Chapter XXV

That thee is sent receive in buxomness; The wrestling of this worlde askith a fall; Here is no home, here is but wildernesse, Forthe, pilgrim, forthe, o best out of thy stall, Loke up on high, and thanke thy God of all. CHAUCER.

As soon as she was awake Winnie sought her brother's side again; and from that moment never left it when it was possible to be there. In his arms, if she could; close by his side, if nearer might not be; she seemed to have no freedom of life but in his shadow. Her very grief was quieted there; either taking its tone from his calm strength, or binding itself with her own love for him. Her brother was the sturdy tree round which this poor little vine threw its tendrils, and climbed and flourished, all it could.

He had but a few days to spend at Shahweetah now. Towards the end of them, she was one evening sitting, as usual, on his knee; silent and quiet. They were alone.

"Winnie," said her brother, "what shall I do with you?"

She put her arms round his neck and kissed him, -- a very frequent caress; but she made no answer.

"Shall I take you to Mannahatta with me?"

"Oh yes, Winthrop!"

It was said with breathless eagerness.

"I am almost afraid to do it."

"Why, Winthrop?"

"Hush --" he said gently; for her words came out with a sort of impatient hastiness; -- "You don't know what kind of a place it is, Winnie. It isn't much like what home used to be."

"Nor this aint, neither," she murmured, nestling her head in his bosom.

"But you wouldn't have the free air and country -- I am afraid it wouldn't be so good for you."

"Yes it would -- it would be better for me. -- I can't hardly be good at all, Governor, except where you are. I get cross now- a-days -- it seems I can't help it -- and I didn't use to do so --"

How gently the hand that was not round her was laid upon her cheek, as if at once forbidding and soothing her sorrow. For it was true, -- Winnie's disease had wrought to make her irritable and fretful, very different from her former self. And it was true that Winthrop's presence governed it, as no other thing could.

"Would you rather go with me, Winnie?"

"Oh yes, Governor! --oh yes!"

"Then you shall."

He went himself first to make arrangements, which he well knew were very necessary. That one little attic room of his and that closet which was at once Mother Hubbard's cupboard and his clothes press, could never do anything for the comfort of his little sister. He went home and electrified Mrs. Nettley with the intelligence that he must leave her and seek larger quarters, which he knew her house could not give.

"To be sure," said Mrs. Nettley in a brown study, -- "the kitchen's the kitchen, -- and there must be a parlour, -- and George's painting room, -- and the other's my bedroom, -- and George sleeps in that other little back attic. -- Well, Mr. Landholm, let's think about it. We'll see what _can_ be done. We can't let you go away -- George would rather sleep on the roof."

"He would do what is possible, Mrs. Nettley; and so would I."

It was found to be possible that "the other little back attic" should be given up. Winthrop never knew how, and was not allowed to know. But it was so given that he could not help taking. It was plain that they would have been worse straitened than in their accommodations, if he had refused their kindness and gone somewhere else.

Mrs. Nettley would gladly have done what she could towards furnishing the same little back attic for Winnie's use; but on this point Winthrop was firm. He gathered himself the few little plain things the room wanted, from the cheapest sources whence they could be obtained; even that was a serious drain upon his purse. He laid in a further supply of fuel, for Winnie's health, he knew, would not stand the old order of things, -- a fire at meal-times and an old cloak at other times when it was not very cold. Happily it was late in the season and much more fire would not be needed; a small stock of wood he bought, and carried up and bestowed in the closet; he could put his clothes in Winnie's room now and the closet need no longer act as a wardrobe. A few very simple stores to add to Mother Hubbard's shelves, and Winthrop had stretched his limited resources pretty well, and had not much more left than would take him to Wut-a-qut-o, and bring him back again.

"I don't see but I shall have to sell the farm," said Mr. Landholm on this next visit of his son's.

"Why, sir?"

"To pay off the mortgage -- that mortgage to Mr. Haye."

Winthrop was silent.

"I can't meet the interest on it; --I haven't been able to pay any these five years," said Mr. Landholm with a sigh. "If he don't foreclose, I must. -- I guess I'll take Asahel and go to the West."

"Don't do it hastily, father."

"No," said Mr. Landholm with another sigh; -- "but it'll come to that."

Winthrop had no power to help it. And the money had been borrowed for him and Rufus. Most for Rufus. But it had been for them; and with this added thought of sorrowful care, he reached Mannahatta with his little sister.

It was early of a cold spring day, the ground white with a flurry of snow, the air raw, when he brought Winnie from the steamboat and led her, half frightened, half glad, through the streets to her new home. Winnie's tongue was very still, her eyes very busy. Her brother left the eyes to make their own notes and comments, at least he made none, till they had reached the corner of Little South St. He made none then; the door was opened softly, and he brought her up the stairs and into his room without disturbing or falling in with anybody. Putting her on a calico-covered settee, Winthrop pulled off his coat and set about making a fire.

Winnie had cried all the day before and as much of the night as her poor eyelids could keep awake; and now in a kind of lull, sat watching him.

"Governor, you'll catch cold --"

"Not if I can make the fire catch," said he quietly.

"But you wanted me to keep on _my_ things."

"Did you want to take them off?"

Winnie sat silent again, shrugging her shoulders to the chill air. But presently the fire caught, and the premonitory snapping and crackling of the kindling wood gave notice of a sudden change of temperature. Winnie's feelings took the cheery influence of the promise and she began to talk in a more hearty strain.

"Is this your room, Winthrop?"

"This is my room, Winnie. Yours is there, next to it."

"Through that door?"

"No -- through the entry; -- that is the door of my storehouse."

Winnie got up to look at it.

"'Tisn't a very large storehouse," was her conclusion.

"And not much in it. But the large storehouses are not far off, Winnie. Shall I leave you here for five minutes, while I go to get something from one of them?"

"Do you mean out of doors? -- from the shops?"

"Yes. Shall I leave you five minutes?"

"O yes!"

He had come before her and was holding both her hands. Before he let them go he stooped down and kissed her.

It was not a very common thing for Winthrop to kiss her; and Winnie sat quieted under the power and the pleasure of it till the five minutes were run out and he had got back again. His going and coming was without seeing any one of the house; a fact owing to Mrs. Nettley's being away to market and Mr. Inchbald out on another errand.

Winthrop came in with his hands full of brown papers. Winnie watched him silently again while he put his stores in the closet and brought out plates and knives and forks.

"Where do you sleep, Governor?"

"In a pleasanter place than I slept in last night," said her brother.

"Yes, but where? I don't see any bed."

"You don't see it by day. It only shews itself at night."

"But where is it, Governor?"

"You're sitting on it, Winnie."

"This! --"

"What is the matter with it?"

"Why, --" said Winnie, looking dismayfully at the couch with which Winthrop had filled the place of his bed, transferred to her room, -- "it's too narrow!"

"I don't fall out of it," said her brother quietly.

"It isn't comfortable!"

"I am, when I am on it."

"But it's hard!"

"Not if I don't think it is hard."

"I don't see how that makes any difference," said Winnie discontentedly. "It's hard to me."

"But it's not your bed, Winnie."

"I don't like it to be yours, Winthrop."

He was busy laying a slice of ham on the coals and putting a skillet of water over the fire; and then coming to her side he began, without speaking, and with a pleasant face, to untie the strings of her bonnet and to take off that and her other coverings, with a gentle sort of kindness that made itself felt and not heard. Winnie bore it with difficulty; her features moved and trembled.

"It's too much for you to have to take care of me," she said in a voice changed from its former expression.

"Too much?" said Winthrop.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's too much. Can you do it?"

"I think I can take care of you, Winnie. You forget who has promised to take care of us both."

She threw her arms round his neck exclaiming, "I forget everything! --"

"No, not quite," said he.

"I do! -- except that I love you. I wish I could be good, Winthrop! -- even as good as I used to be."

"That wouldn't content me," said her brother; -- "I want you to be better."

She clasped her arms in an earnest clasp about his neck, very close, but said nothing.

"Now sit down, Winnie," said he presently, gently disengaging her arms and putting her into a chair, -- "or something else will not be good enough."

She watched him again, while he turned the ham and put eggs in the skillet, and fetched out an odd little salt-cellar and more spoons and cups for the eggs.

"But Winthrop!" she said starting, -- "where's your tea- kettle?"

"I don't know. _I_ have never had it yet, Winnie."

"Never had a tea-kettle?"

"No."

"Then how do you do, Winthrop?"

"I do without," he said lightly. "Can't you?"

"Do without a tea-kettle!"

"Yes."

"But how do you make tea and coffee?"

"I don't make them."

"Don't you have tea and coffee?"

"No, except when somebody else makes it for me."

"I'll make it for you, Winthrop!"

"No, Winnie -- I don't want you to have it any more than myself."

"But Winthrop -- I can't drink water!"

"I think you can -- if I want you to."

"_I won't_," was in Winnie's heart to say; it did not get to her lips. With a very disturbed and unsettled face, she saw her brother quietly and carefully supply her plate -- the ham and the eggs and the bread and the butter, -- and then Winnie jumped up and came to his arms to cry; the other turn of feeling had come again. He let it have its way, till she had wept out her penitence and kissed her acknowledgment of it, and then she went back to her seat and her plate and betook herself to her breakfast. Before much was done with it, however, Mrs. Nettley and Mr. Inchbald came to the door; and being let in, overwhelmed them with kind reproaches and welcomes. Winnie was taken down stairs to finish her breakfast _with_ tea and coffee; and Winthrop leaving her in hands that he knew would not forget their care of her, was free to go about his other cares, with what diligence they might require.

That same morning, before she had left her own room, Miss Haye was informed that a black girl wished to speak with her. Being accordingly ordered up, said black girl presented herself. A comely wench, dressed in the last point of neatness, though not by any means so as to set off her good accidents of nature. Nevertheless they could not be quite hid; no more than a certain air of abundant capacity, for both her own business and other people's. She came in and dropped a curtsey.

"Who are you?" said Elizabeth.

"I am Clam, ma'am."

"Clam!" said Elizabeth. "O, are you Clam? Where have you come from?"

"From the boat, last place, ma'am."

"Boat! what boat?"

"The boat what goes with wheels and comes down the river," said Clam lucidly.

"Oh! -- And have you just come down?"

"We was comin' down all yesterday and last night, ma'am."

"_Who_ were coming?"

"Mr. Winthrop Landholm, and Winifred, and me."

"Winifred and you," said Elizabeth. "And did he send you to me?"

Clam nodded. "He said he would ha' writ somethin', if he'd ha' had a piece of paper or card or anything, but he hadn't nothing."

"He would have written what?"

"Don't know -- didn't say."

"Do you know who I am?"

Clam nodded again and shewed her teeth. "The lady Mr. Winthrop sent me to."

"Do you remember ever seeing me before?"

"When he was out walkin' with you in the rain," said Clam, her head first giving significant assent.

"Look here," said Elizabeth a little shortly, -- "when I speak to you, speak, and don't nod your head."

To which Clam gave the prohibited answer.

"What are you sent here for now?"

"I dun' know, ma'am."

"What did Mr. Winthrop say you were to do?"

"Said I was to come here, and behave."

"Why have you come away from Mrs. Landholm?"

"Didn't," said Clam. "She went away first. She's gone to heaven."

"Mrs. Landholm! Is she dead?"

Clam nodded.

"When? -- and what was the matter?"

"'Twa'n't much of anything the matter with her," said Clam; -- "she took sick for two or three days and then died. It's more'n a fortnight ago."

"And they sent for Mr. Winthrop?"

"Job Underhill rode down after him as hard as he could and fetched him up on horseback."

"In time?" said Elizabeth.

"He was in time for everything but himself. It was too late for him. But all the rest of the folks had the good of his coming."

"Why what was there for him to do?" said Elizabeth.

"He finds enough to do -- or he's pretty apt to --whenever he comes to a place," said Clam. "There was everybody to put in order, about. There was Mr. Landholm hardly fit to live, he was so willin' to die; and Winifred was crazy. She went and crawled under one of the beds to hide when she thought he was a comin'."

"When who was coming?"

"He -- Mr. Winthrop. And Karen was takin' airs -- _that_ aint out o' the common -- but I'd a little liever have him master than her mistress -- she wa'n't mine, neither."

"And where was Mr. Asahel?"

"He was there -- and good enough what there was of him; but he won't never stand in other folks' shoes."

"Do you say Winifred was _crazy?_"

"She was so feared to see her brother come home!"

"Her brother Winthrop?"

"There wa'n't no other coming," said Clam.

"Poor thing!" said Elizabeth. "And you say he has brought her down to Mannahatta?"

Clam nodded. "She don't think she's alive when he aint near her; so he's took her down to live with him. I guess it's good living with him," said Clam sagaciously. "I wish I did it."

"I must go and see her. Where is she?"

"She's wherever he's took her to."

"But where's that? -- don't you know?"

"It's to his house -- if you know where that is."

"Do you know what you've come here to do?" said Elizabeth after a slight pause.

Clam shook her head.

"One thing I can tell you, first of all," said Elizabeth, -- "it is to mind what I say to you."

"Mr. Winthrop said I was to behave," said Clam with another glimpse of her white teeth.

"Then don't shake your head any more when I speak to you. What have you been doing at Wut-a-qut-o?"

"At Wuttle-quttle?" said Clam.

"At Wut-a-qut-o. What did you do there?"

"'Tain't the name of the place," said Clam. "They call it Shah-wee-tah."

"Wut-a-qut-o is the name of the mountain -- it's all one. What have you been used to do there?"

"Set tables --" said Clam considerately.

"What did Mrs. Landholm teach you?"

"She learned me 'most everything," said Clam. "What she learned me most of all, was to have me read the Bible every day, and do nothin' wrong o' Sundays, and never say nothin' that wa'n't."

"That wasn't what?"

"That wa'n't _it_," said Clam. "Never to say nothin' that wa'n't the thing."

"Why, did you ever do that?" said Elizabeth.

"Maybe I did," said Clam, considering her new mistress's dressing-table. "Mis' Landholm was afeard on't."

"Well, you must be just as careful about that here," said Elizabeth. "I love truth as well as she did."

"All kinds?" said the girl.

Elizabeth looked at her, with a mouthful of answer which she did not dare to bring out. Nothing was to be made of Clam's face, except that infallible air of capacity. There was no sign of impertinent meaning.

"You look as if you could learn," she said.

"Been learnin' ever since I was big enough," said the black girl. And she looked so.

"Are you willing to learn?"

"Like nothin' better."

"Provided it's the right kind, I suppose," said Elizabeth, wholly unable to prevent her features giving way a little at the unshakable coolness and spirit she had to do with. Clam's face relaxed in answer, after a different manner from any it had taken during the interview; and she said,

"Well, I'll try. Mr. Winthrop said I was to be good; and I ain't a goin' to do nothin' to displease him, anyhow!"

"But the matter is rather to please _me_, here," said Elizabeth.

"Well," said Clam with her former wide-awake smile, "I guess what 'll please him 'll please you, won't it?"

"Go down stairs, and come to me after breakfast," said her mistress. "I'll let you make some new dresses for yourself the first thing. And look here, --" said she pulling a bright- coloured silk handkerchief out of a drawer, -- "put that into a turban before you come up and let me see what you're up to."

Clam departed without an answer; but when she made her appearance again, the orange and crimson folds were twisted about her head in a style that convinced Elizabeth her new waiting-maid's capacity was equal to all the new demands she would be likely to make upon it.