University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
EXODUS.

Arrived at his own house, Brent found his
housekeeper impatiently awaiting him. She
was an old woman, and had lived in the family
so many years as to have acquired many privileges.

“Why, where have you been, Mr. Brent?”
began she as Marston entered the house.
“Here I've had breakfast ready this hour past,
and that boy's been hanging round asking
after you every five minutes.”

“Paul Freeman?”

“Yes. Have you forgot all about telling
me to fix him up a bed last night, and get
breakfast for him this morning? How do
they do up to Barstow's?”

“If breakfast is ready, we will have it, Zilpah,
and the sooner, the better. I did not see
you last night, or I should have told you that
I sold the place yesterday to a man at Milvorhaven,
who will be over to-day, I suppose,
to take possession. The furniture and every
thing in the house I give to you, to do as you
please with. You can either have an auction
and sell it all off, or carry it to your brother's.”

“Well, now, Marston, I declare if that a'n't
real generous! That's your mother all over
again. Oh! she was the givingest creatur' that
ever walked, and you're as like her as two
peas. Not but what your father was an
obleeging man too, but his folks was always a
little near—dreadful fore-handed and nice-feeling,
but a leetle close. Your mother was a
Winship, and they was different. But do tell,
Marston, do you mean all the stuff, every mite
of it, a free gift right out?”

“A free gift, Zilpah, and much good may it
do you,” said Marston, smiling sadly at the
old creature's incredulity; and then he turned
to greet Paul as he entered the house, and
the three sat down to break their bread
together in patriarchal simplicity.

“You don't eat, Marston. I made them pancakes
on purpose for you—you was always so
fond of them. Don't you rec'lect how you used
to come slying round, when you was a boy, going
out to work with your father in the field,
and tease me to have pancakes for supper?”

“And you always humored me, Zilpah,”
said Marston, taking one of the pancakes
upon his plate.

“Always when I could, and so did your
mother—and your father too, for that matter.
Oh! we was a happy and a u-nited family in
them days; and now the heads of it lays in
the grave, and the strength of it is going
away forever; and nobody but me, the poorest
and the weakest of all, is left, and that won't be
for long. When you come back for your wife,
Marston, there won't be no old woman to
wish you joy, nor to go along to your new
home and tend your babies. O dear! O dear!
I wish't I was dead too along of her.”

And Zilpah, throwing her apron over her
head, rocked to and fro, in the abandonment
of age and grief.

Marston rose in much emotion.

“Zilpah, do you want to go with me?” asked
he suddenly. “And can you go now—immediately?
My home will be no better than a
hut, and we may suffer many hardships; but
if you will go, you shall, for you are the only
creature alive who will mourn my absence.”

“Do you mean that, Marston Brent?”
asked Zilpah, raising her poor old tear-stained
face with the quick appreciation of a love-quarrel
inherent in her sex.

“I mean it, Zilpah.”

“Then I'll go as quick as say it; for your
mother was like a sister to me when I was in
trouble, and she shan't have it to say in
Heaven that I turned my back on her boy
when other folks treated him bad. I'll go
with you—but how about the stuff?”

“We will stop at your brother's, on our
way to Bloom, and ask him to come and move
every thing over to his house. Then you can
write directions about selling what you do
not care to keep. I suppose you know pretty
well what is in the house.”

“Every stick, and thread, and pin, and
scrap,” said Zilpah complacently; and starting
from her chair with new alacrity, she began
setting the house in order, and preparing herself
for departure. Such good speed did she
make, assisted by Paul, whose good fairy
had endowed him with the gift of “handiness.”
so much more valuable than the purse of
Fortunatus, that in another hour she locked
the door of the house behind her, thrust the
key into its time-honored hiding-place beneath
the steps of the door, and climbed to
her seat in the wagon beside Brent, who
watched her proceedings with a vacant eye.

Paul disposed himself behind, among the
various packages with which Zilpah had encumbered
the march, and sat biting his nails,
and casting uneasy glances at Brent, as if
anxious to speak to him, yet not quite seeing
his opportunity.

When, however, Zilpah, having reached her
brother's house, insisted upon dismounting
and holding a private interview with her
sister-in-law upon the subject of her household
stuff, Paul stepped across the seat and said,
not without embarrassment:

“I was wanting to speak with you, Mr.
Brent.”

“Well, Paul, what is it?”

“Have you any objection to my taking my
little brother along with us, sir? I will pay
his car-fare, and all the costs there will be to
it; and when we get there he can do chores
round the house enough to pay his board. He
won't charge any thing of course, and I don't
think he'll be any trouble.”

“But where is your brother now, and why
did not you speak of this before?” asked
Marston, in some surprise, both at the matter
and the manner of his new retainer's speech.

“He's at Bloom, sir. I told him to meet
us at the depot, and I didn't have a chance to
speak before.”

“I never knew you had a brother, Paul.
Where has he lived all this time?”

“With a farmer's family, sir. I never said
much about him,” said Paul, a little uneasily.

“Well, I don't know as I object, if you
choose to take charge of him and his expenses.
How old a boy is he?”

“About a dozen years old, sir.”

“Strong and active?”

“Well, not very, sir, but he can do light
jobs round the house. He isn't very rugged,
to be sure.”

“Well, he may come along. I shall have
quite a family by the time I reach Wahtahree.”

And Marston smiled a little cynically as he
fancied Beatrice presiding over such a family.

Zilpah, reluctantly torn from her parting
gossip, was at last reëstablished in the wagon,
and Marston, hurrying his patient horse a little,
drove into Bloom, and leaving his charge at
the station, went to transact a little last business
at the office of his agent. When he returned,
he found an addition to the party in the person
of a small, delicate lad, whose pale face, downcast
eyes, and slender hands promised little in
the way of profitable labor, but at the same
time appealed not unsuccessfully to Brent's
softened feelings.

“You don't look very well, my boy,” said
he, kindly patting him upon the shoulder.
“What is your name?”

“His name is Willy, sir, and he is feeling
a little poorly just now, but he'll be better
pretty soon. I guess we'll go out and see if
the cars are coming, sir.”

“Very well; I will take tickets for the whole
party, and we will settle some other time,”
said Marston, noticing Paul's haste and confusion
with some surprise, but attributing them
to a country boy's nervousness in commencing
his first journey.

“Marston—Mr. Brent, I should say,” interposed
Zilpah at this moment. “Be we going
to take that other boy along too?”

“Yes. He is Paul's brother, and Paul is
anxious to keep him under his own eye,” said
Marston absently.

“Lor! A boy like that keeping any one
under his own eye,” sniffed Zilpah contemptuously.
“I reckon I'll keep a couple of eyes
on both of 'em, till I see what they be, anyway.”

Marston made no reply except a smile as
he moved away, and a few minutes later the
train arrived, swept up the waiting passengers,

[ILLUSTRATION]

"Mowers knee-deep in the greenest grass."

[Description: 454EAF. Page 024. In-line image of three mowers standing in tall grass with a river and shadowy mountains behind them.] and bore them away to new scenes and
strange experiences.