William was taken by surprise; he seized her offered hand, and grasped it warmly, but he could not speak.

'I have wanted to see you very much, William, and to have a long talk with you about many things; but I suppose you must be going, and I must be back to my work. But, William, do you think you will like it in the city? You know things are so different from what you have been used to.'

He was intending to be very stiff in all his bearing towards Hettie, but he made awkward work of it. There was she, looking up into his face with all her wonted interest, and how could he meet those eyes, and not return their look of pure and kindly feeling? So he gave it up: all his bad intentions flew off like mist, and his eye glanced as kindly as hers, and his voice softened into the old tones of friends.h.i.+p.

'I know, Hettie, that they will be different; but I think I shall soon get used to them, and then I feel like taking care of myself, and who knows but I may get along as well as some others who go there, and come back with plenty of money in my pocket? I think, then, that some of my friends will not be ashamed to speak to me, or to acknowledge old friends.h.i.+ps.' And as William said this, he looked at Hettie with so much meaning, that she could not mistake its reference to her.

'If you think, William, that your prosperity will make a difference in the feelings of your friends towards you, or, at least, of some of them, you are mistaken. You may succeed as you antic.i.p.ate, or you may not; you may return wealthy or poor, as you now are; if you only bring back as true and kind a heart, William, you will find some to welcome you, who will rejoice more in that, than in any great change in your circ.u.mstances.'

And Hettie cast such a meaning in her look, too, as she fixed her eye full upon him, that he could not mistake its reference either. He saw the tears glistening in her mild eyes, and he could have done all manner of things to himself for speaking as he did.

'Forgive me, Hettie, forgive me, if I have said any thing to trouble you; I know that you, at least, will not be affected by my condition, if my character is only good.'

'I cannot say any thing more about the future, William, than that I am very sure I shall ever feel a deep interest in your welfare, and my ardent prayer shall be, that you may be kept from the many evils which I am told lurk around one going into the city, as you do, a stranger to its temptations.'

'I know, Hettie, they say that I shall run a great risk in many ways, and I feel that I need something to keep my mind fastened on that will help me to avoid the evil, whatever it may be, and that will strengthen me in doing right. You have been such a helper to me, Hettie; you know from what a dreadful state you once delivered me; you have great power over me. I am now going from you; will you not let me carry along with me that promise which I have often asked? If you would only say that it might be one of these days, I should go away happy; the hope would be like your presence with me.'

Hettie cast down her eyes as William continued talking; she heard him quietly through, and then replied, in a voice that trembled indeed, but the words were well chosen, and came from her heart.

'That promise, William, I cannot make now any more than I could have done before this; you and I are to be separated for many years perhaps; great changes may take place in that time; you will see many things very unlike what you have been accustomed to; your views about persons and things may change with your circ.u.mstances, I shall think of you as a dear friend, as a brother, if you wish it; I will pray for you when I do for myself, and as earnestly, William; but farther than this, you must not ask me.'

William ceased, for he knew Hettie well enough to be certain that she would yield nothing more. He parted from her as a brother might leave a sister, dearly loved; he saw the deep color mantling in her cheek, and the tear that artlessly rolled over it; he could not say the parting word. She stepped back through the little gate, and as it closed, he went on his way to seek that fortune, which, at times, played before his fancy in all the witching forms of earthly prosperity. How often will this parting scene haunt his waking and sleeping dreams, through the long years that will intervene ere a sight of one so dear to him now will bless his eyes again; and how often will he admire the firmness and prudence of this earthly friend of his heart!

CHAPTER X.

Sam Oak.u.m had not forgotten the promise he had given old Mr. Cutter in the hour of his deep trouble; nor had he forgotten the kindness which prompted the old man to fly to the rescue of his parent. Every cent was precious in Sam's eyes, as sacred to repay that offering of mercy; he would no sooner have squandered it than he would have stolen; week after week, on every return from a trip, he would slip up to his little chest, and deposit there the earnings of the day. The additions were small, for he was obliged, occasionally, to expend some part of what he earned for little comforts that his mother needed; his father being rarely able to procure money for his labor. Small, however, as were the additions, the store increased. He had already carried to Mr. Cutter five dollars, and received his hearty blessing, and such a squeeze of his hand as Sam did not forget for the rest of the day.

Jim had squared up with him the moment he had received the last payment; and as Sam looked at the heap of money which Jim said was his share of their enterprise, he was too happy to say any thing. He looked up at Jim, whose calm clear eye turned from the money to Sam, and then back again to the money, as much as to say-- 'It's your's, Sam, honestly come by;--it's all right, why don't you take it?'

Ned, who was standing by also, and watching Sam, understood better than Jim what the matter was.

'Why don't you hurra, Sam, and let it out, and not keep choking up so? I know how you feel;--shall I go it for you? Hurra, hurra, hurra!'

'Ned, what does ail you? what is the use of making such a noise?'

'Oh, nothing; only you see I want to help Sam out with some of his feelings; he is too full to hold.'

Sam had to smile, and that started a tear or two, and then he tried to say something about grat.i.tude to the boys; but Jim stopped him short.

'Now, Sam, you must not feel so; you have earned that heap of money just as much as we have ours, and we ought to thank you; for how should we ever have got along without you and your boat.'

'Oh,' said Sam, as he began to gather up his money, and looking archly at Jim, 'you would have thought out some other way, I know.'

Jim had to smile a little; and Ned, throwing his arms on Sam's shoulders, and leaning over him, as he picked up the pieces of money.

'Sam Oak.u.m, I am as glad to see you put that money in your pocket as I should be to put it into my own; and so is Jim, I know.'

Sam believed every word that Ned had spoken, and after making a plan to meet together that evening, he went on his way. His pockets were heavy, but his heart was light; and as he pa.s.sed the rock which had ever been memorable to him since the hour when he sat there in his despondency, and the boys came to him with this plan of enterprise, he could not but say to himself, 'What a grand thing it has been that Jim Montjoy had those thoughts.'

Mr. and Mrs. Oak.u.m were just about to sit down at their humble board as Sam entered.

'Here, father; see what the boat has done.'

'What is it, Sam?' said his mother, looking earnestly at him, her hands raised, and her countenance expressing great anxiety. Sam made no reply, but commenced unlading his pockets, and piling the money in little heaps on the table.

'It is father's; it has all come of the boat. If father had not built that boat, we never could have got all this; and now he can pay Billy Bloodgood the fifteen dollars, and then we shall not owe a single cent to any one; there is the whole of it--twenty-five dollars--don't it look nice, mother?'

Mrs. Oak.u.m let her hands drop as soon as she understood the matter; but it was only to take up her ap.r.o.n--they had work to do with that. While the father, overcome with the sight of such abundance, and the n.o.ble spirit of his boy, could only say, in a very trembling voice, 'G.o.d bless you, Sam.'

That was a happy meal, though plain and coa.r.s.e. A spring of living joy was bubbling in each heart, and sparkling forth in pure and blessed thoughts towards G.o.d and man.

Sam would gladly have had his father carry the money which was to repay Mr. Bloodgood, and never been known as the procurer of it. But to this the kind parent would not consent. He felt, and truly too, that it would be a mark upon his son's early life, not soon obliterated: and he was willing to have himself forgotten, if the dear boy might but be strengthened in the path of honor and virtue.

The next morning Sam was up with the early dawn, and busy with his daily routine, that he might be ready to go on his pleasing errand. Breakfast over, he dressed himself in his best blue suit, and with the money in his pocket and his parent's blessing, started off, his heart as full of happiness as it could well be. Thoughts of the dark scene which he had pa.s.sed through, when kind friends, like angels of mercy, came to his aid, he could not repress, nor did he wish to; the darker then, the brighter now. How his heart beat with pleasure as he walked briskly on, and drew near to the humble abode of Billy Bloodgood--rough, to be sure, was the exterior, and the peculiar habits of its owner too visible in the strange confusion around the premises; but Sam thought only of his kind heart and ready hand in an hour of need.

Things had not yet been put to rights at neighbor Bloodgood's, and as Sam entered the house, there was not only a confused state of pots and kettles, and relics of the early meal, but the good woman herself was all wrong somehow; she was in quite an undress, and moved about amid the domestic articles surrounding her, with that quick, jerky air, which generally denotes an unsettled state of the inner man or woman.

Sam wondered why things did not break, they rang against each other so sharply. If he was somewhat surprised at this, he was much more so at sight of a stranger, seated near the door, but a little behind it, which circ.u.mstances prevented him from noticing before. He was a stranger, not only to Sam, but he must have been to all those parts, for he was like nothing seen in that region for many miles' circuit; his air and contour was that of a gentleman. Sam had already seen enough of the world to know that. He was quite a youth, probably not over nineteen years of age; his countenance manly, and rather stern at the first glance; but Sam thought, from a particular twist of the corner of his mouth, that he was more amused than vexed with the state of things around him. His form was slender, and his complexion pale, like one who had never yet been exposed to the wear and tear of life; his light brown hair was thrown carelessly back from his forehead, and displayed to great advantage that index of the mind.

He arose almost immediately upon Sam's entering, and with his hat in hand, bowed to the mistress of the house, who cast but a sideling glance at him, and then stooped down to rattle some of the dishes, without, apparently, any other motive than to let him see that she was too busy to attend to him.

'You think then, madam, there would be no use in my waiting to see your husband?'

'No; I don't think there's no earthly use in seeing him. I tell'd you, again and again, we ain't got no young ones to send--and that's the long and short on it.'

'Good morning, madam.'

The young man spoke kindly and courteously, and then left the house, walking with an erect carriage towards the highway.

'Good morning, Aunt Sally.'

Mrs. Bloodgood, then, lifting herself up, and putting a hand on each hip, looked with a very stern and fixed gaze through the open door, until the stranger had fairly got out of hearing; and then, without answering Sam's salutation, began to rattle away in her usual style, when by any cause somewhat excited.

'Him set up for a schoolmaster, with his fine clothes on, and his bran new hat, and his bowin' and sc.r.a.pin', and his madam, and all that kind of palaver; he ain't nothin' but a chicken himself. No, no: I've seen enough on 'em in my day; there ain't no good comes on 'em; they put more mischief in the heads of the young 'uns than they've got naturally, and that's enough we all know.'

'What's the matter, Aunt Sally?'

'I tell you what, Sam Oak.u.m, I don't want none of them Yankees round me. I don't see why the critters can't stay in their own country, and do some honest thing there for a livin', and not come tramp.u.s.s.ing away down here with their larnin', that don't do no airthly good, but make the young 'uns lazy, and wanting to be gentlemen like themselves; and what old Molly Brown sent the critter here for, I don't see.'

'Does he want to set up a school, aunt Sally?' said Sam, looking at her with a very anxious countenance.

'He did want to; but I guess he's got enough on it; and I'm so glad he's took himself off 'fore Bloodgood come in, for he's just fool enough to be clean took with him; and he's got his head set about havin' a schoolmaster, and I don't want none of the varmints round.' But looking at Sam very closely, and coming up to him, and feeling his coat and his trousers, and then holding him off at arm's length.

'Do tell! where upon airth, Sam, did you get this? How smart you do look. This has been gi'n to you, I know, by them great folks over the water there?'

'Yes.'

'Well, ain't that clever on 'em, Sam? but you're desarvin' of it, and I'm glad on it. It does a body's heart good to see your mother's child look so smart and tidy. I didn't hardly know you when you come in, and that plaguy man put me into such a pucker, I didn't hardly know what I was about.'

Sam had become very impatient to be off; he had antic.i.p.ated a great deal of joy from his errand, in the proud satisfaction of paying a just debt; but he thought not of that now. He had learned enough to know what the stranger's business was, and he could not endure the thought of his leaving the place in such a manner; so taking out his money, and handing it to Mrs. Bloodgood, 'There, Aunt Sally, is the money which Mr. Bloodgood, so kindly helped my father to, when he was in trouble; won't you please tell him that we all thank him very much, and hope we shall never forget how good he has been to us?'

'You dear, blessed child!' Aunt Sally could say no more, for she saw the tears in Sam's eyes, and her own heart was very peculiar--it was soon set on fire.

'You will tell him, won't you, Aunt Sally? and that father says, if he will only let him know any time that he can do any thing for him, or for you, day or night, he will gladly do it; and mother says so too; for you don't know how happy it made us all, when you lent this money, and how very happy we are now, to be able to give it back to you.'

Aunt Sally sat down, and taking up her ap.r.o.n with both hands, cried as hard as she had scolded but a few moments before. Sam laid the money on the table beside her, and wis.h.i.+ng her good morning, made speed towards the highway. He saw the young man at a distance, walking rapidly, and bending his course away from the place, on the direct road to the barrens; his only chance to overtake him was by a cross cut over the fields, and through a little clump of wood, around which the road to the barrens pa.s.sed. And while Sam is hurrying across the lots, I must introduce the young stranger a little more particularly to my reader.

Henry Tracy was indeed descended from New England parents, but was not, as good Mrs. Bloodgood supposed, a real Yankee; for his father had emigrated from the state of Maine when quite a youth, and his mother from another of the goodly sisterhood, when a child. They had settled in one of the middle States, and Henry's birthplace was one of our largest cities; great pains had been taken with his education; his mind was uncommonly well stored for one of his age, and his manners distinguished by a gentlemanly grace; but, above all this, his heart had been nurtured by the tender care of a mother, whose love for the truth, whose meek and blameless life, and whose heavenly-minded temper, gave a power to the pure and holy thoughts which she was ever breathing into the ear of her son; they stole into his heart like the dew upon the tender plant.

He was now an orphan, and cast upon the world, with the choice of depending upon the charity of friends to a.s.sist him in completing his education, or using what education he had already received as a means of support, and of further progress; he wisely chose the latter. Having a slight acquaintance with Mr. Rutherford, he had, on calling to visit the family, been directed to this region, and the "Widow Brown, to whom Mr. Rutherford advised him to apply, could think of no one more likely to take an interest in a school than Billy Bloodgood. His reception there, and the general appearance of things, had discouraged him from any further attempt, and he was hastening back to seek a spot more congenial to his own feelings, and where there might be at least some desire for instruction.

Sam had to be expeditious, and was barely able to accomplish his object by running across one entire lot, and through the clump of woods. Breathless with his haste, he was unable to communicate his wishes, or to apologize to the young man for coming upon him in so abrupt a manner, who looked with much surprise at him for an explanation.

'I hope you will excuse me, sir, for stopping you; I met you, just now, at Mr. Bloodgood's. I did not know what your business was, sir. But do come back, we want you very much.'

'Want me! What do they know about me?'

'Oh, I mean, Sir, they want a teacher.'

'Mrs. Bloodgood says that no one here wishes a teacher, that the people think they are better off without any instruction.'

'But they do not all feel so, sir; do come back with me, and I will take you to a man that will tell you all about it.'

Sam's appearance pleased Mr. Tracy, and the earnestness of his entreaty induced him to consent to return and see what new feature the place might present.

They were not long in reaching the spot to which Sam wished to conduct him, a very unlikely place in appearance to give encouragement to literature, being no other than the workshop of old Sam Cutter. The old man was in his usual seat, holding, or rather leaning upon the handle of his large hammer, and from his short breathing and flushed face, showing signs of his having just been wielding it. Running round the shop, with a tongs in one hand and a hammer in the other, was Billy Bloodgood, helping himself, with some directions and aid on Mr. Cutter's part, in repairing an old farming tool. He paid, as usual, no attention to the new-comers, except a slight nod of his head, and a pleasant smile to Sam.

As Sam entered and motioned to Mr. Tracy to come in, Mr. Cutter pa.s.sed his broad hand across the top of his head, smoothing down his bald forehead, at the same time saying.

'Your sarvant, sir.'

Mr. Tracy bowed to him politely, taking off his hat with as much respect as if in the presence of one of the great ones of the earth.

Sam Oak.u.m lost no time in communicating to Mr. Cutter the object of the visitor, and the circ.u.mstances under which he had met with him and brought him back.

'Right, Sam, right; but of all things, to think of Sally Bloodgood treating the gentleman in that sort. But that's the way with them; they're a match for the old one, any time; all but your mother, Sam, she ain't like the rest on 'em.' And then turning to the young man, 'Sorry, sir, you've had such an indifferent reception, but what can't be cured must be endured. Billy there knows that; but you see it don't matter to him whether she scolds or coaxes; he can't hear nothin' no more than the iron he's poundin' on.'

'Is that Mr. Bloodgood? Mrs. Brown advised me to call upon him; but his good wife gave me such an account of things, that, but for this young gentleman, I should have made no further effort.'

'Ay, ay, Sam knew well enough, the young rogue, who to come to; but dear me, you look like a lad that has seen fair weather and easy work; do you know what kind of a place you've come to?'

'Only what I have seen of it this morning, sir; and Mrs. Brown said that she thought a teacher was much needed.'

'Ay, that she might well say, much needed; that is, if you can teach them any better manners than they've got now: they're a hard case, my dear young man, most gone to the evil one altogether.'

Mr. Tracy smiled. 'I hope not quite so bad as that, sir.'

'Not much short on it, I tell you; but things look a little better than they have, and I ain't sure but a considerable lot on 'em might be got together; that is, the boys, I mean but--' and the old man regarded his young visitor with a very inquisitive countenance--'you don't look as if you could live on clam sh.e.l.ls and oyster sh.e.l.ls, and eels, and sich like; I'm afear'd you ain't used to them.'

'Oh, yes, sir, I can eat what the rest of you do.'

'Well, my young friend, you can't judge always from the looks, what kind of fare a man has; but howsomever, if you can get along with such things as I've tell'd you of, why you won't starve, for you see we've got plenty on 'em; and as to the boys, do you, Sam Oak.u.m, up and tell the gentleman what you know about it, and not stand stretching your mouth and grinnin' at me.'

Sam soon numbered quite a company of boys, and girls too, that he knew would be very glad of a chance for schooling, and many more that would no doubt come if the gentleman 'would only make a beginning, and open a school.'

As Henry Tracy had perhaps full as much desire to do good, as to receive compensation for his labors, seeing the strong desire manifested by Sam, and hearing him tell how very anxious some of his companions were to learn something, he made up his mind to try the experiment.

Sam was almost beside himself for joy; it was the only one thing now wanting in his cup of happiness. His deficiency in every kind of knowledge acquired from books, was felt by him daily as a sore evil. 'If he could only read and write, and calculate like Jim Montjoy,' was for ever coming into his mind, a wish unalloyed by envy or any other evil feeling towards Jim, but filling his heart with sadness. Old Sam Cutter was no less rejoiced, for his boys were but little in advance of Sam Oak.u.m, and now that they had taken such a favourable turn in their course of conduct, the old man felt that a school would be a crowning mercy. Some little difficulty presented itself as to where the teacher should take up his abode; there were good reasons why Mr. Cutter could not offer a residence under his own roof; the house was but small, too small, he found for himself, sometimes, and he durst not venture upon an addition.

Sam Oak.u.m would have rejoiced could his home have afforded accommodations such as he might ask a stranger to partake of, and a person of Mr. Tracy's appearance. Mrs. Montjoy's was the only place that Sam could think of where any thing like comfort could be had.

'I know--I know all that, Sam; Mrs. Montjoy is a nice woman, and the house, though small, is tidy-like, and the boys are good fellows, a credit to the place; but you see, Sam, we must 'be wise as sarpants' about this business. You know how the folks feel, full of their jealousies and nonsense; and if the teacher should go there, they would say that he felt himself above folks, that he was too good for the like of them, and all that, and you see,' looking at Mr. Tracy, 'we've got to take folks as they are, and make the best on 'em.' And then turning his eye towards Sam, 'The Widow Andrews' is the place. Bill, you know, is gone; sorry for that, but he's gone, and no help for it; the old woman is queer, but where is one on 'em that ain't, sometimes? Yet she is pretty good in the main, and she'll be proud to do her best; and if the gentleman won't be frightened at a little squall once in a while, he'll git along pretty comfortable there: now, don't you think so, Sam?'

Sam thought just as Mr. Cutter did; and as Mr. Tracy was not particular as to accommodations, provided they were cleanly, and he could have a room to himself, it was accordingly decided that he should accompany Sam there, and see what could be done. There was nothing very inviting in the appearance of things, to one who had been accustomed to a very different style of living: the house was a one-story building, placed very flat on the ground; both the roof and the sides were covered with s.h.i.+ngles. Moss had acc.u.mulated so as to contend with the s.h.i.+ngles for the precedence, and if the latter did the most good, the former was the most distinctly to be seen. But it was situated in the midst of a green gra.s.s plot, and the gra.s.s was short and velvety to the tread, and a few old cedar trees surrounded it, which tended to screen its imperfections, and make it pa.s.s for full as much as it deserved. A fence ran before it, much dilapidated, sufficient, however, to keep out the larger animals, where the green short gra.s.s grew up to the window.

The widow was evidently flattered by the proposal, only she feared 'the gentleman might find their living very different from what he had been used to.'

Mr. Tracy was satisfied, from the appearance of things within doors, that neatness was one trait which the widow certainly had, whatever others he might discover on further acquaintance. She showed him her best room, and which she was perfectly willing to yield up to his use. It was large enough, with an agreeable view of the surrounding country, and Henry thought, when he should get his books around him, he could make himself at home.

Mr. Cutter would have been glad to introduce the young man to Billy Bloodgood, but he dared not undertake the task, and suffered Billy to hammer away, and took no notice of the inquisitive glances which his good neighbor kept casting towards him. As soon, however, as the visitor had departed, still holding the hammer and tongs, he made up to Mr. Cutter, and putting his head close to his ear, hallooed in a voice almost sufficient to have made the sound reach his own tympanum.

'Who's that?'

'I ain't deaf; you needn't holler at that rate into a man.'

'Who did you say? I didn't hear you.'

'Dear me, what shall I do? I'm all out of breath a talkin' to that youngster.'

'Don't hear.'

Uncle Sam made a desperate effort, opened his mouth, drew in a long breath, put his hand up to form a trumpet, and applying the machinery as near as possible to Billy's head, called out, 'He's a teacher.'

'A preacher?' and Billy nodded and smiled; 'that's good going to stay here?'

'Bless my soul, what shall I do? I shan't try agin', no how.'

'Sally'll be glad to hear that; where is he from?'

Uncle Sam looked first one way and then the other, as though meditating an escape; but he hated to move, and in fact he knew there would be little use in trying it, for Billy would be after him so he finally cast an imploring eye up to his neighbor, who stooping down and looking very inquiringly into his face.