"No, Morton, never, never ashamed of our father! Instead, I love and revere him, for he was a true, good man,--'one of nature's n.o.blemen,' as Miss Prue once said,--but, listen, Morton! It wasn't _because_ he was a fisherman, but in spite of it; for, though it is a life that makes men brave, st.u.r.dy, fearless, and honest, it makes them also rough, profane, and careless in life and death; in fact, it develops their bodies, but not their minds or souls.

"And, O Morton, I so want you to be all that father was, and something more. I want you to be educated and refined. That Mr. Glendenning was as brave as the best of our fishermen, and dared face any storm, but how kind he was, and gentle! How respectful to poor Zeba, how thoughtful for his aunt and uncle, and what a gentleman in every way! Morton, I want _you_ to be a gentleman too."

"He can't, Sara," put in Molly, her eyes big and round, "he's too poor; a man's got to have at least a hundred dollars to be a gentleman, and Morton hasn't but three cents."

Sara smiled, and the boy looked slowly from one to the other in a ruminating way.

"But everybody's twitting me with being a lazy good-for-nothing, Sara, and I can't stand it! Besides, I told Uncle Jabe I'd go, and now I've got to."

"You can't; I forbid it!" her eyes flashing. "Go at once and tell him that it is not to be thought of."

It was an unwise speech, as Sara instantly felt; for Morton, though he could be coaxed into almost anything, was worse than a mule when driven.

Now the dogged look she was learning to dread settled over his face, and he squared his shoulders st.u.r.dily.

"Well, I guess you'll find I can, Sara Olmstead, and it will take somebody older and bigger'n you to stop me, too! So 'forbid' till you're tired, if you like; I've given my word, and I'm going--that's settled!"

The poor girl's heart sank like lead, and she could have bitten her unruly tongue out for those foolish words. She knew only too well that Morton would have the support of nearly all their friends in Killamet, who could see no reason why he should not follow his father's calling, and begin, like him, at the bottom of the ladder, as "the boy."

Though they knew the hardness of the life, they reasoned that it "helped toughen a youngster, and make a man of him." To them, Sara's ideas were foolish and high-flown, their notion of a "gentleman" being too often a.s.sociated with city "lubbers" who came down to spy out the land--and sea--in their ridiculous knickerbockers and helmets, and who did not know a jib from a spanker, or had any idea when a sailor spoke of the "hull" of his vessel, that he referred to anything but the sum of its component parts! Gentlemen, as a cla.s.s, were not held in high esteem at Killamet. Even Captain Norris laughed at fine manners, and would doubtless say,--

"Oh, give the boy a chance to try his sea-legs, if he wants to--a little toughening won't hurt him."

No one but Miss Prue would thoroughly sympathize with, and stand by her, and what were she and Miss Prue against so many?

They ate their supper in a glowering silence, unusual in that cottage, even Molly for once being oppressed by the gloomy faces about her; then, still in silence, she washed the few dishes, while Sara undressed the baby; Morton, meanwhile, taking up a school-book, in which he sat apparently absorbed, until his twin, happening to pa.s.s behind him, stopped, and, with a flip of her dish-towel, cried out,--

"Why-y, Mort Olmstead, you're studying your g'oggerfy upside down!"

He gave her a scowl, but his face flushed sensitively, as he quickly reversed the book, and Sara, turning a little from the fire, where she was cuddling the baby, met his eyes with so loving and tender a look that he could scarcely bear it. Something rose in his throat, threatened to rise in his eyes too, and feeling that his only safety lay in flight, he muttered that he had an errand down town, caught up his hat and worsted tippet, and ran out of the door, nearly knocking some one over who stood upon the step. "Well, I like being welcomed with open arms,"

laughed a manly voice outside; "but there is such a thing as too hearty a greeting, eh, Morton?" and the boy, too dazed to speak, re-entered the room, followed by Mr. Robert Glendenning.

CHAPTER X.

ROBERT GLENDENNING.

Sara rose, with the now sleeping baby in her arms, and stood with the firelight playing over her n.o.ble young form, and with something--was it the firelight too?--flushing her sweet, sensitive face. She had no idea what a picture she made, nor how fair she appeared in the eyes of the young man in the doorway; for her thoughts were full of chagrin at what seemed the untidiness of the room, with baby's clothes and the children's books scattered about, and the fact that she had on an old, worn dress, instead of the Boston cashmere. For she did not realize that our most beautiful moments come from thoughts within, and are quite independent of dress and adornment, and that to-night the struggle she had been through made her expression so lovely, she had never been more attractive. She held out the hand that could best be spared from the little one's support, and said cordially,--

"I'm very glad to see you, Mr. Glendenning; are your aunt and uncle here?"

"No, Miss Olmstead; I left them in Boston, and just ran down for a day or two, before I go West once more. I--had business."

She saw him seated before she stepped to the alcove bed to lay the baby down, then, coming back, took a seat on the other side of the fireplace, and asked softly,--

"Have you heard?"

"Yes," in the same tone; "Miss Zeba told me. You did not write to auntie?"

"I could not--yet."

There was a little pause, which was broken by an outburst from the other side of the room, where the children were supposed to be studying.

"I tell you 'tis too, Morton Olmstead. I'll ask Sara, now!"

"Well, Molly, what is it?" she turned to ask.

"Isn't it right to say 'seven and six _are_ twelve?" Morton says it isn't."

"Why, certainly," began Sara obliviously, when the guest interposed,--

"How'll seven and _five_ do, Molly? Perhaps that will suit Morton better."

Molly tossed her head at her grinning brother, pouting an instant, then broke into a giggle, as she caught the full force of the sell, and went on with her sums, while Sara remarked,--

"I am not quick at such things, Mr. Glendenning. I wish I were! You spoke of going West just now; do you go soon?"

"Yes; my home is in Chicago. I have been East nearly six months on business for my firm, and now am recalled."

She looked pensively into the fire, and he thought he heard a little sigh, which perhaps encouraged him to go on, though it was with something like embarra.s.sment that he said,--

"I felt before going so far that I ought to make a call on some of the good people here: it may be years before I return."

"H'm," muttered Molly; "I tell you, if I ever get away I'll never want to come back."

"Well, n.o.body'd want to have you, either," muttered her brother in return. "A girl who can't add two simple little numbers!"

Molly contented herself with making a face at him, and the two by the fire continued their rather patchy discourse:--

"I have sometimes thought," said Sara, "that we will have to leave here now, though I haven't much of an idea where we should go, or what I could do--but I must do something soon."

He was longing to ask all sorts of questions, but dared not; instead, he leaned forward, and said earnestly,--

"Miss Olmstead, I have been thinking of that, and I want you to promise me you will not take any decisive step without consulting my aunt. If I had known--all, I would have brought her with me, but here is her latest address," producing a card. "Write her everything, and let her counsel you, will you?" She bowed her head.

"It's very kind of you all to care, and if you are sure she would not be annoyed"--

"Annoyed? What an idea! Why, aren't you both daughters of the King?

Doesn't that make you sisters? I know you will not break your word, Miss Olmstead."

"No, she won't," said Molly briskly; "when she says she is going to send us to bed early, she always does it."

"Molly!" cried Sara, half-laughing, half-angry, "I think it must be your bedtime, now."

"There! That's just because you want to talk to Mr. Glendenning," whined the child. "Last night, 'cause you was lonesome, you let us sit up till nine. I don't think it's fair!"

"Well," laughed the young man, to cover Sara's embarra.s.sment, for she had blushed like a rose at this, "I did have something in my pocket; however, as it's only for early-go-to-beders, I don't believe I'll produce it to-night."