CHAPTER XXVI.

THE OLD HOUSE AT ROXBURY.

"Well, upon my word I do think it's perfectly awful. Jest look there! How that lookin' glass come broke is more than I know," and Mrs. Morris took off her spectacles and wiped away a few tears. "I'd a jest rather give five dollars than to have it done."

"Oh, no, that would be foolish," said Miss Elsworth, "for five dollars would buy a much nicer one."

"But la me, it's a bad sign, an awful bad sign."

Miss Elsworth smiled.

"Why, yes," she said, "so it is. It is a sure sign that I shall have to get another."

"Miss Elsworth, I hate to leave town, for I'm afraid I'll never find my boy."

"Perhaps we will find him where we are going."

"If we could I'd jump for joy. It is more than five years since I seen him, and oh, he was the prettiest boy I ever did see."

Miss Elsworth looked at the sweet face that grew so sad every time she spoke of her son, and in her heart she pitied her. She had known sorrow herself, but she was too brave to sit down and brood over useless troubles. She tried to bury the unpleasant past, and live for the work that was before her. She worked so vigorously that she hardly stopped to think that she had ever seen a sorrowful day, and not an idle moment did she spend. Her books and her pen were her most intimate friends, though she had a pleasant smile for all with whom she came in contact. She was very benevolent, and in her kindness of heart she had resolved to help Mrs. Morris out of her trouble if she could. She had decided to leave the city for a time, taking Mrs. Morris with her to attend to her household affairs as usual.

"Is it real pleasant where you are going?" Mrs. Morris asked.

"Yes, pleasant, but very lonely, and I am afraid you will find it too quiet, but we shall probably not stay there very long."

"What makes you go to such an out-of-the-way place?"

"I have several reasons; one is that I wish to be entirely alone for a few months, as I have a great amount of work to do, and can work much better where it is quiet."

"I'll have to be pretty much alone, won't I?" Mrs. Morris asked.

"Yes, but you will certainly have no intruders."

"Oh, well, I ain't no coward, anyway. How long will you stay there?"

"I really cannot tell, perhaps all winter."

"And we must be all ready to start the day after to-morrow, must we?"

"Yes," said Blanche, as she left the room.

"I don't jest like the idea of goin'," said Mrs. Morris to herself, as the door closed after Miss Elsworth, "for breakin' that air glass ain't no sign o' good luck, and I know it. It jest seems to me as though something was goin' to happen, and I believe I'll have the blues till another glass comes into the house."

The house which Blanche Elsworth had chosen was one which very few having fine taste would select. It was a large old-fashioned Gothic building that looked as though it could not stand a hard rain, or a strong wind. It stood near a rocky slope, and beside its pebbly walks were the remains of quaint looking flower beds. It had once been the home of a wealthy farmer, who, as prosperity continued, built a new and more commodious residence a mile away on the hill. His home there was lovely, and nothing that wealth could purchase was lacking. The old house had not been used for a number of years. Some of the blinds were swinging loosely while others were firmly closed, and the fastenings rusted in their sockets. The well curb was covered with bright green moss, and along the half leaning porch clung masses of rose bushes, which looked as though they had never known the pruner's knife, each branch running hither and thither at will. The house stood at the foot of a high, sloping hill, and but a few yards away in the ravine ran a clear little brook that danced down over the rocks, making music as it went.

"Well, it does beat all, Miss Elsworth, what funny taste you've got," said Mrs. Morris, the day after their arrival at Roxbury, "to get such an old spooky lookin' place as this. Why, it looks as though it was built on purpose for rats and ghosts, and I'll bet a cent we'll find both here afore we leave. Mercy, jest look at that air blind; it jest hangs by one hinge."

"That will be easily remedied. I brought hinges and locks along, for repairing."

"Yes, but who'll do the job?"

"I will."

"You?"

"Certainly."

"Well, that beats me to think of you doing carpenter work."

"That is but a few minutes' work."

"Yes; but just think, it's a man's work."

"Never mind, it is a small job."

"And jest look, there's three or four lights o' glass out in the parlor, and two or three out in the settin' room."

"It is no great job to replace them."

"But jest think, they ain't a man around the house to do it."

"We do not want a man around; I shall do the work myself."

"There's a piece o' board broke out o' the kitchen floor too."

"A few moments' work will repair that."

"But you hain't got hammer and nails, and you couldn't do it if you had."

"Couldn't I? Do you think I have not sense enough to drive a nail?"

"But you'll pound your fingers."

"Why, no; I shall strike the nail."

"But you haven't any board to fit the place."

"A little sawing will make one fit."

"But you hain't any saw nor hammer nor nails."

"Yes, I have; I brought enough of such articles to answer every purpose."

"You don't say! Why, how did you know you could use 'em when you got here?"

"I knew I could try."

"But the house needs an awful lot o' repairin', and it needs paintin' from top to bottom."

"We shall not stay here long, and a few repairs will answer."