 | CHAPTER XIV.
NED'S GOOD CONDUCT AT SCHOOL—IS VISITED BY HIS
UNCLE—MEETS WITH ALICE—FINE PROSPECTS. Freaks of fortune, or, The history and
adventures of Ned Lorn |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
NED'S GOOD CONDUCT AT SCHOOL—IS VISITED BY HIS
UNCLE—MEETS WITH ALICE—FINE PROSPECTS.
They were delighted with their new home. Susan inspected
with satisfaction every apartment, from the kitchen
to the garret. Mr. Mulvany's attention was confined
principally to his little library. Ned most admired the
garden, which extended back more than two hundred feet,
and was some twenty in width. What a contrast between
it and the cramped area of six feet by eleven in the rear
of the house in Pecan Alley. There were cherry trees in
blossom; rows of gooseberries and currants; walks, borders,
and a flower bed! It was in comparison a paradise to
anything he had hitherto beheld.
“Susan!” cried he, espying her looking at him from a
window above, “here is where I shall desire to take my
exercise. I will raise a sufficient quantity of vegetables to
supply our table. I would much rather be working in this
lovely garden, than burrowing in the river bank with the
boys we saw engaged in that employment as the boat passed
along.”
“But you must play for the sake of recreation,” said
Susan; “the rector deems it necessary, and he knows best.”
“Oh, I will do whatever he desires; but I assure you that
I would not wish a better amusement than working in this
nice garden, after labouring at my books.”
Mrs. Mulvany was about to reply, when she was summoned
down stairs by the maid. A moment after Ned's
presence was desired in the parlor.
Ned found Mr. and Mrs. Mulvany seated on either
side of an elderly gentleman, who seemed to address them
frankly, and in tones of great kindness. There was a
benevolent smile upon his lip, but something resembling an
expression of sadness in his penetrating eye.
“This is Ned, is it not?” he asked, being the first to
notice the boy's entrance.
“Yes, sir,” said Susan. “Ned, this is the president.”
“Come hither, my son! Mr. Mulvany has told me
how intelligent you are, and that you have always been fond
of your books.” The president held him affectionately by
his hand while he spoke.
“Mr. Mulvany has been very kind to me, sir: and I
wished to please him by being as perfect as possible in my
lessons.”
“That was very right and proper. We shall endeavor
to have you kindly treated here, and no doubt your progress
will be profitable to yourself and creditable to the institution.
I have a letter from your uncle, Mr. Parke—”
“Pardon, sir; but did he say he was my uncle?”
“He did. And he said he felt a deep interest in your
welfare, and intended to protect and cherish you. But if
he had not been you uncle, what then? I had learned
your history from Mr. Mulvany, and your reception here
would have been precisely the same. You should not dwell
on that painful subject. Leave its solution to your heavenly
father. Why do you weep? I shall, as far as circumstances
permit, be your earthly father. I shall love you, I think.”
Susan withdrew to conceal her emotion, and even Mr.
Mulvany took up a book and averted his face.
“I thank you, sir. I will do all I can to please you.
I am glad that I have some kind friends, since I am without
parents. And it seems that for every enemy that frowns
upon me—and God knows I have never injured anybody—
there is a new friend comes to encourage me.”
“It is ever so, my son. It is your heavenly father who
protects you. Rely upon him. The disgrace the world
would heap upon you, will be dispelled; the wrongs you
suffer will be recompensed.”
“Oh, sir! have you seen that terrible letter about Susan
and myself which was in the newspapers?”
“I have. Let it not trouble you. I have read every
word of it, and am more warmly your friend than if it had
never been written. But I had heard Mr. Mulvany's
version first, and am satisfied there is no truth in the
newspaper statement.”
“But, alas, sir! Everybody cannot hear Mr. Mulvany's
version.”
“True! And many a good man will believe the other.
vengeance. Good men believe it, and repeat their belief
to other good men. Opinions are thus formed, never,
perhaps, to be eradicated. It is an easy thing to sprinkle
the darkest stains upon the surface of the fairest objects;
and the contrast of hue makes them the more prominent
and observable: but how hard a labor it is to remove them!
There is but one remedy, my son, for such distressing evils.
A good conscience and a perfect reliance upon the protection
and assistance of God.”
“I will strive to do and feel as you advise.”
“It is well. I am capable of giving you good counsel,
for I have beheld the flood of bitterness poured out by
very many enemies—enemies more pertinacious and dangerous
than yours. I forgive them, as I hope to be forgiven.”
“And I do not hate mine; I only fear them.”
“Fear not. Have courage. Your despair would be
their victory. When you are out upon the campus, with your
classmates, you be will be attended by teachers. Let
nothing be concealed from them. They are to be your
friends and companions in your sports as well as at your
studies. Think not you are to enter a gloomy prison, to
be cut off from all the innocent diversions of boyhood. It
is not so. You will like your studies, and relish your companions
and pastimes. You must have a merry face. All
must be happy. Cultivate the love of your fellows. If any
of them be unamiable, strive to reform, not to vanquish
them in contests of violence.”
Thus the revered president of the institution and exalted
ecclesiastical functionary, leveled himself to the comprehension
of the boy, inspired him with confidence, and excited
his ardent esteem. Every word that fell from his lips
seemed to be engraven upon the memory of Ned, who was,
while he listened, entirely oblivious of all other things.
Months flew past upon the wings of delight. Ned was
charmed with the routine of his new existence, and Susan
was perfectly happy. Mr. Mulvany felt a proud satisfaction
upon witnessing the astonishing progress of his favourite
pupil. It was better than any letter of recommendation.
So perfectly had Ned imbibed his early lessons, so completely
rules, that it was rather a pleasure than a labour to conduct
him onward and upward in the scholastic ascent.
And Ned grew in stature while his mind expanded in
learning. He had no serious quarrels, and but few differences
of opinion with his fellows. Obedient, intelligent,
and perfectly amiable, he won the friendly regard of all
who knew him. But still, at times, a mournful expression
of the eye and a melancholy cast of the countenance, attested
that the shaft which had pierced his young heart had
not been, and perhaps could never be, extracted.
These, however, were but fitful shadows sweeping along
his peaceful horizon. He strove to dispel them, and almost
always succeeded. If he could not laugh quite as heartily
as some of his companions on the green, at least he had
the art to promote their hilarity. His inventive genius
originated new amusements for them, and they were ever
such as obtained the sanction and approbation of the attending
teachers. Nor had his promise to labour in Susan's
garden been forgotten. The little space of earth had
yielded under his culture a most astonishing amount of
fruit and vegetables. And besides such exercises as these,
he had maintained a weekly correspondence with his uncle,
and an irregular one with Tim. His letters had been submitted
to one of his teachers, and were not only approved,
but highly complimented by him. This was a new source
of pleasure for him. It was a fountain from which consolation
might be derived at any time, and especially in
moments when other sources failed; and thus, likewise, he
was encouraged to cultivate a talent for composition.
But his college life was not to be without episodes.
One day during vacation, when standing alone on the river
bank, with a rod in his hand, and casting a fly on the surface
of the water, to ascertain if what he had heard were
true, viz: that shad might be taken in that manner, he
was joined by an idle boy of the town, older and larger than
himself, and somewhat famous for his mischievous propensities.
“What are you doing?” asked the boy.
“Angling,” said Ned, with a kind look.
“Fishing without bait, for nothing? Well, I think you'll
catch it.”
Ned smiled, and continued to cast his line. And truly
he met with no success. Nevertheless he evinced no impatience,
being resolved to try the experiment fairly.
“Let me try it,” said the boy, who was the son of a
butcher from whom Susan sometimes purchased her meat.
Putting, down an old bag which had been thrown across
his shoulder, he snatched the rod from the yielding hand
of Ned, and whipped the line over the water.
“There goes the lash,” he continued, seeing the hook
and fly alight upon the surface some fifty feet out in the
stream. But that made no difference. He cracked his
whip again, saying: “Get up there, shad! Gee-woa-hoa!
Blast their eyes, they won't move!”
“You whipped the hook off,” said Ned. “I must put
on another. Let me have the rod.”
“Hook? Was you fishing with a hook?”
“Certainly.”
“And that fuze on it was the fly?”
“Yes.”
“And I made it fly out yonder!”
“Yes,” said Ned, having by this time put on another
hook.
“I'll try it again!” said the boy, seizing the rod, and
with another flourish causing the second fly to follow the
first.
“I have no more,” said Ned. “You have spoiled my
sport. I hope such was not your design.”
“It was sport for me. Are you satisfied?”
“I suppose I must be. My hooks are gone, and I can
go home and work in Susan's garden.”
“Work? That's nonsense, if you ain't drove to it.”
“It is a pleasure to me.”
“May be 'tis, if fishing without bait was sport. I'll
show you what I call sport.”
Saying this he untied his bag and pulled forth a large
black cat which had a stone fastened to its neck.
“Why that's Bob!” said Ned, recognizing his own cat,
which had been brought from the city. Where did you
find him?”
“In the road.”
“What do you intend doing with it?”
“Chuck him under the water!”
“No, no, no!” said Ned, cutting the string with his
penknife. Bob, finding himself released, ran away. The
butcher's boy ran after him, but was soon distanced. Returning,
and without uttering a word, he aimed a blow
with his fist at Ned's face. Springing aside, Ned escaped it.
“Don't strike me! Don't repeat the attempt. I do
not wish to fight—I never quarrel.”
“No! You college boys are all blasted cowards!” said
the other.
“I am not a coward; but still I would not wish to fight
any one. I saved my cat's life, as it was my duty to do.
You should not be angry with me for that.”
“You be hanged! Now, if you want to save yourself
from getting a thrashing, you must run for it. I want to
see which can beat.”
“I will not run. I am not afraid of you. But still I
would rather part in peace.”
“Won't run? Ain't afeard of me?”
“You are older and stronger than I am. You may be
able to whip me. Still I am not afraid of you. I have
done nothing wrong.”
“Then you will fight!”
“I can't say what I shall do, if you attack me. Had
we not better be friends!”
“Friends! Look out for your peepers! Here goes!”
And he did go. Making a furious rush at Ned (who sprang
aside) he fell head foremost into the river. Ned immediately
held out his rod, which his antagonist seized,
and by this means was extricated from his perilous position.
“Are we not to be friends, now!” asked Ned, slightly
smiling.
“No! confound you?” cried the boy, in a furious tone,
and preparing to renew the assault. But before he could
execute his purpose, the president himself, and Mr. Parke,
the aged lawyer, who had been observing them at a short
distance, advanced. The butcher's boy slunk away before
the indignant president could have an opportunity of
rebuking him.
Mr. Parke embraced Ned, and called him his worthy
nephew.
“We have been witnesses,” said the principal of the
college; “we have heard and seen enough, my son, to be
inspired with admiration. You have behaved well, under
circumstances which might have frightened an older boy,
and made him forget his precepts. You have an admirable
temper; cherish it.”
“Temper!” exclaimed Mr. Parke; “did you ever see
such cool deliberation, such perfect presence of mind, such
prompt—”
“Tut, tut!” said the president, interrupting him, in a
low tone; “we must not make him vain.”
“Very true,” said Mr. Parke; “but I must ask him
one question. Ned, what would you have done, if we had
not shown ourselves, and he had continued the assault?”
“I think I should have defended myself; and I might
have grown as angry as he was.”
“Right! and you would have vanquished him, I have no
doubt.”
The president made no comment; and Ned, hitherto in
doubt, inferred that he would have certainly been justifiable
in beating such an enemy.
Mr. Parke was in high spirits. He had in his hand a
number of letters recently received from Mr. Persever,
whose return from the west might be looked for in the
course of a few months, perhaps weeks. He ran over the
substance of the contents of the letters as they walked towards
Mulvany's humble dwelling. Persever had ascertained
that no sacrifices had been made by Bainton in
Mexico, (whence his last letters were dated,) but that he
had sustained an inconsiderable loss from the depredation
of the Indians. Some half a dozen mules had been stolen
in the night. That was all. The invoices of the merchants
had been freely exhibited, from which it was easy
to demonstrate that large profits had been realized. He
likewise inspected the receipts given by Bainton, and it appeared
that all the bills had been paid in ready money,
with the exception of those that were to be liquidated
through the house of Morales & Co., in the city of Mexico.
Upon the whole, it was quite apparent that the venture
been realized. And from the estimate made by Persever,
it was certain that even in the event of Ned Lorn being
unable to establish his claim to that portion of the proceeds
rightfully belonging to his father; and if Bainton
and Mallex should succeed in keeping possession of it, still
the amount of capital invested in the adventure by Mr. D.
L. Parke, together with his share of the profits, and the
interest which had accrued, would not fall far short of the
handsome sum of $100,000.
Before Persever had departed from St. Louis for the
plains, he learned that Bainton had never won anything at
the gambling houses. Such things can always be easily
ascertained. No such event as Eugene described had occurred,
as Persever was informed by the proprietors of the
nefarious establishments. But he learned from the different
brokers that Eugene had purchased drafts on the
east, to a very large amount, which had been remitted to
Job Mallex, and were made payable to his order. He
likewise ascertained, that he had made some permanent
investments in that city. He had purchased shares of
bank stocks and other securities, that yielded handsome
dividends; and he was also the owner of real estate in several
improving portions of the town.
“Now, Ned, we'll be rich in spite of them,” said Mr.
Parke, slapping his nephew on the shoulder, when he had
imparted the above information. “They may defraud us,
so far as your father's share is concerned; but they can
lay no claim to mine. And what is mine shall be yours.
Although I never felt better in my life, still I intend to
write my will immediately. These letters I shall leave
with you. They might steal them from me. They know
where I live.”
“I hope they have not found out my place of abode,”
said Ned. “But I do not fear them quite as much as formerly.”
“No, you are growing stronger every day, and have
engendered some ideas about standing in one's defence,”
said Mr. Parke, smiling.
As they drew near the dwelling of Mr. Mulvany, they
were met in the road by an ill-looking fellow, who seemed
that he was watching them, Mr. Parke paused, and regarded
him steadfastly. The fellow immediately slunk
away.
“That man is a stranger. I do not remember having
seen him before, said the president.
“But I have seen him before,” said the aged lawyer.
“If I am not mistaken, we saw him on the boat this morning;
and it strikes me I have met him in the city. He
may be one of their instruments, Ned. If you see him
again, mark him well.”
“It would be difficult for them to carry me off from
Summerton, sir. The remembrance of their success in the
city, will make me guarded here.”
“Very well. Here is the house. Did you know I had
a pleasant surprise for you?”
“Another? It was a pleasant surprise to see you so
unexpectedly.”
“And so opportunely,” added the president.
“Yes, sir; no doubt I was rescued from a painful chastisement.”
“Step in!” said Mr. Parke, “and you will understand
what I mean.”
Ned was met at the door by Alice and her mother.
Each of them took him by the hand, and greeted him very
cordially. Alice had grown considerably since they parted.
She was not so childish in her manners. But although
she blushed a great deal, yet her frankness and vivacity
had not been diminished. She was delighted to meet with
Ned, and she said so. And he declared that he had
thought of her very often, dreamt of her not unfrequently,
and was continually hoping he might be permitted to see
her again. But if she had not come to Summerton, he
thought there never would have been an opportunity, as he
could not go to the city.
“You will see one another hereafter more frequently
than you did in the city,” said Mrs. Dimple.
“It is true, Ned,” said Susan, smiling, and detecting
something resembling an expression of incredulity in the
face of the boy.
“Alice has come to Summerton to stay,” said Mrs.
She goes to the Hall, where she is to remain a long time,
perhaps five years. She is an orphan, too; and I have
told the president, (who was at the moment in conversation
with Mr. Parke and Mr. Mulvany,) that as you have been
as brother and sister heretofore, I hope it will be no infraction
of his rules to permit you to meet and converse
together occasionally. At all events, during the few days
between this and the beginning of the session, Alice is to
make Susan's house her home.”
This was joyful news for Ned. It was the happiest day
of his life. He had never received so hearty a greeting
and such warm attentions before from Mrs. Dimple. Nor
had he before heard such endearing terms as brother and
sister, in reference to himself and Alice. On the contrary,
he imagined that he had once been regarded rather coldly
at the mansion. He must have been mistaken; else what
a change!
The truth was, Mr. Parke's revelations of Ned's prospects
had not been without their effect on the discerning
widow. One hundred thousand dollars, with a possibility
that it might be increased to a much greater amount, had
completely taken the widow's fancy by storm. It was,
perhaps, the cause of Alice being sent to Summerton. The
expose in the printed letter was forgotten, or regarded as
a calumny. Oh, what mighty wonders riches do sometimes
produce!
Moreover, the widow Dimple herself had not deemed it
prudent to reject a third offer, which came from a handsome
merchant, rich and retired; and she was upon the
eve of once more plighting her vows at the hymenial altar.
Mr. Lonsdale, the happy man, having an exceedingly
youthful appearance for one of his age, the considerate
mother supposed it might be well to send Alice away. She
knew that her daughter could not possibly be placed in a
more respectable institution, nor in one where her education,
her morals, and her manners, would be more correctly
formed and religiously supervised, than in that she had
chosen. And if the brotherly affection which she attributed
to Ned, should deepen into a more tender passion,
why, what was there in it that a mother might object to?
| CHAPTER XIV.
NED'S GOOD CONDUCT AT SCHOOL—IS VISITED BY HIS
UNCLE—MEETS WITH ALICE—FINE PROSPECTS. Freaks of fortune, or, The history and
adventures of Ned Lorn | |