Chapter II: Going Home

THE last day of the last term had come; and gone. Paul Dudley with Edward Wallingford were candidates for the bar. Paul had chosen the new and flourishing city of Chicago as the field in which he was to become famous, while Edward had decided to return to his native place. The thought of the separation which their new lives involved, was painful to both. Six years of the closest intimacy had united their hearts in an uncommon degree. Paul's love to Edward was mingled so largely with respect, that during all their intercourse he had been conscious of a desire to keep his own bad qualities out of sight, lest they should excite contempt.

Edward, though the younger by a year, had come gradually to regard his chum as a charge; one who must be encouraged and assisted to do right. This very care, had greatly enhanced his affection.

Since he entered college, it had been Wallingford's habit to return to Rose Cottage twice a year; spending at least part of his vacations there; but now fully twelve months had elapsed since his last visit. One short recess he had passed with Paul in Philadelphia, while the long vacation was occupied by a pedestrian excursion, long talked of, to Niagara and the Canadas. Now that their examination had passed successfully, Paul gladly complied with his friend's invitation to spend one month together at Rose Cottage before they commenced their battle with the world.

Edward had often spoken to Paul of his anxieties concerning his sister; and his fear lest she were growing up under the care of Hannah, in a state of semi-barbarism. He complained of her want of interest in her books; the perfect wildness and ignorance of the most common customs of society, which had characterized her at their last interview.

Paul remembered having seen a picture of the little sprite in the earlier days of his acquaintance with his friend; and he must be pardoned if he judged from her juvenile scrawls, denominated letters, of the same period, that she had been, indeed, sadly neglected.

After they had taken their seats in the cars which were to convey them to Wallingford's home, the young lawyer's heart sank as he reflected on his mother's parting injunction; and realized how sadly he had neglected his duty to the sister left in his care.

His regretful thoughts were reflected on his countenance, and his companion gayly insisted on an explanation of his gloomy and disconsolate appearance.

"I was thinking of my little sister," was the serious, almost gloomy reply. "You musn't blame her too much, Paul, if she appears rude and romping. I left her wholly unformed; her greatest delights being to climb the highest trees where she used to sit like a little monkey, swaying about among the blanches; the air filled with her shouts of mirth at my alarm."

"She must have a curious governess," remarked Paul, dryly.

"Good old Hannah has never been dignified with that title. She is manager general of the farm, house and grounds and can't be expected to have much time to devote to Gerty's education, even if she were competent to direct it."

He was silent for a few minutes when he added earnestly, "Excuse myself as I may, by my absence from home, I feel keenly that I have not done my duty toward my sister. I remember now how disappointed she was when I wrote that I should not be at home all last summer. Well, it's too late to help that; and I shall be near enough to Rose Cottage to return there every Saturday night; and next winter I will have her attend one of the best schools in New York."

Paul smiled at the idea of his fastidious chum escorting through the streets a little, wild Gypsy, in short clothes; her cheeks as brown as a nut, and her black hair flying in every direction.

Hurrying through New York they took passage in a North River boat which would land them within a mile of their destination. Nearly half the passage had been accomplished, when a gentleman who had for some minutes been promenading the deck came toward them and offering his hand to Edward exclaimed eagerly:

"I think I cannot be mistaken. You are young Wallingford, son of my old friend."

"Yes, and you are Mr. Winslow. I am more than glad to meet you."

The gentleman then turned to Paul and offered his hand, saying:

"From your resemblance to the family I conclude you are a relative, though I have never seen you before."

The young lawyers both laughed. "We have often been mistaken for brothers," Edward explained. "Our only connexion is, that we have been room-mates the last six years. My friend's name is Paul Dudley; and like myself he expects his fame as a lawyer and statesman to ring through the land."

"You are indeed very like," murmured the stranger as if speaking to himself while his eye glanced kindly at the stalwart forms before him. "And yet," he added after an earnest gaze into Paul's eye, "there is a difference."

Both the young men wore heavy whiskers, trimmed like their hair in the same fashion, which fact greatly increased the resemblance; but the gentleman's thought was:

"Wallingford has his father's calm, truthful eye, which wins the confidence at once. Dudley's gaze shrinks from meeting yours. He may, or may not, become a villain."

Edward urged his old friend to accompany him to Rose Cottage, if only for a night; insisting that he and his sister had a claim on the kindness of their father's friend, for the sake of old times, but Mr. Winslow was obliged to decline.

"My destination is the same as yours," he explained; "but I have to wait an hour for a stage coach to take me back into the country. If you can remain with me during that time I should like to converse with you concerning your future prospects."

"Of course I can," cried Edward, who had been longing for just such a disinterested friend. "I will find an opportunity for Paul to ride and carry the valises and I will walk home after I see you safely off."

On landing, Edward hailed a young countryman named Biles, who had been disappointed in the company he expected; and engaged him to take his friend to Rose Cottage, or as far as he went in that direction; after which, leaving his own trunks and boxes in the care of the baggage master till sent for, he passed an hour profitably in relating his plans for the future to his father's friend; and in receiving much useful counsel from Mr. Winslow's lips.

Gertrude's name was mentioned; and after some thought, the gentleman said, "I must go and see her. If she is as ignorant and unformed as you state, she must be placed in a good family school; but I cannot tell what is best till I hear her plead her own cause."

In the meantime Mr. Dudley having accepted a seat in an open wagon by the side of a good-natured looking farmer, began to gaze about him. On every side the most picturesque views met his eye;—the majestic river white with sails, varied now and then by a huge iron chimney, puffing and belching forth its smoke, rolled calmly on its course to the sea. The high bluffs, a continuation of the Highlands, rising, and breaking against the sky;—the pretty villas dotting the banks of the river;—the patches of cultivated land varied by the richest green sward; each in turn rivetted his attention, and called forth an exclamation of delight.

"I reckon you're a stranger in these parts," the countryman said, after having surveyed his companion from head to foot.

"Yes."

"Going to stop a spell?"

"Uncertain, how long."

"Going to Rose Cottage, hey? Wall I hope Hannah Goldby knows she's going to have visitors."

Paul's curiosity was roused and overlooking the familiarity of the driver, which a moment before had excited his disgust, he asked with a smile:

"Is a visitor at Rose Cottage a very uncommon event?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the man, leaning back to enjoy the joke. "Uncommon? ha! ha! ha! why there hasn't been a visitor at Rose Cottage, to my knowledge, since the young man went off to college better'n a year ago. Hannah wont have 'em." He shook his head in a mysterious manner, conveying the idea that he could tell strange things if he had a mind.

Paul mentally resolved that his stay should be very brief. After a pause he remarked:

"The woman takes charge of the little girl, I suppose."

This speech caused another burst of merriment. When he recovered himself the man said, "I 'spose she don't. The little girl takes care of her, more likely. She's a regular—"

Here a terrible jolt broke up the sentence, and presently, a man hailed the driver, and asked how far he was going.

Before he was answered, the stranger was subjected to a survey that would have done honor to a detective; then squirting a mouthful of tobacco juice beyond the wheel, he said to Dudley:

"There's Rose Cottage just behind that clump of linden trees; 'tisn't more'n a quarter of a mile. I think it's likely I shall turn off here."

After offering payment for the accommodation, which was answered by another:

"Ha! ha! ha! 'tisn't likely I want pay for such a trifle," Mr. Dudley descended from the wagon by an elastic spring over the wheel; and taking one carpet bag in each hand he started off in the direction indicated.