However, if he did not know how to keep order in the school—and some people said he did not—I verily believe he knew everything else in the world.
He was an Antiquary, I have often heard Mrs.Janet say, and a Botanist, and a Geologist, and an Astronomer. The words sounded so very grand as Mrs. Janet rolled them slowly out, that I recollected them all, though I had not the least idea what any of them meant.
'He's too book-learned for us, that's where it is,' the great men of the parish sometimes said, shaking their heads wisely. Yet they were fond of him and proud of him all the same.
Mrs. Janet shook her head too. She would fain have ruled Master Caleb's scholars for him, as when he was a little boy she used to rule himself. It was pain and grief to her to sit idle in the parlour, and know that 'the boy' was letting things go their own way too much in the school.
Not that he always did so by any means. The boys said they never knew what he would be at, for they found themselves brought to justice now and then when they were least looking for it. There was a boyish corner in his own heart, staid, quaint, and learned as he was, that gave him a secret fellow-feeling for Cuthbert's love of roaming, and I guessed that he was oftentimes the hardest upon him when he was most tempted to let him off altogether.
With the youngest class of all—a helpless clusterof tiny boys and girls, who were only sent to school because they were in the way at home, he was at all events tireless and gentle. Very tenderly he guided the fat forefingers to point along the lines, helped the lisping baby tongues over the hard words, and never lost patience with the blue, wondering, foolish eyes that could see no difference between A and Z.
It was when he turned back to the first class, great boys who could learn and wouldn't learn, that the puzzled, worried look we all knew well came across his face. I think the reason he was so good to me was that I really liked to learn.
So he lent me books, and took me for long walks across the hills. Wonderful walks they were—very different from the headlong way Cuthbert went across the country. Master Caleb carried a hammer with him to chip off bits of rock, and a trowel to dig up out-of-the-way plants, and a big basket to carry what he called his specimens. He loved the beautiful earth with a great reverent love.
I think Master Caleb must have been very lonely, or he would never have made a friend of such a boy as I was; but for all his learning he was just as simple-hearted as a child.
Even I knew more of the world than he did, at least of the world as it was at Wyncliffe. He came at last to treat me as if I was nearly his own age, and to talk to me of the things that he was thinking most about.
For Mrs. Janet, proud of him as she was, rather disapproved of his learning. She could not well say what harm she expected it to do him, but she was clear in her own mind that Caleb went too far. He knew so much and saw so many sides to everything that he got mazed, she said.
'But there is more than one side to most questions, isn't there?' he sometimes asked.
'Yes, Caleb. There's a right side and a wrong, and that's enough for me.'
'Well, my dear,' I remember her saying eagerly to him one day, when it was so hot that everything and everybody had gone wrong in school, and the sound of a scuffle had reached her from afar; 'Well, brother, I trust you haven't spared the rod to-day.'
'Why, Janet,'—he pushed back the hair from his forehead,—'it's very hot, and everybody feels cross. I'm sure I do.'
'Caleb!' in an awful voice.
'Don't you believe in atmospheric influences?'asked Master Caleb, who was rather fond of bringing out a hard word now and then.
'Atmospheric nonsense,' said Mrs. Janet, knitting furiously.
He stood at the open door watching the great thunder-clouds that came marching across the sky to the battle. Cuthbert and I had not gone home to dinner because of the coming storm, the first heavy rain-drops of which were beginning to fall sullenly.
'To talk of such-like heathenish things,' burst out Mrs. Janet presently, 'before your scholars too.'
'Heathenish things—electricity. I will prove to you——'
'Boys,' she went on unheeding, 'the weather is always good weather, and no one ought to feel different in hot weather or in cold, or whether it rains or the sun shines. No, Caleb, I don't care what your books say.'
For Master Caleb had brought a big heavy book from the shelf, and after rubbing the dust off the leaves with loving care, was laying it open on the table before her.
The mere sight of it scattered his enemies quicker than any of his arguments could have done; Cuthbertseized his cap, and was through the door out into the rain in the twinkling of an eye.
Mrs. Janet suddenly remembered that the pudding needed her instant presence in the kitchen. Master Caleb and I were left alone.
'It's all in here,' he said, looking up at me with a baffled face.
'What is, sir?'
'The Laws of Electricity. It's no good talking to women—to most women, that is to say. See how clearly he puts it.'
I don't know whether it was the thunder-storm; it may have been the atmospheric influences (what hard words) that made me feel so stupid. I looked at the big book with a sigh. 'Did one man write all that, sir?'
'Ay, that, and a vast deal more. It was written, Willie, by Professor Bruce.'
No wonder he spoke the name in an impressive under-tone. It was one very familiar to all Master Caleb's friends. Professor Bruce was his hero. Professor Bruce was seldom out of his mouth. According to him, Professor Bruce had written something to prove everything that could be proved. Master Caleb's one boast and source of pride was that he knew the great man well. Several yearsago Professor Bruce—now growing old—had left London, where he had passed most of his life, writing books and lecturing, and to the everlasting glory of our quiet old town, Morechester, he had lived there ever since.
It was the greatest honour Master Caleb could bestow on me, the only one of his many kindnesses that he ever thought deserved my gratitude, that a time came when he deemed me worthy to see Professor Bruce. It was on the day of the thunder-storm that I knew my good fortune first.
'You're a hard-working boy, Willie, and the sight of a great man like that will do you good. I'll take you into Morechester.'
'To Morechester, Master Caleb! will you really? I've never seen a town before.'
'You will see Professor Bruce,' he answered sternly.
'Oh yes,' I said hurriedly. 'Professor Bruce of course. I meant that. Thank you, sir.'
So it was settled.
Master Caleb, good man, need not have been so sharp on me for wishing to see Morechester. It was not only to visit Professor Bruce, as I found out afterwards, that he cared so much for going there himself.
'Cuthbert, I wish you were going too,' I said just before we started.
'I should like well enough to go to Morechester,' he answered, stretching himself, 'but I'd rather not see any more schoolmasters.'
Market day at Morechester! The busiest and most stirring scene I had ever beheld.
A long sunny street stretching up a hill, built of irregular houses,—old and new, tall and short, brown and grey and red,—high houses with square windows and green shutters,—short houses, having high-pitched roofs, carved wooden balconies, and queer-shaped windows overhanging the roof; here and there a gilt weathercock flashing in the sun; oaken pillars supporting the jutting-out upper storey of some quaint old house; shop windows full of gorgeous coloured stuffs; the grey town hall, rich with ancient sculpture, standing back within its own railings; bright light, and black shadows lying across the uneven pavement. This, then, was a town.
Further on, the street widened into a sunlit market-place, and there an ever-shifting crowd came and went, bought and sold and bargained, round the old market cross.
What a noise there was! Farmers were riding up the street in twos and threes; their scarlet-cloakedwives jogged along laden with baskets of eggs and fresh butter; clattering carts, horses for sale were being trotted up and down, loud voices talking all at once.
Above all this there floated suddenly the music of airy chimes, followed by three slow deep strokes.
'Three by the Minster clock,' said Master Caleb.
The house we stopped at was close to the great towered church, which seemed to overshadow it and push it into the corner. It was a little low house, with dormer windows in a thatched roof, standing further back than its neighbours, and quite out of the reach of any stray sunbeams that found their way over the Minster roof.
Master Caleb rang a jangling bell, and as we stood waiting, whispered hurriedly, 'Make your bow, Willie, and don't speak unless you are spoken to.'
We were inside in a narrow passage; then a door opened.
'Hush,' said Master Caleb.
I never saw any room at all like the Professor's study. Coming into it out of the sunshine it was at first too dark to see anything distinctly. The only window looked out upon a blank wall. Inside,the walls of the room seemed to be made of books, and there were piles of them besides, heaped up on the chairs and on the floor.
What wonderful things there were crowded on to the tables and mantel-shelf, and filling the half-open cupboards. Wonderful things? frightening things rather. I am not going to describe them, seeing that I know not what any of them were. 'Chemical apparatus' is the name Master Caleb gave them afterwards, whatever that may be. But such a number of queer-shaped jars and glasses, and saucers and tubes, such odd glass spoons and ladles, such strange liquids and powders, and bits of metal as were lying about, I should think no one else ever gathered round them before or since.
My first thought was, whatever Granny would say if Cuthbert and I made her clean kitchen at home half so untidy-looking as this.
Then I saw the great man himself sitting at the table holding an open letter in one hand and an oddly-shaped bottle in the other, an old man with a keen wrinkled face, who seemed to me at first sight to be all black and white; for white eyebrows shaded his piercing black eyes, and he wore a black velvet cap over his white hair, and a blackdressing-gown, against which his long thin hands looked wonderfully white.
He seemed too eager over his letter and his bottle to have much time to spare for greeting Master Caleb. He began directly, speaking fast and loud. To my surprise Master Caleb immediately got excited too, and stood listening with a rapt face while the Professor poured out a torrent of hard words. I don't think it was English that he talked, or I should have understood it. After that I did not need to be told what a great man he was. I had heard it for myself.
My best bow was not needed. No one noticed me. I sat down, as Master Caleb had bidden me, in a corner, on the edge of a chair that was piled up with big books, and listened with respectful wonder. But the hard words I did not understand went on for a long time, and the room was hot, and full of odd sleepy smells. I much fear that I fell asleep in Professor Bruce's study. Once I woke up for a minute with a great start, and saw Master Caleb on his knees, pouring something into a saucer, while the Professor shouted directions at the top of his voice, and there was a fizzing noise and an odder smell than ever.
Then I dozed again, but was roused by MasterCaleb's jumping up suddenly, and turning back the sleeves of his coat in a great hurry. The Professor looked up impatiently. 'What's the matter?'
'I think somebody is coming,' said my master. The Professor listened for a minute. 'Why, it's only Dolly,' and went on with the reading of his letter.
A door behind his chair opened quietly, and there came in a small, lame girl in a grey gown.
This was 'Dolly,' then, and that was what I thought her at first, just a small lame girl in a grey gown. 'Dolly' came in slowly, and Master Caleb turned round and made her a beautiful low bow. He tried to go and meet her, but the Professor had got his hand upon his arm, and was pointing to him with the glass tube, and evidently had just come to the very pith of his discourse.
Dolly—Mistress Dorothy, as I called her later—leant over the back of her father's chair, and smiled at Master Caleb. Watching her from my dark corner, I presently saw how good she looked and how her eyes lighted up her pale face when she smiled—nice soft eyes they were; just as grey as her gown.
Professor Bruce never found out that his listener was not as attentive as before; but I saw more—histhoughts had wandered away from the wonderful saucer since the young lady came into the room.
I was getting tired of sitting so very still on the edge of the big books. I wanted to hear Mistress Dorothy speak. She saw me too, for she looked full into my corner, and then glanced at Master Caleb with another of her pleasant little smiles.
We waited until the Professor folded up the letter, and turning round in his chair so as to look up in his daughter's face, said, 'So we have got it all right at last, Dolly.'
She said heartily, 'I am so glad, father,' and then everybody moved.
The Professor pushed back his chair and stood up.
'Caleb Morton was in luck,' he said with a pleased look, 'to come in just as I was reading that letter. It makes it clear, Caleb, doesn't it.'
'Indeed it does, Professor. Mistress Dorothy,' and he went a step or two near to her and spoke low. I just caught the words, 'ventured,' 'my best boy,' and 'Wyncliffe Castle.'
She came to me with her hand stretched out. I made the bow that had been waiting for so longand at the first word from her clear voice I felt as if we were friends.
We had tea before we went away, in Mistress Dorothy's parlour, which looked out upon the Minster, and was so near to it that when the bells chimed the quarters it sounded as if they were ringing in the room itself. It was because this was a town, I supposed, that there was no sunshine, and everything in the room looked brown or drab or dark grey.
Mistress Dorothy looked very happy, notwithstanding, and not at all as if she thought the room dull. She took me to the window, where her chair and the table with her work-basket stood, and showed me how she could see through one of the side windows of the Minster, to where another great painted window facing the west was blazing in the sunset.
'Is it not beautiful?' she said.
There was a shimmer of gold, and red and blue, but so far off.
I wished she could have seen Farmer Foster's field of sainfoin as it was just now, a glittering rose-coloured sea, that looked in the evening light as if some of the sunset clouds had floated down to earth.
Mrs. Dorothy could not even see the sunset; the Minster towered between her and the red-gold west. Poor little Mistress Dorothy! and yet she looked so happy, so cordial and contented.
By-and-by she began to ask me questions about home. The Professor had gone back to his study, and Master Caleb stood in the window opposite her chair.
'Have you got a father and mother?'
'No; he has lost his mother,' Master Caleb answered for me; and then rather abruptly he began to tell her about my mother's life and death. He told it in beautiful words, that made me listen as if it were a story about some one I had never known.
Mistress Dorothy clasped my hand closer in her own as he went on, and looked down to hide, I think, the tears that were in her eyes.
'And so she died,' ended Master Caleb, 'and the boy was left to grow up as best he could.'
There was something in his voice that made me look up at him—something I could not understand.
Mistress Dorothy must have known better what he meant, for she answered softly—
'And yet it was best so.'
Master Caleb bowed his head gravely. 'No doubt you are right, Mistress Dorothy. Only it has often struck me as a strange answer to the promise that whoever gives a cup of water shall in no wise lose his reward. The boy did his best, and where is his reward?'
'We do not know yet,' she said, 'but it will surely come. Master Caleb, you are a schoolmaster; do you always give your best rewards in schooltime? Don't you often keep them to the end, when your scholars are leaving school to go home? Perhaps Willie will wait for his reward even until then.'
'You are speaking of the next world, Mistress Dorothy,' he said.
'Yes,' and she turned to me. 'You will be content to wait, Willie?'
I answered 'Yes' then, because I thought she expected it of me.
With my whole heart I say it now.
'Well, Willie,' said Master Caleb, when he had walked a long way on the road home without saying a word, 'so you have seen him.'
'Yes, sir; it was very surprising to hear him talk.'
'Ah! he's a wonderful man.' He spoke as if he scarcely knew what he was saying; and then, waking up again, 'a very wonderful man.'
'And oh! sir! don't you like Mistress Dorothy?'
'Like Mistress Dorothy—I should never think of such a thing—don't talk of it—like her, no.'
'Oh, I thought you did.'
'I am surprised at you, Willie,' he said, and would not talk any more; so we went home silently, through sunset and twilight and moonshine.
I went a long way across the hills next day, in search of a certain fern that only grew in one place. It was a very rare one, Master Caleb had told me, a soft feathery thing, that I fancied might please Mistress Dorothy. I carried it home and waited anxiously, hoping that Master Caleb would take me with him again to Morechester. But he went alone, and Mrs. Janet said she could not think what ailed him that he was always on the tramp.
My turn came again at last, and I carried my fern to offer to Mistress Dorothy. She looked quite bright and pleased as she took it from my hands.
'I should never have thought of bringing it to you,' said Master Caleb.
He did not add what he had told me on theroad, when it was too late to turn back, that it was not near good enough to give to her.
But I think she liked it. She took me into the parlour to see her water it, and made me tell her about the steep bank where it had grown, under waving trees and among primrose tufts.
'Pretty place,' she said smiling.
'Won't you come and see it some day, Mistress Dorothy?'
'Father cannot get away, and I never leave him.'
'Couldn't he spare you?'
She shook her head. 'Oh no, never.'
'But supposing you married and went away?' I asked.
I do not know what set me on thinking of marrying just then.
She coloured and smiled.
'That will never be. I could not leave him; and besides, no one will ever want to marry a little lame thing like me.'
'Won't they?'
She shook her head again and laughed.
That evening, as we walked down the street, Master Caleb said suddenly, 'She likes you, Willie; she says you are to come again.'
'Does she? Oh, Master Caleb, shouldn't you like to have her there at home, and let her see the Castle and all?'
He put his hand on my shoulder, and said in a low, changed voice, 'If it could be, Willie, if it could. But it never can be—never.'
'She says she cannot leave her father.'
'It isn't only for that; I could never ask her. Look you, Willie; she is just as high above me as the stars.'
That was how I came to know Master Caleb's secret.
It was a heavy secret to him, poor fellow, though he tried hard to put it away, and to live as if he had not got it on his mind. He told no one, not even Mrs. Janet, and only sometimes, when we were out on the hills, he talked a little of it to me. Certainly I was a very odd person for him to have chosen to hear the story of his love. But he had lived a solitary life, and perhaps his telling me had been an accident at first. Once told, no one in the world could have felt more honoured than I did, or have listened and looked on with more reverential awe.
'You're not quite like a boy in some things, youknow, Willie,' he once said to me. 'Besides, she likes you.'
And he never did things just as other people did. I suppose that was another reason.
Mistress Dorothy and I became firm friends. I did not wonder the least at Master Caleb, for there was no one at all like her in the world. To go to Morechester and see her, I gave up willingly the best cricket match of that summer; and what boy can do more than that?
The game, played on a certain sunny half holiday, was just beginning, when Master Caleb and I set off for Morechester. I remember looking back wistfully at the ground, and seeing how smooth and inviting it looked in the sunshine. The players were just crossing the field for an 'over,' and Cuthbert was walking by himself rather sulkily, for he and I had quarrelled that morning about my going so often with Master Caleb.
He said that I did not care for cricket any more, or for him, or for anything but poking about after the schoolmaster. His injustice stung me deeply; for, to tell the truth, long walks with Master Caleb were not the same things now-a-days that they had once been. He had taken to stalking along in a brown study, with his hands behind his back, andI, carrying the basket, had to follow silently behind. I would fain have been somewhere at home with Cuthbert, only I could not tell Master Caleb so.
'If you only knew all,' I said rather grandly to Cuthbert, and then stopped short, afraid of letting out the secret. Cuthbert laughed scornfully, and I walked another way. So we had quarrelled.
The little house in Minster-yard became quite familiar to me. I almost wondered why Master Caleb cared to go there so often. His visits must have given him more pain than pleasure, for he generally left me to talk to Mistress Dorothy in the parlour, while he shut himself up in the study with the Professor. Anxious as he was about the safe-keeping of his secret, from no one did he guard it more carefully than from Dorothy herself. He was always fancying—most needlessly—that she was on the point of finding it out. And then of course she would never speak to him again. So he rarely said much to her, but listened with strained attention to her father's discourse, when he would have given the world only just to sit still and look at her.
Then, when he had scarcely allowed himself alook or a smile, he went home with a heavy heart to his hard work, and tried to throw himself with all his might into spelling-books and the multiplication table.
It was an odd life that Professor Bruce's little daughter lived, in the dark rooms among the books. She rarely saw anybody except now and then some old friend of her father's—some one just as learned as himself, who came to Morechester for the day, to talk over a scientific question with him, and who paid Mistress Dorothy grandly-worded, old-world compliments about her 'sweet eyes,' and her 'dishes of good tea.'
But in general she and her father were alone. He adored her, and left her to herself. If 'Dolly' was not within call to give her ready help and attention the moment he needed it, the Professor was impatient and disconcerted. Yet even she was not suffered to interrupt him in his work. She read his books, talked to him on his favourite subjects, guarded him jealously from being disturbed, and kept her own thoughts to herself. The world of dreams she lived in, full of noble thoughts, and lofty hopes, and brave self-conquest, he did not know much about.
He was contented if she were near him, always bright, quiet, and helpful, with the quick eyes and the ready wit that never knew weariness in his service. Her father did not know, and she herself scarcely guessed, how entirely he had grown to lean on her.
This was something of what Master Caleb told me about her, when, very rarely, he broke the silence of reverence with which he held her in his heart.
Why it was that I never saw her without wishing to be braver and better, I did not understand myself. But so it was. How the stories she sometimes told me, with the light in her eyes and a thrill in her quiet voice, made my heart beat with a great longing to do some great thing; how some of her words, simple and quiet as they were, have been with me to strengthen me in all the battles of my life—nay, how they are with me still, it would not be easy to explain.
'I can't think what you talk to her about,' said poor Master Caleb, almost angrily, sometimes. 'I can never find anything that seems good enough to say to her.'
It was but too true that he did not shine in her presence. Even I, used to his odd ways, andsatisfied that all he did must be right, often wondered at his long silences and awkward speeches.
It seemed so easy to talk to her, nay, so impossible not to be drawn on by some magic in her way of listening. Voice, laugh, her changing face, the quick answering smile, her very attitude, all showed her ready interest.
All this time the Professor worked on happily at his chemistry and experiments, took up more of Master Caleb's attention each time that he went to visit him, good-naturedly called him his promising disciple and fellow-worker, and never found out how the disciple's interest flagged sometimes, and how difficult he found it to give his full attention.
Nevertheless, his admiration and devotion were just as great as ever, and Master Caleb would have been covered with remorse and shame at the mere notion of finding any hour long that was spent in the Professor's study.
By-and-by also, there came a certain happy time when he began to feel that he was really making himself useful. A new book of Professor Bruce's was going through the press.
There were few prouder men than Master Caleb, as he helped to gather together the scattered sheets, to go over calculations, and to get the pagesready for the printers. Dorothy, too, to make the work doubly pleasant, was always in her father's study, writing from his words, finding, as nobody else could, the papers he was for ever losing, and helping heart and hand at the finishing of the work.
'My last book, Dolly,' said the old man, putting his hand fondly on the head that was bending so intently over some of his crabbed writing. 'I shall never write another.'
Dorothy looked up at him quickly, and tried to make a cheerful answer, that did not seem to come readily.
'No,' he went on, rather as if he was thinking aloud; 'no, I shall never write another. Perhaps already I have writ too much. But I am glad of this one, because it is well sold, and will help to make Dolly comfortable when I am gone. I've never done enough for her heretofore.'
Dorothy looked up again, and laid her hand softly on his arm, glancing from him to Master Caleb, who was frowning over what looked like a long sum, and then at me, as I stood near the door waiting for some papers I was to carry to the post.
By-and-by she brought them to me, andfollowed me out into the passage, shutting the door behind her.
'Is this all, Mistress Dorothy?' I asked, as she looked thoughtful.
She turned round quickly. 'Thank you, Willie; yes, that's all. I don't see you often now,' she went on with a smile, 'but he likes me to be always with him; and do you know, I can't bear to be ever away from him. I cannot quite tell why.'
'Dolly,' called her father's voice, with the softness all gone out of it, sharp, short, and impatient. 'Dolly, who has touched the index? I can't find it.'
She ran back into the study, with a nod and smile to me.
So as no one wanted me at Morechester, I did not go there for a while, but stayed at home with Cuthbert, and mended up the old quarrel of a year ago, that he had never quite forgotten. We played at cricket in the glowing June evenings, until the long shadows faded quite away, and the blue of the sky darkened into purple.
People are rather apt to lose count of time in the days of hay-making. Everybody is so busy. We did not go to school then. Early and lateCuthbert and I were in the fields at Furzy Nook. Farmer Foster wanted to have all his hay carried by the last days of June. 'And after that there'll be school beginning again,' said Cuthbert, with his old disconsolate look.
We were leaning over the stile on Sunday evening, looking at the half-cut hay-fields, with their cocks of sweet-smelling hay. 'By-the-by, Will,' went on Cuthbert, 'what made Master Caleb look so solemn to-day? He went hobbling away through the churchyard as if he had been a hundred.'
'Did he?' My heart rather smote me. It was so long since I had seen him or thought of him, and to-day I had followed Farmer Foster out of church by the door that led across the meadows to Furzy Nook. 'He's been away at Morechester but I'll run over now, and ask after him.'
Master Caleb was not under his cherry-tree watching the sunset as usual. He was indoors, sitting with his back to the window, holding a book open in his hands. Mrs Janet, with a thorough look of Sunday leisure all about her, sat very upright at the table, reading also.
'I thought you were at Morechester, MasterCaleb,' I said, as he looked up and held out his hand.
'Oh no. I came home a week since. Well, Willie, how's the hay-making getting on?'
'Pretty fair, sir, if the rain keeps off;' and I looked anxiously out of the window. I knew that there was not the shadow of a cloud to be found anywhere, and no chance of rain; but Farmer Foster always scanned the clouds when he was asked after the hay; so it was probably the right thing to do. Master Caleb nodded absently.
'Is the Professor's book done yet, Master Caleb?'
'Here it is.' He held the book he had been reading towards me.
'Printed and all!' I turned admiringly over the pages, some of which I must have carried to the post myself when they went to be printed. 'Did he give it to you?'
'She did.'
His hand trembled as he took it back. Cuthbert had been right in saying that he looked worn and ill. It seemed a trouble to him to answer questions, and I, having the fear of Mrs. Janet somewhat before my eyes, could not think of anything to talk about.
'Master Caleb,' I said, after standing near him for a few minutes, hoping he would speak, 'when you see Mrs. Dorothy again, will you tell her, with my respects——'
He interrupted me. 'You can tell her yourself, Willie, when you go to bid her good-bye. Ah, you haven't heard. They are leaving Morechester.'
'Mistress Dorothy? But not for long?'
'I mean that they are going away altogether.'
'Going away! where to?'
'To live in Scotland.' His voice sank a little.
'Oh, Master Caleb!'
He looked across at his sister, and half smiled.
Great rough boy as I was, I nearly burst out crying. I stammered, began to say I was sorry, and had to stop short.
He put his hand kindly on my shoulder, and presently he said, 'There is just a chance of their not going, Willie. It was not finally settled—just a chance.'
'It's quite as good as settled,' observed Mrs. Janet, without looking up.
'I know it is.'
'Why, why do they?' I asked, finding my voice at last, but with a sort of crack in it.
'Because they want him to be Professor of Chemistry at some place in Scotland, if you must know everything,' said Mrs. Janet, answering again, to my surprise. 'That book you have there is very much thought of, and he is Scotch, and so he wants to go—There!'
'But Mistress Dorothy?'
'She is sorry,' said my master, in a low voice.
And then the silence came down upon us again. Mrs. Janet cleared her throat, and held up her book so as to catch the remaining light, and Master Caleb leant his head upon his hand. I durst ask no more questions. But when I went away, he came out with me into the garden, over which the twilight was beginning to gather.
'I am very sorry, Master Caleb,' I took courage to say then.
'I know that you are, Willie.'
Quiet as he was, he spoke with a sort of effort, as if each word gave him pain.
'Scotland seems so far off.'
'Yes,—we shall see her face no more.'
'Is she very sorry? I am sure she does not want to go.'
'She said she had been happy here, God bless her. But I hope—I think—that such an one as sheis must always be peaceful and happy. May He keep her so.'
'But Master Caleb, what will you do?'
He did not answer for a minute.
'I am thankful to have known her. My star of light. She has been to me——'
That sentence he never finished.
The following day ended the week that Professor Bruce had taken to consider whether he should accept the appointment offered to him or not. Master Caleb could not rest without going to Morechester to learn his determination, and in obedience to a message from Mistress Dorothy that she would like to see me again, he took me with him.
On the way to Morechester we talked ourselves into a hope that the Professor would have decided not to go away. The cool bright touches of morning air, full of the song of birds and of the smell of dewy flowers and freshly cut hay, made us feel hopeful. We remembered how Professor Bruce had said that he should write no more books, because he was growing an old man, and this new work would be harder still than book-writing. Master Caleb felt sure that Dorothy was afraid of it for her father.
'Depend upon it,' he said, 'we shall find that he has listened to his daughter, and will rest content with having had this great honour offered to him.'
After that I was astonished at the silence that came over him as we walked up the High Street of Morechester. The freshness of early morning still rested on the town, the shadows from the east reached right across the street, and few passengers were stirring except people coming in from the country, carrying fragrant baskets of vegetables and fruit.
'We shall soon know now,' I said. 'See, there is Mistress Dorothy.'
She was coming out into the sunshine through the great door of the Minster, among a little knot of people that scattered in different directions. We came up with her as she stood on her own doorstep.
'Willie,' Master Caleb whispered hurriedly, as we crossed the market-place, 'do not say a word about our being sorry. We must not trouble her. It would grieve her good heart to think it gave us pain.'
'But she will stay—you said so?'
He shook his head.
Dorothy turned and came to meet us. 'It is kind of you to come over,' she said, trying for her usual cheerful tone, as she went before us into the little parlour. 'You wished to hear our fate. Yes, it is settled, the letter will be sent to-day.'
'And it says——'
'That he will go.'
Master Caleb bowed his head. 'Of course,' he said in a low voice.
He went to the window, and stood looking out for a moment or two, while Mistress Dorothy spoke to me; but how he managed the smile with which he turned back directly, I cannot think.
'Then I wish you and the Professor all happiness and success, and—you will not quite forget old Morechester.'
'Never,' she said earnestly. 'Master Caleb, indeed this is not my doing. It frightens me for my father. I don't think he is looking well. But he has so set his heart on going, and if I say a word against it, he only says, "Let me go home, Dolly, let me go home." I thought he had forgotten Scotland, but the old love for it seems to have come back. I cannot keep him from what he calls his home, or try to make him stay here.'
'No, no. To be sure not. Why should you?'
'I should have been so glad. But that does not matter, if only it is good for him. He is tiring himself already, making preparations.'
'Then it will be soon——'
'I suppose so. And since it has to come, the saying good-bye, the leaving here, and all the rest of it, it had better be soon over.'
'Yes,' answered Master Caleb, breaking out into one of those unlucky speeches that said one thing and meant another, 'it'll be a blessing when you are gone.'
She smiled a little. 'I think it will. And for you too. I know you will be sorry.'
'Oh, never mind that. It doesn't matter much for me,—I mean, don't think—It doesn't matter, I mean——'
'I am afraid you will miss my father very much.'
'Oh yes, your father. Of course I shall misshim. Everything will be gone that I care for in the world,—the chemistry, you know, and all.'
'And my father will miss you. Won't you come and see him?'
She went across and opened the study door. The room was all in disorder, drawers open, book-cases half empty, and their contents scattered about all over the tables and floor.
The Professor, with more colour than usual in his face, was moving about, adding something every minute to the confusion. He stopped with a whole shelf-full of books in his arms, as Dorothy said cheerily, 'Father, here is Master Caleb Morton, come to wish us joy. Why, dear father,' she added, half laughing, 'what are you doing to the room?'
'There's no time to lose, my dear, and a great deal to be done. You are welcome, Caleb Morton, I am obleeged to you,' as Master Caleb offered his help. 'Yes. I shall be very grateful for any help that will enable us to get away more quickly to my future post.'
'Dorothy cannot comprehend,' he went on, as Dorothy was called away, and he gave up the books he held to Master Caleb, and sat down in his arm-chair. 'She does not see any occasion for haste. But there is no time to spare; I am called upon to fill an important chair.'
'I was not surprised, though very proud to hear of the honour tendered to your acceptance, Professor,' said Master Caleb.
'Ah, well, it is gratifying; yes, doubtless. You were a true prophet about the book, it appears, Master Caleb, eh? But I do not dwell so much on that. It is poor Dolly's good that is actuatingme now. I think of Dolly's future and of the time when I must leave her. I should like her to be comfortable then. I have laid by but little for her at present, and I shall be glad to be getting more.'
'If the exertion be not too much,' said Master Caleb, doubtfully.
'I do not fear it; my mind is made up.' He was looking tired already, and passed his hand once or twice across his forehead. 'It is only the hurry and trouble of this move that worries me, and the having to think myself of every single thing. Dorothy has no experience. But you must not keep me talking,' and he got up restlessly; 'I have no leisure for that. Where is Dolly?'
She was coming back.
'Just look about for the list of the books, child. I had it but a moment ago; things get mislaid, and I have got to go over it.'
'Here it is; but father, you need not tire yourself with that, dear.'
'Dolly, leave me to manage my own concerns. You have no experience. You had better pack up your clothes, my dear. That is your business. Well here, if you want something to do, just go over the books on the lower shelves. I cannot stoop any longer.'
There was no chance of farewell words from Mistress Dorothy that morning.
It was but a few days after this, Master Caleb sat at his high desk in school, the evening sun was creeping slowly across the benches towards him. Already it shone in two gold square patches on the white-washed wall. The hum of voices was growing a little louder as the moment of release drew near, when a man in a smock frock, with a long whip over his shoulder, looked in at the open door. Every head was raised to look at him and everybody knew him—the carrier from Morechester.
'It's just a message as I promised I'd give Master Caleb,' he began; 'old Mr. Bruce's young lady, in Minster yard, you know——'
'Yes, I know.'
'Ah! She sent her kind respects, and thought you'd like to know as how her father's dying. Yes, its some kind of a stroke or a fit,' the man went on, untying a knot in the lash of his whip, and answering the questions Mrs. Janet put to him from the window. Master Caleb had got to the door and stood leaning against it saying nothing. 'He was took last night, they told me, close upon nine o'clock.'
The rows of faces along the room were some of them indifferent, some looking on carelessly, others were bent down again over their books, but each one lighted up with unmixed pleasure when Master Caleb said in a hoarse voice, 'The school is dismissed, children.'
And the schoolmaster was gone. For many days afterwards, Mrs. Janet sat in her brother's place. The school was quieter than usual. The boldest hearts quailed a little before the upright figure at Master Caleb's desk. No one looked up or whispered, without feeling the quick eyes upon them, or saw with entire composure the hand that often strayed towards the tawse, that lay at her right hand. Many were the low-spoken lamentations over Master Caleb's absence; hearty the wishes for his speedy return among us.
But I believe he had forgotten all about the school, forgotten everything outside the quiet house in which his old friend lay dying. Very quiet it was, and silent. The rooms had fallen back into their old order. All token of preparation for a journey had vanished; none such was needed for the solemn journey on which the master of the house was bound.
He had been busy and earnest about thearrangements to the last. Dorothy told how constantly his thoughts dwelt on the future, and how he would spare himself no exertion in his restless longing to be gone, and at work in the new sphere. He was always hopeful and eager, and could not bear her to notice how tired and over-taxed he looked at times.
On the last evening, as he sat alone in his easy chair, he seemed to be trying to put words and sentences together, and repeating them half aloud. Dorothy did not dare to vex him by interrupting him. As she stood out of sight behind him, she heard, with a vague feeling of fear and sadness, that he was preparing the first lecture he meant to give when he got to Scotland.
The words did not come easily. He sighed and appeared perplexed, pressing his hand wearily upon his forehead, and once after a pause she heard him say, 'for Dolly's sake,' and patiently begin the broken sentence over again.
Then she could not keep silence any longer, but came round and leant over his chair to speak to him. He looked up at her wistfully for a moment or two, and held her hand. 'Dolly,' he said at last, in a whisper, 'What is it? am I too old?'
She only said 'Father.' She gathered him inher arms, and held him nearer and nearer to her; she drew his head down upon her shoulder. What they thought of, those two, as they rested there heart to heart, while the twilight sank down over them, will never be known to any but themselves and God.
Later in the evening, when it was quite dark, she left him to get lights and to make him a cup of tea. She was away but very few minutes. When she came into the room again he had sunk back in his chair, and his head had fallen on one side.
There was never any hope, though after a day or two he seemed to be getting better. His mind was quite clear, he knew everybody, but was too weak for many words.
Only one thing, they said, was strange. He had entirely forgotten all that happened just before his illness. The hopes that were so keen, the cares that weighed so heavily, he never referred to again. Not a single fear for Dorothy ruffled the serenity of his thoughts.
He smiled at her, smoothed her hair feebly as she knelt beside his bed, and sometimes kissed the little hand that ministered to his wants. But the untroubled look was very strange to those who hadwatched of late the gallant struggle with his failing powers that he had fought through for her sake. Now he was leaving her alone, and he did not even remember it.
'It is such a blessing, such a mercy,' Dorothy said, twisting her hands tightly together, her only sign of emotion. She looked calm, but there was no room for any thought beyond the moment itself—her father's hourly need of her, his sleep, his waking, the words of peace with which she tried to drive away the cloud that sometimes darkened over him, like a shadow thrown back from the days of his long life. 'So many years,' he used to say sadly, 'so many, many years.'
Once only I was allowed to go into his room. Dorothy had been called away, and she bade me stand by the door ready to go for her the instant she was wanted.
Like a picture I can recall the scene now. The darkened room—orderly and quiet—the narrow bed against the wall, on which the Professor lay—beside it the figure of Master Caleb bending forwards with a heavy book open upon his knees, the only book that was near at hand now—all the others had been taken away.
He said the world's learning was over for him,its learning and its wisdom, and so by degrees Dorothy had moved all the books quietly away, and left the Bible.
Master Caleb was reading to him now. The Professor had asked for some words that, half-remembered, kept sounding in his ears, and Master Caleb finding them, read them aloud. Sad words they seemed to be, whose burden was vanity and vexation of spirit—weary words, that told how all things are full of labour, and he who increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow—strange words to read beside one who had learned so much, but who was going now to his long home, for the silver cord was loosened, and the pitcher was broken at the fountain.
'And further, my son, by these be admonished,' read Master Caleb slowly; 'of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness to the flesh.'
The reader's voice sank lower and lower; the mournful words sounded like autumn winds sighing through leafless trees. He ceased, and the book sank upon his knees; still the sad echo, 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,' went floating through the room.
The dying man sighed heavily. 'All true,' hemurmured; 'the dust shall return to the earth as it was,——'
Then his look changed. Some one had come into the room softly as Master Caleb read, and was standing behind his chair. It was Dorothy, and there was a smile on her face that made her beautiful.
She took the Book out of the hands that had dropped it, turned over the pages quickly, and began to read. If you have ever heard music change from long chords of wailing sadness into a burst of triumphant harmony, if you have seen the sun break from behind a cloud, you have known what we felt then.
'Behold, I show you a mystery,' she began.
Yes, a greater mystery than any that their earthly labour could bring to light, even the mystery of immortality.
She did not raise her voice as she went on, but all through it there thrilled the glorious faith and triumph of the thought that 'death is swallowed up in victory.'
And as she uttered the solemn thanksgiving to Him who giveth us the victory her father spoke again.
'Thanks be to God,' he repeated after her,raising his hand feebly, and in the silence it seemed as if the Conqueror Himself drew nigh, and stood by the dying bed.
The great bell of Morechester Minster was tolling heavily, each slow stroke falling upon the ear like a blow, and the blinds were all drawn down in the little house under the shadow of the Minster tower when Caleb Morton came home.
He left Dorothy, as she wished to be left, alone. The faithful old woman, who had been for years their only servant, was taking care of her. For the rest she was better by herself, now that the watching was ended, and the life-long blank and sorrow begun.
After he knew that it was her wish to be undisturbed during those first bitter days, Master Caleb was hardly willing even to enter Morechester, lest she should hear of it by some means and think that he had been unmindful of a wish of hers. But his heart yearned over her, and either late at night or in the very early morning he ventured secretly now and then to the back door of the house to ask for tidings of her.
The great question that was for ever in his thoughts was this: What would Dorothy do inthe life that lay before her? Her father had said truly that it was but very little he had to leave her. His one brother, the hard-worked doctor of a poor Highland parish, was scarcely likely to be better off than he had been.
To him, however, her only near relation, Dorothy had written, and till the answer to this letter came, she would fain let the future rest.
That answer was very slow in coming. The posts to the north of Scotland were tardy and uncertain at that time. Days had grown into weeks since the Professor's funeral, and still we waited. One evening, however, old Susan answered Master Caleb's low knock at the kitchen door with unwonted quickness, scarcely waiting for him to speak before she thrust a letter into his hand. 'Just you read it for yourself, Master Morton; I brought it away without Mistress Dolly's knowing of it, on purpose for you to see it. Some one ought to know how they treat the poor lamb.'
Master Caleb tore it open, without stopping, in his eagerness, to consider whether he had a right to read it or not. The letter was not long. A formal condolence on the severe bereavement she had sustained; a regret that he and his only brother had never been enabled to meet again after their long separation,—ahope that she found herself as well as could be anticipated under the melancholy circumstances, and at the end, a half-expressed chilling invitation to make his house her home until, as no doubt would be the case, she could enter into some permanent arrangement better suited to her.
'What did she do?' asked Master Caleb, looking up with blazing eyes.
'She just fetched a long sigh,' said the old woman, 'a long, long sigh!' and she put the letter into my hands, and said, 'See, Susan; he does not want us.'
Master Caleb had meant to stay in Morechester that night, and had left me, as he sometimes did when he was away, to sleep at the schoolhouse.
Mrs. Janet and I sat up rather late that evening. She was sewing, and I, on my best behaviour, was reading 'Baxter's Saint's Rest' aloud. We were both thunderstruck when the door opened suddenly, and Master Caleb appeared, dripping wet, for it was raining heavily, and looking as pale as death.
'Caleb! you here!' exclaimed his sister, getting up in astonishment to meet him. 'What brings you home on such a night as this? why, how wet you are!'
'I am come,' Master Caleb said, disregarding thehand she laid on his drenched coat-sleeve, 'because I cannot bear it any longer—because I want your counsel—because she is left all alone, and has no friend—no friend in all the world but us!'
'You speak of Dorothy Bruce,' said Mrs. Janet, slowly.
'She is so lonely,' he went on unheeding, 'and I want to comfort her, but I do not know how, and I cannot tell how to help her. Janet, you must tell me what I can do for her—not because she is alone, and that I pity her, but, Janet, because I love her.'
There was an instant's pause, and then his sister threw her arms round his neck. 'I know it, Caleb,' she said, with a great sob, 'I know it; oh, my boy, did you think I did not know it all the time?'
And as she held him in her arms, and kissed his forehead as if he were indeed still 'her boy,' I stole away and closed the door upon them.
Master Caleb came to me early the next morning, and bade me get ready to go back with him to Morechester. 'I am going there again,' he said, 'and if anything occurs, which is far from likely, to detain me, I shall be glad to send you back with a message to my sister.'
He was very quiet. All the hurry and excitementof last night were gone, and in their stead there had come over him a look and manner of grave calmness and resolution.
'Last night, Willie, I told my sister Janet what my feelings have long been; Janet said she knew already,' and Master Caleb paused for a moment in renewed wonder. 'I really am at a loss to conceive how, but so it was. And she has counselled me to go to Mistress Dorothy, and just to tell her all my story.'
'Oh, I am so glad!' I said, jumping up, 'so very glad.'
'Hush, hush, Willie; do not fancy that I have any hope. I know quite well how it must be. But perhaps Janet is right, and that the time has come when it is better that she should hear it. It may be, too, that in her loneliness the knowledge of a love as true, as strong, and faithful as I know mine is for her, will be a comfort to her.'
We went to Morechester, my master saying, when we started, 'Willie, we will not talk, if you please.'
Perhaps all that long silent journey he was getting ready the speech he meant to make to Mistress Dorothy. My thoughts, I know, had time to wander very far afield.
They say that distance makes things look more beautiful. Alas! it also makes them seem far easier. Before we got near Morechester Master Caleb's composure was all gone. His resolution, doggedly held to, he had kept safe, but the morning's calmness, eloquence and steadiness were all lost by the way.
We had settled that I was to wait in the poor Professor's study while he spoke to Mistress Dorothy in the parlour.
I had scarcely been in the room since that day, that seemed so long ago, when Professor Bruce was beginning to pack up his books, and Mistress Dorothy laughed at him for making the room untidy. It was not untidy now. All was in dreary order, speaking sadly in its cold lifelessness of the master that would never return to it.
No one was in the parlour, and Master Caleb came back to the study, walking on tiptoe and speaking almost in a whisper.
'I have sent to ask if she will see me,' he said; 'I expect that she will send for me immediately. You wait here, Willy: that's all you have to do. Just stay quietly where you are.'
He was pushing me backwards all the time, without very well knowing what he was about. At lasthe got me into the window, and told me again to wait there for him.
'It won't take long,' he said, turning a shade greyer than before, 'and then'——
The door opened, and Mistress Dorothy herself came into the room. She moved so quietly that Master Caleb, staring out of window at the blank wall, clasping and unclasping his hands nervously, did not hear or see her until she spoke his name.
He turned round with a great start and went to meet her.
'Mistress Dorothy, I hope you will forgive me for coming so soon. I just happened to be passing, and so'——
Happened to be passing! In my corner I could not help wondering at Master Caleb. But it was very uncomfortable not to be able to get out—I was hidden by the window-curtain, Mistress Dorothy had not seen me, and my master, I was quite sure, had forgotten all about me. They stood just in the way of the door, and I knew that if I disturbed Master Caleb now, he would never be able to begin speaking to Mistress Dorothy again. There was nothing for it but to read a book, and try not to listen, but my heart was beating fast. I could not help hearing.
Dorothy held out her hand with her frank smile. 'I have been wishing to see you, to thank you for your great goodness to my father and to me,' she said. 'It was kind of you to come.'
'It was Janet—my sister—sent me. She said I ought to come now. I should never have thought of such a thing if it had not been for her.'
'I am glad you came,' she answered. She looked very white and small in her black gown, and her face was grave and sad. The steady straightforward look and smile, however, were not the least changed.
She pushed a chair towards Master Caleb, but he did not seem to see it, and she remained standing too.
'Mistress Dorothy,' he began again, clearing his throat vehemently, 'dear Mistress Dorothy, forgive me for asking you—what are you going to do?'
She hesitated a little, and then said quietly, 'I do not quite know yet. I have been thinking about it, but as yet I have not made up my mind.'
'I thought perhaps I might ask,' went on Master Caleb, 'because'—he made a short stop here, and I heard my own heart beating—'because you know you are your father's daughter.'
She smiled then—smiled and sighed too.
'You are always very kind to me,' she said. 'When I have thought of what I had better do, I shall like to tell you, and I know that you will help me.'
'There's but little I can do,' he said bluntly, and then came another silence. He was gathering together all his strength, and she stood waiting for him to speak.
I scarcely think she caught his meaning directly when he did.
'I could never have said this, if things had been different,' were his words. 'I should never have thought of it. You must forgive me now. It is only because you have no better home. Oh, Mistress Dorothy, I know it is not good enough to ask you to; but would you—could you come to my home?'
The colour rushed into her face. I saw her put out her hand quickly, as if she wanted something to hold by. She made some exclamation, too low for me to hear.
'If I could serve you,' he went on, 'without asking such a great thing as this, believe me I would not trouble you, but I could see no other way. I could not help naming it to you. If there were some brighter life before you, and I could be sure thatyou were happy, I think I should be satisfied; but now you are alone, and I cannot bear to think of it.'
The tears were in her eyes. Once more she held out her hand towards him, and, grasping his, she spoke very softly. 'Dear friend, it is so good of you—so very good, but——'
'Hush,' he answered quickly, drawing back. 'Yes, I know, I understand. I always knew it must be so, forgive me.'
'Forgive you! the truest, the only friend I have.'
'It was just that. If some one, with a better right than mine, had claimed the great happiness of taking care of you, I would have said no word; but I thought—that is, Janet thought—we might venture just to say how welcome—how proud—how glad——'
'I know how faithful you are. I know you are sorry for me, but you must not——'
'I will not. I never will again. Let me be your friend, Dorothy, still. Another day I will come back,' he said, trying to smile; 'and you will tell your father's old friend your plans. Let me go now.'
He was gone. She called his name. Surely ifhe had heard her voice then, he would have come back. I think too, that those last half-choking words of his, first made her understand that he did not come to her because he had been her father's friend, but because he loved her.
I heard the door slammed after Master Caleb. As soon as I could get out without being seen, I ran after him. It was difficult to catch him up, at the pace he walked.
When I reached him, out of breath, he put his hand heavily on my shoulder.
'Master Caleb,' I said, looking up into his face, 'may I speak to you?'
'Not now,' he answered, very gently. 'Not now, my boy. It has all ended, Willie, as I knew it must.'
'I am sorry,' I said boldly; 'but I heard all you and Mistress Dorothy said. I was in the study window, where you put me, sir, and I could not help it.'
He did not heed me much.
'We will not speak of it again, Willie. She was quite right to say no.'
'But, Master Caleb, I thought she was going to say "yes."'
He stopped in the road and stared at me.
'Going to say yes!' he repeated slowly.
'Only you would not let her, sir. You gave her no time, and then you went away.'
He still looked hard at me, and shook his head slowly. 'You know very little about it, Willie.'
We walked on a long way in silence. At last he said again, 'You thought she would have said yes?'
'I thought so, sir.'
'You know nothing at all about it.'
When we reached home there was Mrs. Janet watching eagerly for us. I guessed how much Master Caleb dreaded having to meet and tell her all.
But she only just looked once at him. She asked no questions, she did not even pity him. Only her sudden change of face—the look of concern—the quick sigh of disappointment that she checked instantly—the grave silence that so respected his great sorrow, went to Master Caleb's heart.
I saw him go up to her, kneel down beside her, look up at her, and then—no, I must have been mistaken—grown-up men like Master Caleb never cry.
School had scarcely begun the next morning when I was mysteriously called out by Mrs. Janet, and found her arrayed in the best bonnet and gown, that usually never saw the light except on Sundays.
'William Lisle,' she began sternly, 'I have been thinking over things. They cannot go on as they are now. They must not be suffered to go on.'
I said, 'No, ma'am,' and waited wondering.
'Something must be done,' pursued Mrs. Janet, in the same severe tone. 'It must be seen to, and that immediately. It passes my understanding how the girl can have behaved to Caleb Morton as she did.'
I was so confounded at hearing Mistress Dorothy—our Mistress Dorothy—Master Caleb's star, spoken of as 'the girl,' that I stared at Mrs. Janet and could say nothing.
'She must have been out of her senses, I verily believe; I can make no other excuse for her. She must have been out of her senses when she said no to such a one as Caleb.'
'I don't think she meant to say it,' I said, in a low voice, feeling as if I myself had been found guilty of refusing to marry Master Caleb.
'You don't think that she meant it? Very well.Then why did she say it? Answer me that, William Lisle. Why did she say what she did not mean? It's that question I mean to have an answer to, though I go to Morechester myself to get it.'
'To Morechester! you?' I said. 'Does Master Caleb know?'
'Do as you are bid, Willie, and don't put foolish questions. I don't ask you to give me your advice, but to run across to Furzy Nook and borrow Farmer Foster's gig directly. Bring it up to where the four roads meet, and I will get in there. One would say you were Lord Mayor of London, Willie, you are so ready to put in your word.'
An hour afterwards I received her parting instructions not to leave Master Caleb till she came home again, and only to tell him that she had gone out on some business of her own.