Part 2

"No; he must have gone by the west road. I wonder if he will stop at the tavern? If he does, the landlord will tell him my traps are there."

"I presume he will go to the tavern, child. We are expecting his cousin Rensford, the clergyman, to-day, and your father went as much to bring him over as anything."

"Pshaw! the old minister?" cried Chester. "How long is he going to stay?"

"I hope not a great while," said Sarah. "Anything but a minister--out of the pulpit."

"He'll just spoil my visit," rejoined her brother. "He has been here, hasn't he? I think I remember seeing him, when I was about so high," measuring off the door-post.

"He spent the night here, several years ago; but we don't know much about him, only by hearsay. He's a very good man, we are told," said Mrs. Royden, with a sigh; "but how we are going to have him in the family, I don't know."

Chester changed the topic of conversation by once inquiring for Hepsy. The girl did not make her appearance; and he expressed a desire to "see a basin of water and a hair-brush."

"You shall have the parlor bedroom," said Sarah.

"But if Mr. Rensford comes--" suggested her mother.

"O, he can go up-stairs."

"I won't hear to that!" cried Chester. "Give the old man the luxuries. I want to see the inside of my old room again."

"But Hepsy and the children have that room now."

"Never mind; I want to look into it. So bring up a basin of water, Sis."

The young man went up-stairs. He heard a flutter as he was about entering his old room. He went in; and Hepsy, pale, palpitating, speechless, caught in the act of arranging her brown hair,--which, like her eyes, was really beautiful,--shrank from his sight behind the door.

"Hillo! so I've found you!" he exclaimed, heartily. "I've been hunting the house through for you. Are you afraid of your cousin?"

The blood rushed into the poor girl's face, as she gave him her quivering hand. He did not kiss her, as he had kissed his sisters; but he pressed her hand kindly, and spoke to her in a very brotherly tone, inquiring how she was, and expressing delight at seeing her again.

As soon as she had recovered her self-possession, her eyes began to beam with pleasure, and her tongue found words. When Sarah came up, the two were sitting side by side upon a trunk; and Chester was rattling away at a great rate, telling his poor cousin of his adventures.

He went into another room to perform his ablutions, and Hepsy was left alone, her veins thrilling, her head dizzy, and all her nerves unstrung. The meeting, the surprise, the agitation and the joy, had been too much for her sensitive nature; and she sought relief in a flood of tears.

Chester was very restless. Scarcely was he seated again in the sitting-room, with his cravat freshly-tied, and his hair and whiskers newly-curled, when he thought of a call he wished to make before night. His mother scolded him dreadfully for running off so soon; but he did not mind it, and ordered Sam to bring his horse to the door.

The children were all around him, begging him not to go; but Willie encouraged the idea, provided he could go too, and ride behind.

"O, you can't ride this time," said Chester.

"Yes, I can. Sam tickled my foot; I couldn't ride good before," whined the child.

But his brother did not acknowledge his claims to indemnification, and mounted the horse. Willie began to cry, and, seizing a hoe, charged upon Samuel furiously, as the author of all his woes.

Chester laughed; but his mother cried out from the doorway, "Do let him ride! Why can't you?" and he called Sam to put the little hero up. He took him over the pommel of the saddle, and galloped away in fine style, leaving George crying with envy.

Willie was delighted, feeling no fear in Chester's arms; and when the latter asked him, in a coaxing tone, if he would go back, the little fellow said he would; and his brother swung him down by the arm from the saddle-bow. He went trudging through the sand, to meet the other children, and brag of his ride while the young man galloped gayly over the hill.

III.

EVENING AT THE FARM-HOUSE.

It was dusk when Chester returned. Riding up to the barn-door, he found Sam trying to make the cat draw a basket of eggs by a twine harness. Sam jumped up quickly, having cast off the traces, and began to whistle very innocently. The cat in harness darted around the corner, and disappeared in the shadows; while the mischief-maker swung the eggs on his arm, and, appearing suddenly to have observed Chester, stopped whistling, out of respect.

"What are you doing to that cat?" cried the young man.

"What cat? O!" said Sam, candidly, "she's got tangled in a string somehow, and I was trying to get her out."

"What a talent you have for lying!" laughed Chester. "Now, do you think you can take this horse over to the village without getting into some kind of a scrape?"

"O, yes!"

"Will you ride slow?"

"I won't go out of a walk," exclaimed Sam, positively.

"O, you may trot him, or go on a slow gallop, if you like; but don't ride fast, for he is jaded. Leave him at the tavern, and come home as fast as you like."

Sam was delighted with the idea; and, having put the eggs in a safe place, mounted the horse from the block, and galloped him slowly down the road.

In a little while he began to look back, and touch the animal gently with the whip, when he thought he was out of sight. Racing appeared to Sam to be capital fun. Instead of taking the nearest way to the village, he turned at the first cross-road, along which he could pursue his harmless amusement in a quiet and unostentatious manner.

In a few minutes he had lashed the horse into what is familiarly termed a "keen jump." The fences, the stones, the grove, with its deepening shadows, seemed to be on a "keen jump" in the opposite direction. The boy screamed with delight, and still plied the whip. Suddenly his straw hat was taken off by the wind, and went fluttering over the animal's crupper.

This was an unforeseen catastrophe; and, fearing lest he should not be able to find the lost article on his return, Sam attempted to slacken speed. But the animal manifested a perfect indifference to all his efforts. He sawed on the bit, and cried _whoa_, in vain. Frank was not a horse to be whipped for nothing, and he now meant to have his share of the fun. He seemed almost to fly. The rider became alarmed, and, to increase his fright, his left foot slipped out of the stirrup. In an instant he found himself bounding in a fearful manner over the pommel, then on the animal's neck. He cleared his right foot, abandoned the reins, and clung to saddle and mane with all his might. But he somehow lost his balance; he then experienced a disagreeable sensation of falling; and, after a confused series of disasters, of which he had but a numb and sickening consciousness, he made a discovery of himself, creeping out of a brier-bush, on the road-side.

The first object that attracted his attention was a riderless horse darting up the next hill, a quarter of a mile off; and here we must leave the bold adventurer, limping slowly, and with much trouble, over the road, in the dim hope of catching, at some future time, a fleet animal, going at the rate of fifteen miles an hour.

After sending Sam with the horse, Chester walked towards the house; but the family there assembled appearing to be in a sad state of confusion generally, he stopped before reaching the door. Willie was shrieking in the shed, and striking his cousin Hepsy, because she insisted on washing his feet before putting him to bed. Georgie was in the kitchen, blubbering sullenly; he had seen Sam trot Frank out of the yard, and was angry at losing the ride he had anticipated on Chester's return. Lizzie was trying to get a book away from Sarah, with much ado, and Mrs. Royden was scolding promiscuously.

"What a home to cheer a fellow, after six months' absence!" murmured the young man, feeling sick at heart; "and it would seem so easy to make it cheerful and pleasant!"

He turned away, and, walking into the orchard, met his brother James.

"Hasn't father returned?" he asked.

"Oh, yes; two hours ago."

"Did he bring my trunks?"

"Yes," said James; "and a load he had of it. The old minister is come, with baggage enough of his own to last, I should think, a year or two."

Chester expressed some disagreeable sentiments touching the old clergyman's visit, and walked with James into the lane, behind the barn, to find his father.

Mr. Royden was rejoiced to meet his long-absent son.

"You milk the old red cow yet, I see," said Chester.

"Yes," replied his father, continuing the humble occupation; "I suppose I shall have to as long as we keep her."

"How many times that foot of hers has knocked over a frothing pail for me!" rejoined Chester.

"I don't know why it is, but nobody except me can do anything with her," said Mr. Royden. "The hired men are as afraid of her foot as of a streak of lightning. Sometimes, when I am away, the boys try to milk her; but she thinks she has a perfect right to knock them around as she pleases. I believe it is because they are not gentle; they fool with her, and milk so slow that she gets out of patience; then, when she kicks, they whip her. That's no way, James. You see, I never have any trouble with her. I'd rather milk her than any cow in the yard; I never knew her to kick but once or twi--"

"This is the third time!" said Chester, laughing.

While his father was speaking the cow's foot had made one of its sudden and rapid evolutions. The pail was overturned; the milk was running along the ground, and the animal was running down the lane.

Mr. Royden got up from the stool, and looked at mischief she had done, with a blank expression.

"You didn't get spattered, I hope?" said he.

"No, I think not;" and Chester passed his hand over his clothes.

"Shall I head her off?" asked James.

"No. I had just finished."

"That's just the time she always kicks, father."

"I know it; and I ought to have been on the lookout. She don't like to have any talking going on during the business of milking. Come, let us go to the house."

The children had been put to bed; the candles were lighted, and the sitting-room looked quite cheerful.

"What made you stay so long, Chester?" asked Mrs. Royden. "You haven't had any supper, have you?"

"Yes; the Dustans invited me to tea."

"And did you walk home?"

"Walk! No, indeed, I rode."

"But you are not going to keep that horse over night, on expense, I hope," said Mrs. Royden.

Chester replied that he had sent Sam with him to the village.

"Now, that boy will do some mischief with him, you may depend! Why couldn't you walk over from the tavern in the first place, instead of hiring a horse? You shouldn't be so careless of expense, Chester."

The young man began to whistle. The entrance of Sarah seemed a relief to him; and he immediately proposed a game of whist. His mother opposed him strenuously, saying that she wanted him to talk, and tell all about his fortunes and prospects, that evening; but it was his object to avoid all conversation touching his own conduct, in presence of the family.

"Come, Jim," said he, "where are the cards? Will Hepsy play?"

"Hepsy is busy," replied Mrs. Royden, curtly. "If you must play, Lizzy will make up the set."

"But the minister?" suggested Lizzie.

"Yes," said her mother. "It will not do to play before him."

"He has gone to bed, I am pretty sure," cried Sarah. "He was very tired, and it is all still in his room."

"Let us have a little sport, then, when we can," said Chester.

The table was set out; the players took their places, and the cards were shuffled and dealt.

"They don't know one card from another over at Deacon Smith's," observed Sarah, sorting her hand. "I never knew such stupid people."

"What is that,--a knave or a king?" inquired Lizzie, holding up one of her cards.

"Don't you know better than to show your hand?" cried James, who was her partner. "It's a knave, of course. The king has no legs."

"You needn't be so cross about it!" murmured Lizzie.

"If you don't know how to play," retorted her brother, "you'd better let Hepsy take your place."

"Children!" cried Mrs. Royden, "if you can't get along without quarreling, I will burn every card I find in the house. Now, do you mark my word!"

To keep peace, Chester proposed to take Lizzie for his partner; a new hand was dealt, and the play went on.

"I wish," said Mrs. Royden, as her husband entered the room, "I wish you would make the children give up their whist for this evening."

But Mr. Royden liked to have his family enjoy themselves; and, as long as cards kept them good-natured, he was glad to see them play. He sat down by the side-table, opened a fresh newspaper he had brought from the village, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and began to read.

IV.

THE OLD CLERGYMAN.

In a little while, Hepsy came in from the kitchen, having finished her work, and, timidly drawing a chair near the whist-table, sat down to watch the game.

"I don't want Hepsy looking over my shoulder!" exclaimed Lizzie, with an expression of disgust.

"If you would let her tell you a little about the game, you would get along full as well," observed James, sarcastically.

"I don't want _her_ to tell me!"

"Hepsy," spoke up Mrs. Royden, "why don't you take your sewing? You won't do any good there."

"Do let her look on, if it interests her," said Mr. Royden, impatiently putting down his paper, and lifting his glasses. "Don't keep her at work all the time."

But Hepsy, the moment Lizzie spoke, had shrank away from the table, with an expression of intense pain on her unattractive face.

"Come here, Hepsy," said Chester, drawing a chair for her to his side; "you may look over my shoulder. Come!"

The girl hesitated, while the big tears gathered in her eyes; but he extended his hand, and, taking hers, made her sit down. After he had played his card, he laid his arm familiarly across the back of her chair. Her face burned, and seemed to dry up the tears which had glistened, but did not fall.

Mr. Royden took up his paper again with an air of satisfaction; his wife looked sternly reconciled, and plied her sewing vigorously. The play went on pleasantly; Lizzie feeling so thoroughly ashamed of her unkindness to Hepsy--which she would not have thought of but for Chester's rebuke--that she did not speak another disagreeable word during the evening.

"Put the cards under the table,--quick!" suddenly exclaimed James.

"What's the matter?" asked Sarah.

"The minister is coming!" he added, in a fearful whisper.

Footsteps were indeed heard approaching from the parlor. The young people were in a great flurry, and Sarah and Lizzie hastened to follow James' advice and example. But Chester would not give up his cards.

"Let him come," said he. "If he never saw a pack of cards, it is time he should see one. It is your play, Sarah."

Thus admonished, the children brought out their cards again, and recommenced playing, in a very confused manner. Chester's example was hardly sufficient to give them courage in the eyes of the minister.

They heard the door open, and there was not a face at the table, except Chester's, but burned with consciousness of guilt.

"Ah, how do you feel, after your journey?" asked Mr. Royden. "Hepsy, place a chair for Mr. Rensford."

"No, no; do not trouble yourself, my child," said the old gentleman, smiling kindly upon the girl. "Let me help myself."

He sat down in the seat she had vacated, behind Lizzie's chair.

"I feel much rested," he added, cheerily. "That nice cup of tea, Sister Royden, has made a new man of me."

Mrs. Royden acknowledged the compliment with a smile, and Mr. Royden proceeded to give his venerable relative a formal introduction to his son Chester. The young man arose proudly, and, holding the cards in his left hand, advanced to offer the other to the clergyman.

"Ah! my young friend again!" cried the old gentleman, with a gleam of genuine sunshine on his face. "I hardly expected to meet you so soon."

Chester's manner changed oddly. He recoiled a step, and, although he maintained his proud bearing, his eye fell, and his cheeks tingled with sudden heat. But, recovering himself almost immediately, he accepted the proffered hand, and murmured,

"This is a surprise! My compliments to you, sir. I am glad to see you looking so well, after your tedious journey."

"You have met before, I take it?" suggested Mr. Royden.

"Only this morning, and that without knowing each other," replied the clergyman. He looked over Lizzie's shoulder. "What is this, my dear? Whist?"

"Yes, sir," murmured the girl, feebly, and with a blush of shame.

In her confusion she threw down the worst card she could have played. But James did not do much better; and the trick was Chester's. He smiled as he took it up, and gently admonished his sister to be more careful of the game.

The old gentleman entered into conversation with the parents, and the children gradually recovered their nerves. But all were now anxious that the play should be brought to a close. It so happened that the victory, to Chester and Lizzie, depended upon one trick. She played wrong, and they lost it; when, to the astonishment of all, Mr. Rensford exclaimed,

"Ah! that was a bad play, my dear! You should have led your ace, and drawn Sarah's queen, then your ten of trumps would have been good for the next trick. Don't you see?"

"Yes, sir," murmured Lizzie, submissively.

"One would say you were an old hand at the game," cried Chester.

"O, as to that," replied the clergyman, smiling, "I used to be considered a good whist-player in my younger days."

"Won't you take a hand now, sir?"

"No, I thank you," laughing good-humoredly; "I gave up the amusement twenty years ago. But let me take the cards, if you are done with them, and I will show this little girl a pleasant trick, if I have not forgotten it."

"Certainly, sir," said Chester.

The family began to like the old gentleman already. Lizzie gave him her seat at the table, and looked over his shoulder. He sorted the cards with his thin, white fingers, and gave a number of them historical names, telling her to remember them. He called the game "The Battle of Waterloo." It proved eminently interesting to the older children, as well as to Lizzie; and, in such a simple, beautiful manner did the old man go through with the evolutions, that all, even the proud Chester, afterwards knew more about the last days of Napoleon's power than they had learned in all their lives.

"There!" exclaimed the clergyman, "isn't that as good as whist?"

"I like it better," answered Lizzie, who found herself already leaning fondly on his shoulder. "But what did they do with Napoleon?"

"Would you like to know?"

"O, yes! very much."

"Well, then, I will tell you. Or, since it is getting late, suppose I lend you a little book in the morning, that relates all about it?"

"I would like to read it," said Lizzie.

"Then I will teach you the game, and you can teach it to your little brothers, when they get older," continued the clergyman.

"Lizzie!" spoke up Mrs. Royden, "don't you know better than to lean upon your uncle's shoulder?"

"I didn't think," replied the girl, the smiles suddenly fading from her warm, bright face.

"O, I love to have her!" cried Mr. Rensford, putting his arm around her kindly.

"But I thought you must be very weary," said Mrs. Royden.

"It rests me to talk with happy children, at any time."

"You are not much like me, then; for when I am tired I never want them round."

"Ah! you lose a great deal of comfort, then!" softly observed the old gentleman, kissing Lizzie's cheek. "I had a little girl once, and her name was Lizzie, too," he added, his mild blue eyes beginning to glisten.

"Where is she now?" asked Lizzie.

"In heaven."

The clergyman's voice was scarcely raised above a whisper; but so deep was the silence in the room, that he was heard distinctly. Hepsy's eyes swam with tears; and the rest of the family were more or less affected by the pathetic reply.

"It is a comfort to think she is there, isn't it?" he continued, with a smile of happiness radiating his calm and hopeful countenance. "How good God is to us!" he exclaimed, fervently.

Afterwards, he engaged in cheerful conversation with the parents; but soon expressed a wish to retire, and, kissing Lizzie again and shaking hands with all the rest, with a pleasant word for each, he took his candle, and withdrew.

But he seemed to have left the warmth of his presence behind him. The family had never separated with happier faces and kinder words than on that night; and Sarah, James and Lizzie, went lovingly up-stairs together.

Chester remained with his parents, to have a little private conversation before going to bed. Mrs. Royden broke the silence.

"It is strange what has become of that boy, Samuel. It was time he was back, half an hour ago."

"I've been thinking about him," replied Chester, with an anxious look. "If he is riding that horse all over creation, I wouldn't give much for him, in the morning."

"I never knew the little rascal to do an errand without doing some mischief with it," added his father. "But he does not mean anything very bad. There's no danger of his doing much damage; so let us forget him for the present, Chester, and talk over your affairs."

V.

CHESTER'S CONFESSION.

Chester could no longer evade the leading question, "Why had he left the academy?" Much as he dreaded giving an account of his conduct, he could not put it off.

As he anticipated, his father was inexpressibly irritated, and his mother decidedly cross, when he confessed that he had been expelled.

"What did you do to bring such disgrace upon your name?" groaned Mr. Royden, more grieved than angry.

"Well," replied Chester, with a burning face, yet without descending from his proud demeanor, "I suppose I transgressed some of their old fogy laws."

"Broke their regulations! But it must have been something outrageous, to result in an expulsion. Tell the whole truth, Chester."

The young man hesitated no more, but made a "clean breast" of the affair. His expulsion had not been a public one, the daughter of the principal having been intimately concerned in his transgressions. Chester had met her clandestinely, won her affections, and brought about an engagement of marriage between them, contrary to her father's will and commands.

When Mrs. Royden learned that the young lady was heiress to a comfortable fortune left her by a near relative, she was quite ready to forgive her son's rashness. But his father reprimanded him severely.

"I hope you have given up the foolish idea of marrying the romantic girl," he said.

"No, sir,--never!" exclaimed Chester, fervently. "If I lose her, I shall never marry. I have her promise, and I can wait. It will not be long before she can marry without her father's consent as well as with it."

"But what do you intend to do, in the mean time?" asked Mr. Royden, in a rather bitter tone.

"I would like," replied Chester, more humbly, as if anxious to propitiate his father,--"I would like to commence with the next term at the L---- Institute."

"A beautiful way you have gone to work to encourage me in what I am doing for you!" interrupted Mr. Royden. "No, Chester! I shall not hear a word to your going to L----. You must stay at home now until you are of age."

The young man leaned his head upon his hand, and looked gloomily at the floor. His father broke the silence.

"A boy of your years to talk of marrying! Preposterous!"

"I have no idea of it, within a year or two," said Chester. "But let things take their course. Do you expect me now to stay at home?"

"Why not?"

"And work on the farm?"

"Are you getting too proud for that,--with your heiress in view?" asked Mr. Royden, with sarcasm.

"It seems as though I might be doing something more profitable, to prepare me for entering life."