Chapter III

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, -- Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, Where, as the breezes pass, The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, -- Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, Or whiten in the wind, -- of waters blue That from the distance sparkle through Some woodland gap, -- and of a sky above, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. LOWELL.

Finding that the old farm must pass out of his hands, Mr. Landholm made up his mind not to spend another summer of labour and of life upon it; but at once with his son Asahel to move off to the West. He stayed but to reap the standing crops of winter grain, dispose of stock, and gather up all the loose ends of business; and left the hills of the Shatemuc, to seek better fortunes on a Western level.

They passed through Mannahatta on their way, that they might have a short sight of Winthrop and Winifred and say good-bye to them. It was not so joyful a visit that anybody wished it to be a long one.

"It's pretty hard," said the farmer, "to start life anew again at my time of day; -- but these arms are not worn out yet; I guess they'll do something -- more or less -- on a new field."

"Asahel's got strong arms, father," said Winifred, who was fain to put in a word of comfort when she could.

"Ay, and a strong heart too," said his father. "He's a fine fellow. He'll do, I guess, in the long run, -- at the West or somewhere; and at the West _if_ anywhere, they say. I'm not concerned much about him."

"There's no need, I think," said Winthrop.

"Where's Will? -- and what's he doing?"

"Will has just set off for Charleston -- on some agency business."

"Charleston in South Carolina?"

"Yes."

"Then he is not engineering now?"

"No."

"How long does he expect to be gone?"

"Some months -- more or less; -- I don't know."

"Is it a good business for him?"

"He has chosen it, -- not I."

"I would sooner trust your choice," said the father. "There's one thing Rufus wants; and that is, judgment."

"He'll do yet," said Winthrop. "And I shall not leave you long at the West, father. You will come when I send for you?"

"No, my boy," said the farmer looking gratified; -- "I'll live by my own hands as long as I have hands to live by; and as I said, mine haven't given out yet! No -- if the Lord prospers us, we'll have a visit from you and Winnie out there, I expect -- by and by, when we get things in order; -- you and Winnie, and anybody else you've a mind to bring along!"

It was spoken heartily, but with a tear in the eye; and nobody answered; unless it were answer, the long breath which Winnie drew at the very idea of such a visit.

Winthrop heard it; but through the long weeks of summer he could give her nothing more of country refreshment than the old walks on the Green and an occasional ride or walk on the opposite shore of one or the other of the rivers that bordered the city. Business held him fast, with a grip that he must not loosen; though he saw and knew that his little sister's face grew daily more thin and pale, and that her slight frame was slighter and slighter. His arm had less and less to do, even though her need called for more. He felt as if she was slipping away from him. August came.

"Winnie," said he one evening, when he came home and found her lying on her couch as usual, -- "how would you like to go up and pay Karen a visit?"

"Karen?" -- said Winnie, -- "where?"

"At home. -- At Wut-a-qut-o."

"Wut-a-qut-o!" said Winnie; -- "is Karen there? I thought Shahweetah was sold."

"It isn't sold yet -- it won't be till September -- and Karen is there yet, keeping house with her brother Anderese."

"Anderese! -- is old Anderese there?" said Winnie. "O I should like to go, Governor!" she said raising herself on her elbow. "Can we?"

"Yes, if you like. Hildebrand Cowslip is down here with his father's sloop -- how would you like to go up in her?"

"In the sloop? -- O how good!" said Winnie bringing her thin hands together. "Can we? But dear Governor, you can't be away?"

"Yes -- just as well as not. There isn't much doing in August -- everybody takes a resting time; and so you and I will, Winnie," said he, bending down to kiss her.

Winnie looked up at him gratefully and lovingly with her wistful large eyes, the more expressive from the setting of illness and weakness in the face.

"I'd like you to have a rest, dear Governor."

He stood stroking back the ringlets from the thin blue-veined temple.

"Wouldn't it do you good to see Wut-a-qut-o again?"

"O I am sure it would! -- And you too, wouldn't it?"

"I am good enough already," said Winthrop looking down at her.

"Too good," said Winnie looking up at him. "I guess you want pulling down!"

She had learned to read his face so well, that it was with a pang she saw the look with which he turned off to his work. A stranger could not have seen in it possibly anything but his common grave look; to Winnie there was the slight shadow of something which seemed to say the "pulling down" had not to be waited for. So slight that she could hardly tell it was there, yet so shadowy she was sure it had come from something. It was not in the look merely -- it was in the air, -- it was, she did not know what, but she felt it and it made her miserable. She could not see it after the first minute; his face and shoulders, as he sat reading his papers, had their usual calm stability; Winnie lay looking at him, outwardly calm too, but mentally tossing and turning.

She could not bear it. She crawled off her couch and came and sat down at his feet, throwing her arms around his knee and looking up at him.

"Dear Governor! -- I wish you had whatever would do you good!"

"The skill of decyphering would do me a little good just now," said her brother. She could detect nothing peculiar in look or word, though Winnie's eyes did their best.

"But somehow I don't feel as if you had," she went on to say.

"Where is your faith?" -- he said quietly, as he made a note in the margin of the paper he was reading. Winnie could make nothing of him.

"Governor, when shall we go?"

"Hildebrand moves his sloop off to-morrow afternoon."

"And shall we go to-morrow?"

"If you don't object."

Winnie left the floor, clapping her hands together, and went back to her couch to think over at large the various preparations which she must make. Which pleasant business held her all the evening.

They were not large preparations, however; longer to think of than to do; especially as Winthrop took upon himself the most of what was done. One or two nick-nackeries of preparation, in the shape of a new basket, a new book, and a new shawl, seemed delightful to Winnie; though she did not immediately see what she might want of the latter in August.

"We shall find it cooler when we get under the shadow of Wut- a-qut-o, Winnie," said her brother; and Winnie was only too glad of a pretext to take the pretty warm wrapper of grey and blue worsted along.

She did not want it when they set out, the next afternoon. It was very warm in the streets, very warm on the quays; and even when the sloop pushed her way slowly out and left the quays at her back, there was little air stirring and the August sun beat down steadily on river and shore.

"This don't look much like gettin' up to Cowslip's Mill _this_ night," said the skipper. "Ain't it powerful!"

"The wind is coming off from the South," said Winthrop.

"Yes, I felt some little puffs on my cheek," said Winnie.

"Glad to hear it," said the sloop master, a tall, bony, ill- set-together specimen of a shore and water man; -- "there ain't enough now to send an egg-shell along, and I'd like to shew you a good run, Mr. Landholm, since you're goin' along with me. She looks smart, don't she?"

"If she'll only work as well," said Winthrop. "Hild', you haven't got much cargo aboard."

"Only as much as'll keep her steady," answered the skipper. "'Seems to me nobody ain't a wantin' nothin' up our ways. I guess you're the heaviest article on board, Winthrop; -- she never carried a lawyer before."

"Are lawyers heavy articles?" said Winnie laughing.

"'Cordin' to what I've heern, I should say they be; ain't they, squire? -- considerable, -- especially when they get on folks's hands. I hope you're a better sort, Winthrop, -- or ain't there much choice in 'em?"

"You shall try me when you get into trouble," said Winthrop.

"Is this Mr. Cowslip's old sloop?" said Winnie.

"She don't look old, does she?" inquired Mr. Hildebrand.

"But I mean, is it the same he used to have? -- No, she looks very handsome indeed."

"She's the old one though," said the skipper, "the same old Julia Ann. What's the use o' askin' ladies' ages? -- she's just as good as when she was young; and better dressed. I've had the cabin fixed up for you, Mr. Landholm, -- I guess it'll be pretty comfortable in there."

"It's a great deal pleasanter here," said Winnie. "There comes the wind! -- that was a puff! --"

"Well we're ready for it," said the skipper.

And stronger puffs came after, and soon a steady fair southerly breeze set up the river and sent the Julia Ann on before it. Straight up the river their course lay, without veering a point for miles. The sun was lowering towards the horizon and the heat was lessening momently, even without the south breeze which bade it be forgotten; and the blue waters of the river, so sluggish a little while ago, were briskly curling and rippling, and heading like themselves for Wut-a- qut-o.

Winnie sat still and silent in the shadow of the huge sail. Winthrop was standing close beside her, talking with the skipper; but he knew that his little sister had hold of his hand and had laid her unbonneted head against his arm; and when the skipper left him he stooped down to her.

"What do you think of it, Winnie?"

"O Winthrop! -- how delicious! -- Aren't you glad it is such beautiful world?"

"What are you thinking of in particular?"

"O everything. It isn't down here like Wut-a-qut-o, but everything is so delicious -- the water and the shore and the sunshine and the wind! --"

"Poor Winnie," said her brother stroking her hair, -- "you haven't seen it in a good while."

She looked up at him, a glance which touchingly told him that where he was she wanted nothing; and then turned her eyes again towards the river.

"I was thinking, Governor, that maybe I shall never go up here again."

"Well Winnie? --"

"I am very glad I can go this time. I am so much obliged to you for bringing me."

"Obliged to me, Winnie!"

He had placed himself behind his little sister, with one hand holding her lightly by each shoulder; and calm as his tone was, perhaps there came a sudden thought of words that he knew very well --

"There fairer flowers than Eden's bloom, "Nor sin nor sorrow know; "Blest seats! through rude and stormy seas "I onward press to you." --

For he was silent, though his face wore no more than its ordinary gravity.

"Governor," said Winnie half turning her head round to him, "I wish these people were not all round here within hearing, so that we could sing. -- I feel just like it."

"By and by, Winnie, I dare say we can."

"How soon do you think we shall get to Wut-a-qut-o."

"Before morning, if the wind holds."

The wind held fair and rather strengthened than lost, as the evening went on. Under fine headway the Julia Ann swept up the river, past promontory and bay, nearing and nearing her goal. Do her best, however, the Julia Ann could not bring them that night to any better sleeping advantages than her own little cabin afforded; and for those Winthrop and Winnie were in no hurry to leave the deck. After the skipper's hospitality had been doubtfully enjoyed at supper, and after they had refreshed themselves with seeing the sun set and watching the many-coloured clouds he left behind him, the moon rose in the other quarter and threw her 'silver light' across the deck, just as duskiness was beginning to steal on. The duskiness went on and shrouded the hills and the distant reaches of the river in soft gloom; but on board the Julia Ann, on her white sails and deck floor where the brother and sister were sitting, and on a broad pathway of water between them and the moon, her silver light threw itself with brightening and broadening power. By and by Mr. Hildebrand's two or three helpers disposed of themselves below deck, and nobody was left but Mr. Hildebrand himself at the helm.

"Now we can sing!" exclaimed Winnie, when one or two turns of her head had made her sure of this; and to Winthrop's surprise she struck up the very words part of which had been in his own remembrance.

"'Jerusalem! my happy home -- "'Name ever dear to me -- "'When shall my labours have an end, "' In joy and peace in thee!"'

Winnie's voice was as sweet and clear as a bird's, if weakness left it not much stronger; that of her brother was deep, mellow, and exceeding fine; it was no wonder that the skipper turned his head and forgot his tiller to catch the fulness of every note. When the last had sounded, there was nothing to be heard but the rippling of water under the sloop's prow; the sails were steady and full, the moonlight not more noiseless; the wind swept on with them softly, just giving a silent breath to their cheeks; the skipper held his tiller with a moveless hand.

"What next, Winnie?" her brother whispered. The soft gurgle of the water had been heard for several minutes.

"How fond Karen is of that hymn," said Winifred. "Governor, do you think I shall live long in this world?"

She was leaning, half lying, upon Winthrop, with his arm round her. Her voice had put the question in precisely the same tone that it had given the remark.

"Why do you ask me that, Winnie?"

"Because -- sometimes I think I sha'n't, -- and I want to know what you think."

"You will live, I am sure, dear Winnie, till God has done for you all he means to do; -- till he has fitted his child for heaven; -- and then he will take her."

"I know that," said Winifred with a grateful half look up at him; -- "but I mean -- you know I am not well quite, and weak, and I don't think I get any better; -- don't you think that it won't take a very great while, very likely?"

"How would you feel, Winnie, if you thought that was so?"

"I _do_ think it sometimes -- pretty often," -- said Winnie, "and it don't make me feel sorry, Governor."

"You think heaven is better than earth."

"Yes, --and then -- that's one good thing of my sickness -- it don't seem as if I ever could do much if I lived, so it matters the less."

"Nobody knows how much he does, who does his duty," said Winthrop.

"Why I can't do anything at all!" said Winnie.

"Every talent that isn't buried brings something into the treasury," said Winthrop.

"Yes -- that's pleasant," said Winnie; -- "but I don't know what mine is."

"The good that people do unconsciously is often more than that they intend."

"Unconsciously! -- But then they don't know whether they do it or not?"

"It don't hurt them, not to know," said her brother smiling.

"But what sort of good-doing is that, Winthrop?"

"It only happens in the case of those persons whose eye is very single; -- with their eye full of the light they are reflecting, they cannot see the reflection. But it is said of those that 'their works do follow them.'"

Winnie was tearfully silent, thinking of the ingathering of joy there would be for one that she knew; and if Winthrop's arm was drawn a little closer round her little figure, perhaps it was with a like thought for her. How bright the moonlight shone!

"That's pleasant to think, Governor, -- both parts of it," said Winifred softly, beating his hand slightly with one of her own. He was silent.

"Now won't you sing something else? -- for I'm tired," she said, nestling her head more heavily on his breast.

And he sang again. --

"'Vain are all terrestrial pleasures, "' Mixed with dross the purest gold; "'Seek we then for heavenly treasures, "'Treasures never growing old. "'Let our best affections centre "'On the things around the throne; "'There no thief can ever enter, -- "'Moth and rust are there unknown.

"'Earthly joys no longer please us, "'Here would we renounce them all, "'Seek our only rest in Jesus, "'Him our Lord and Master call. "'Faith, our languid spirits cheering, "'Points to brighter worlds above; "'Bids us look for his appearing, "'Bids us triumph in his love.

"'Let our lights be always burning, "'And our loins be girded round, "'Waiting for our Lord's returning, "'Longing for the joyful sound. "'Thus the christian life adorning, "'Never need we be afraid, "'Should he come at night or morning, "'Early dawn, or evening shade."'

The air was slow, tender, and plaintive, and borne by the deep voice over all the breadth of the moon-lit river. Winnie's breath was fuller drawn; the skipper held his, and forgot his helm; and in every pause of the song, the sweet interlude was played by the water under the sloop's prow.

"Governor --" said Winnie, when the bubbling water had been listened to alone for a while.

"What?"

"Do you think those words are quite true?"

"Those words of the hymn?"

"Yes -- some of them. I think you like that hymn better than I do. 'Earthly joys no longer please us'; -- do you think that is right? -- They please me."

"It is only by comparison that they can be true, Winnie, certainly; -- except in the case of those persons whose power of enjoyment is by some reason or other taken away."

"But you like that hymn very much?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"I like part of it very much, and I like the tune; but I like to be able to say all the words of a hymn. How sweet that was! -- Governor, don't you think it would be pleasant to stay here all night?"

"Singing?"

"No -- but talking, and sleeping."

"I am afraid it would sadly hinder to-morrow's talk, and oblige you to sleep instead."

"Then I'll go right away. Do you think we shall be at Wut-a- qut-o in the morning?"

"If the wind holds."

By Winthrop's care and management the little cabin was made not absolutely uncomfortable, and Winnie's bed was laid on the floor between door and window so that she could sleep without being smothered. He himself mounted guard outside, and sleeping or waking kept the deck for the whole night.

"Governor," said Winnie cautiously putting her head out at the door, just as the summer dawn was growing into day, -- "Governor! -- are we there?"

"We are _here_."

"Where?"

"Lying at Cowslip's Mill."

"Oh! --"

The rest of Winnie's joyous thought was worked into her shoes and dress and bonnet-strings, and put away in her bag with her night-cap. How fast it was all done! and she pushed open her cabin door and stood on the deck with Winthrop.

Yes -- there was the green wooded shore -- how fresh to her eyes! -- There was Mr. Cowslip's brown old house and mill; there was the old stage road; and turning, there two miles off lay Shahweetah, and there rose up Wut-a-qut-o's green head. And with a sob, Winnie hid her face in Winthrop's arms. But then in another minute she raised it again, and clearing away the mute witnesses of joy and sorrow, though it was no use for they gathered again, she looked steadily. The river lay at her feet and stretched away off up to Shahweetah, its soft gray surface unbroken by a ripple or an eddy, smooth and bright and still. Diver's Rock stood out in its old rough outline, till it cut off the west end of Shahweetah and seemed to shut up the channel of the river. A little tiny thread of a north wind came down to them from Home, over the river, with sweet promise. And as they looked, the morning light was catching Wut-a-qut-o's grave head, and then hill-top after hill-top, and ridge after ridge of the high mountain land, till all of them were alight with the day's warm hues, while all beneath slept yet in the greys of the dawn. The brother and sister stood side by side, perfectly silent; only Winnie's tears ran, sometimes with such a gush that it brought her head down, and sobs that could be heard came to Winthrop's ears. They stood till they were hailed by the old miller.

"Ha! Winthrop -- glad to see ye! how do you do? Haven't seen your face this great while. Winnie? is it? -- Glad to see ye! She's growed a bit. Come right along into the house -- we'll have something for breakfast by and by, I expect. I didn't know you was here till five minutes ago -- I was late out myself -- ain't as spry as I used to be; -- Come!" --

"Oh Governor, let's go straight home!" said Winnie.

"There's time enough yet, Mr. Cowslip, for your purposes. What o'clock do you suppose it is?"

"Well, I s'pose it's somewhere goin' on to six, ain't it?"

"It has left five. We can breakfast with Karen yet, Winnie."

"Oh do, Governor!"

"If you'll give us a boat instead of a breakfast, Mr. Cowslip, we will thank you just as much, and maybe take your hospitality another time."

"But won't you stop and take just a mouthful first? you'd better."

"No thank you. We shall have to take it up there; and two breakfasts a day don't agree with me."

With some sorrow on Mr. Cowslip's part, this was submitted to. The boat was got out; Hildebrand dropped into it and took the oars, "guessing he wouldn't mind going himself;" and Winthrop and Winnie sat close together in the stern. Not to steer; for Hildebrand was much too accustomed an oarsman to need any such help in coasting the river for miles up and down.