a man as myself? Oh, my boy, I've been harsh with you, and cold and stern; go where you'll find some one that can care for you better than I!"

But Noll's face suddenly grew bright. "I wouldn't do that," he said, earnestly,--"never, Uncle Richard! Papa said I was to live with you and love you, and I _will_, unless you wish me to go. And if you do not, don't tell me to leave you again!"

"I will not, Noll," Trafford said.

So it was all settled, at last, and Noll's heart--in spite of Uncle Richard's gloominess--was light and glad. He would stay and see if the man's sorrow and wretchedness could not be driven away, he thought; perhaps--who could tell?--he would lose his sternness, and become kind and regardful, and follow in the path which papa had trod. It all seemed very doubtful now, it was true, but such a thing _might_ be, after a time.

"Yes," said Noll, as he thought of these things, "I would much rather stay with you, Uncle Richard--always. And now shall we talk about studies?"

"True, we were to consider that matter," said his uncle; "yet I had little hope that you would stay, then. What do you study, Noll?"

"At Hastings I had arithmetic and geography and Latin. Then with papa I studied history, and a little--a very little, Uncle Richard--in mineralogy,--he liked that so, you know."

"And what do you propose to do here?" asked his uncle.

"I would like to do just the same," said Noll, "and keep up with my cla.s.s, perhaps."

"He has still some thoughts of returning?" Trafford wondered; then said aloud, "Well, it shall be as you like. And when will you commence?"

"At once, if you please, Uncle Richard. I've had such a long vacation that it will seem good to get back to books once more; they're all waiting for me up-stairs. Shall I get them?"

Noll bounded away as his uncle nodded a.s.sent, and went up-stairs with a merry whistle. Trafford listened to the quick footsteps and the light-hearted music, and really rejoiced that they were not to flee and leave the old house desolate. It would be a brighter dwelling than it had been till--till death came, he thought. And if he could not teach the boy as Brother Noll had desired him to do, yet he would see that in the matter of books and study he had every advantage. So, when the boy came down with his arms full of books, he set himself to his task with an earnestness that pleased Noll wonderfully.

"Uncle Richard means that I shall progress," he thought; "and oh, I _do_ hope I can keep up with Ned and the rest!"

Trafford found his nephew an apt scholar. He had expected that, however, for the boy came of a book-loving race. Very likely, had the pupil proved but a dull one, he would sometimes have wearied of his task of hearing the recitations every day; but as it was, he found a positive pleasure in his capacity as Noll's instructor, and generally a relief from his gloominess.

Noll's study-hours were at his own discretion; the recitations came in the afternoon, and after four the boy had the remainder of the day to spend as he liked. Sometimes the sh.o.r.e claimed him, sometimes the rocks. Then there were excursions, in company with old Hagar, to the solitude of the pines, after cones and dry, resinous branches for the kitchen fire, which never seemed to burn well unless the old housekeeper had an abundance of this kindling material.

"Nuffin like dem yer pine cones fur winter mornin's," Hagar always said; and many were the visits which she and "Mas'r Noll" paid to the woods, returning with laden baskets.

Somehow, after a time, the boy found more delight in these simple pleasures than at first. Once, with all his friends about him, he would have found no entertainment in a journey into the forest after cones,--there were other delights in abundance, then; but now, forced to get all his enjoyment out of the simplest, humblest events, this work of gathering winter fuel grew to be a positive pleasure, after the recitations were over, and the short October days drawing to a close. Then, too, the winter stores were being brought down from Hastings on the "Gull," and Skipper Ben and his crew came often to the stone house, to break the monotony of days in some little manner.

"Yer 'live an' hearty yet, lad!" was his greeting as he came around in the "Gull's" boat with a variety of provisions for winter use, one cloudy afternoon. "Well, I mus' say I didn't think to find ye so?

Lonesome any? Goin' to let me carry ye back to Hastings afore the 'Gull' stops runnin'?"

"No," said Noll, bravely, "I'm going to stay, skipper."

"Ye'll find the weather a tough un, bime-by," drawled Mr. Snape, as he rolled a flour-barrel up the sand.

"Yes," said the skipper, "winters are mos'ly hard uns down here. An'

what ye goin' to do when the 'Gull' stops cruisin' fur the season, an'

ye can't get a word frum the city?"

This was a contingency for which Noll had made no calculation. Not hear a word from Hastings for a whole long winter?

"Well," he said at last, "that isn't pleasant to think of, but I'll manage somehow, skipper. And you must bring me a great packet of letters to last till the 'Gull' commences her trips again."

"Ay, lad," said the skipper, his eyes twinkling. "What be these?"

drawing a parcel from under his pea-jacket.

Noll's eager "Letters! and for me?" tickled the old sailor wonderfully.

"Yes, these be letters," he said, chuckling; "Jack, here, talks o'

runnin' a smack down this winter purpose to bring yer mail!"

"'Tw'u'd take something bigger'n a smack," observed Mr. Snape, looking askance to see how Noll grasped the precious parcel.

"All yer frien's said as how I was to bring ye back on the 'Gull,'"

called the skipper after him, as Noll went running across the sand toward the house.