That thee is sent receive in buxomness;
The wrestling of this worlde askith a fall;
Here is no home, here is but wildernesse,
Forthe, pilgrim, forthe, o best out of thy stall,
Loke up on high, and thanke thy God of all.
CHAUCER.
As soon as she was awake Winnie sought her brother's side
again; and from that moment never left it when it was possible
to be there. In his arms, if she could; close by his side, if
nearer might not be; she seemed to have no freedom of life but
in his shadow. Her very grief was quieted there; either taking
its tone from his calm strength, or binding itself with her
own love for him. Her brother was the sturdy tree round which
this poor little vine threw its tendrils, and climbed and
flourished, all it could.
He had but a few days to spend at Shahweetah now. Towards the
end of them, she was one evening sitting, as usual, on his
knee; silent and quiet. They were alone.
"Winnie," said her brother, "what shall I do with you?"
She put her arms round his neck and kissed him, -- a very
frequent caress; but she made no answer.
"Shall I take you to Mannahatta with me?"
"Oh yes, Winthrop!"
It was said with breathless eagerness.
"I am almost afraid to do it."
"Why, Winthrop?"
"Hush --" he said gently; for her words came out with a sort of
impatient hastiness; -- "You don't know what kind of a place it
is, Winnie. It isn't much like what home used to be."
"Nor this aint, neither," she murmured, nestling her head in
his bosom.
"But you wouldn't have the free air and country -- I am afraid
it wouldn't be so good for you."
"Yes it would -- it would be better for me. -- I can't hardly be
good at all, Governor, except where you are. I get cross now-
a-days -- it seems I can't help it -- and I didn't use to do so
--"
How gently the hand that was not round her was laid upon her
cheek, as if at once forbidding and soothing her sorrow. For
it was true, -- Winnie's disease had wrought to make her
irritable and fretful, very different from her former self.
And it was true that Winthrop's presence governed it, as no
other thing could.
"Would you rather go with me, Winnie?"
"Oh yes, Governor! --oh yes!"
"Then you shall."
He went himself first to make arrangements, which he well knew
were very necessary. That one little attic room of his and
that closet which was at once Mother Hubbard's cupboard and
his clothes press, could never do anything for the comfort of
his little sister. He went home and electrified Mrs. Nettley
with the intelligence that he must leave her and seek larger
quarters, which he knew her house could not give.
"To be sure," said Mrs. Nettley in a brown study, -- "the
kitchen's the kitchen, -- and there must be a parlour, -- and
George's painting room, -- and the other's my bedroom, -- and
George sleeps in that other little back attic. -- Well, Mr.
Landholm, let's think about it. We'll see what _can_ be done. We
can't let you go away -- George would rather sleep on the
roof."
"He would do what is possible, Mrs. Nettley; and so would I."
It was found to be possible that "the other little back attic"
should be given up. Winthrop never knew how, and was not
allowed to know. But it was so given that he could not help
taking. It was plain that they would have been worse
straitened than in their accommodations, if he had refused
their kindness and gone somewhere else.
Mrs. Nettley would gladly have done what she could towards
furnishing the same little back attic for Winnie's use; but on
this point Winthrop was firm. He gathered himself the few
little plain things the room wanted, from the cheapest sources
whence they could be obtained; even that was a serious drain
upon his purse. He laid in a further supply of fuel, for
Winnie's health, he knew, would not stand the old order of
things, -- a fire at meal-times and an old cloak at other times
when it was not very cold. Happily it was late in the season
and much more fire would not be needed; a small stock of wood
he bought, and carried up and bestowed in the closet; he could
put his clothes in Winnie's room now and the closet need no
longer act as a wardrobe. A few very simple stores to add to
Mother Hubbard's shelves, and Winthrop had stretched his
limited resources pretty well, and had not much more left than
would take him to Wut-a-qut-o, and bring him back again.
"I don't see but I shall have to sell the farm," said Mr.
Landholm on this next visit of his son's.
"Why, sir?"
"To pay off the mortgage -- that mortgage to Mr. Haye."
Winthrop was silent.
"I can't meet the interest on it; --I haven't been able to pay
any these five years," said Mr. Landholm with a sigh. "If he
don't foreclose, I must. -- I guess I'll take Asahel and go to
the West."
"Don't do it hastily, father."
"No," said Mr. Landholm with another sigh; -- "but it'll come
to that."
Winthrop had no power to help it. And the money had been
borrowed for him and Rufus. Most for Rufus. But it had been
for them; and with this added thought of sorrowful care, he
reached Mannahatta with his little sister.
It was early of a cold spring day, the ground white with a
flurry of snow, the air raw, when he brought Winnie from the
steamboat and led her, half frightened, half glad, through the
streets to her new home. Winnie's tongue was very still, her
eyes very busy. Her brother left the eyes to make their own
notes and comments, at least he made none, till they had
reached the corner of Little South St. He made none then; the
door was opened softly, and he brought her up the stairs and
into his room without disturbing or falling in with anybody.
Putting her on a calico-covered settee, Winthrop pulled off
his coat and set about making a fire.
Winnie had cried all the day before and as much of the night
as her poor eyelids could keep awake; and now in a kind of
lull, sat watching him.
"Governor, you'll catch cold --"
"Not if I can make the fire catch," said he quietly.
"But you wanted me to keep on _my_ things."
"Did you want to take them off?"
Winnie sat silent again, shrugging her shoulders to the chill
air. But presently the fire caught, and the premonitory
snapping and crackling of the kindling wood gave notice of a
sudden change of temperature. Winnie's feelings took the
cheery influence of the promise and she began to talk in a
more hearty strain.
"Is this your room, Winthrop?"
"This is my room, Winnie. Yours is there, next to it."
"Through that door?"
"No -- through the entry; -- that is the door of my storehouse."
Winnie got up to look at it.
"'Tisn't a very large storehouse," was her conclusion.
"And not much in it. But the large storehouses are not far
off, Winnie. Shall I leave you here for five minutes, while I
go to get something from one of them?"
"Do you mean out of doors? -- from the shops?"
"Yes. Shall I leave you five minutes?"
"O yes!"
He had come before her and was holding both her hands. Before
he let them go he stooped down and kissed her.
It was not a very common thing for Winthrop to kiss her; and
Winnie sat quieted under the power and the pleasure of it till
the five minutes were run out and he had got back again. His
going and coming was without seeing any one of the house; a
fact owing to Mrs. Nettley's being away to market and Mr.
Inchbald out on another errand.
Winthrop came in with his hands full of brown papers. Winnie
watched him silently again while he put his stores in the
closet and brought out plates and knives and forks.
"Where do you sleep, Governor?"
"In a pleasanter place than I slept in last night," said her
brother.
"Yes, but where? I don't see any bed."
"You don't see it by day. It only shews itself at night."
"But where is it, Governor?"
"You're sitting on it, Winnie."
"This! --"
"What is the matter with it?"
"Why, --" said Winnie, looking dismayfully at the couch with
which Winthrop had filled the place of his bed, transferred to
her room, -- "it's too narrow!"
"I don't fall out of it," said her brother quietly.
"It isn't comfortable!"
"I am, when I am on it."
"But it's hard!"
"Not if I don't think it is hard."
"I don't see how that makes any difference," said Winnie
discontentedly. "It's hard to me."
"But it's not your bed, Winnie."
"I don't like it to be yours, Winthrop."
He was busy laying a slice of ham on the coals and putting a
skillet of water over the fire; and then coming to her side he
began, without speaking, and with a pleasant face, to untie
the strings of her bonnet and to take off that and her other
coverings, with a gentle sort of kindness that made itself
felt and not heard. Winnie bore it with difficulty; her
features moved and trembled.
"It's too much for you to have to take care of me," she said
in a voice changed from its former expression.
"Too much?" said Winthrop.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It's too much. Can you do it?"
"I think I can take care of you, Winnie. You forget who has
promised to take care of us both."
She threw her arms round his neck exclaiming, "I forget
everything! --"
"No, not quite," said he.
"I do! -- except that I love you. I wish I could be good,
Winthrop! -- even as good as I used to be."
"That wouldn't content me," said her brother; -- "I want you to
be better."
She clasped her arms in an earnest clasp about his neck, very
close, but said nothing.
"Now sit down, Winnie," said he presently, gently disengaging
her arms and putting her into a chair, -- "or something else
will not be good enough."
She watched him again, while he turned the ham and put eggs in
the skillet, and fetched out an odd little salt-cellar and
more spoons and cups for the eggs.
"But Winthrop!" she said starting, -- "where's your tea-
kettle?"
"I don't know. _I_ have never had it yet, Winnie."
"Never had a tea-kettle?"
"No."
"Then how do you do, Winthrop?"
"I do without," he said lightly. "Can't you?"
"Do without a tea-kettle!"
"Yes."
"But how do you make tea and coffee?"
"I don't make them."
"Don't you have tea and coffee?"
"No, except when somebody else makes it for me."
"I'll make it for you, Winthrop!"
"No, Winnie -- I don't want you to have it any more than
myself."
"But Winthrop -- I can't drink water!"
"I think you can -- if I want you to."
"_I won't_," was in Winnie's heart to say; it did not get to her
lips. With a very disturbed and unsettled face, she saw her
brother quietly and carefully supply her plate -- the ham and
the eggs and the bread and the butter, -- and then Winnie
jumped up and came to his arms to cry; the other turn of
feeling had come again. He let it have its way, till she had
wept out her penitence and kissed her acknowledgment of it,
and then she went back to her seat and her plate and betook
herself to her breakfast. Before much was done with it,
however, Mrs. Nettley and Mr. Inchbald came to the door; and
being let in, overwhelmed them with kind reproaches and
welcomes. Winnie was taken down stairs to finish her breakfast
_with_ tea and coffee; and Winthrop leaving her in hands that he
knew would not forget their care of her, was free to go about
his other cares, with what diligence they might require.
That same morning, before she had left her own room, Miss Haye
was informed that a black girl wished to speak with her. Being
accordingly ordered up, said black girl presented herself. A
comely wench, dressed in the last point of neatness, though
not by any means so as to set off her good accidents of
nature. Nevertheless they could not be quite hid; no more than
a certain air of abundant capacity, for both her own business
and other people's. She came in and dropped a curtsey.
"Who are you?" said Elizabeth.
"I am Clam, ma'am."
"Clam!" said Elizabeth. "O, are you Clam? Where have you come
from?"
"From the boat, last place, ma'am."
"Boat! what boat?"
"The boat what goes with wheels and comes down the river,"
said Clam lucidly.
"Oh! -- And have you just come down?"
"We was comin' down all yesterday and last night, ma'am."
"_Who_ were coming?"
"Mr. Winthrop Landholm, and Winifred, and me."
"Winifred and you," said Elizabeth. "And did he send you to
me?"
Clam nodded. "He said he would ha' writ somethin', if he'd ha'
had a piece of paper or card or anything, but he hadn't
nothing."
"He would have written what?"
"Don't know -- didn't say."
"Do you know who I am?"
Clam nodded again and shewed her teeth. "The lady Mr. Winthrop
sent me to."
"Do you remember ever seeing me before?"
"When he was out walkin' with you in the rain," said Clam, her
head first giving significant assent.
"Look here," said Elizabeth a little shortly, -- "when I speak
to you, speak, and don't nod your head."
To which Clam gave the prohibited answer.
"What are you sent here for now?"
"I dun' know, ma'am."
"What did Mr. Winthrop say you were to do?"
"Said I was to come here, and behave."
"Why have you come away from Mrs. Landholm?"
"Didn't," said Clam. "She went away first. She's gone to
heaven."
"Mrs. Landholm! Is she dead?"
Clam nodded.
"When? -- and what was the matter?"
"'Twa'n't much of anything the matter with her," said Clam; --
"she took sick for two or three days and then died. It's
more'n a fortnight ago."
"And they sent for Mr. Winthrop?"
"Job Underhill rode down after him as hard as he could and
fetched him up on horseback."
"In time?" said Elizabeth.
"He was in time for everything but himself. It was too late
for him. But all the rest of the folks had the good of his
coming."
"Why what was there for him to do?" said Elizabeth.
"He finds enough to do -- or he's pretty apt to --whenever he
comes to a place," said Clam. "There was everybody to put in
order, about. There was Mr. Landholm hardly fit to live, he
was so willin' to die; and Winifred was crazy. She went and
crawled under one of the beds to hide when she thought he was
a comin'."
"When who was coming?"
"He -- Mr. Winthrop. And Karen was takin' airs -- _that_ aint out
o' the common -- but I'd a little liever have him master than
her mistress -- she wa'n't mine, neither."
"And where was Mr. Asahel?"
"He was there -- and good enough what there was of him; but he
won't never stand in other folks' shoes."
"Do you say Winifred was _crazy?_"
"She was so feared to see her brother come home!"
"Her brother Winthrop?"
"There wa'n't no other coming," said Clam.
"Poor thing!" said Elizabeth. "And you say he has brought her
down to Mannahatta?"
Clam nodded. "She don't think she's alive when he aint near
her; so he's took her down to live with him. I guess it's good
living with him," said Clam sagaciously. "I wish I did it."
"I must go and see her. Where is she?"
"She's wherever he's took her to."
"But where's that? -- don't you know?"
"It's to his house -- if you know where that is."
"Do you know what you've come here to do?" said Elizabeth
after a slight pause.
Clam shook her head.
"One thing I can tell you, first of all," said Elizabeth, --
"it is to mind what I say to you."
"Mr. Winthrop said I was to behave," said Clam with another
glimpse of her white teeth.
"Then don't shake your head any more when I speak to you. What
have you been doing at Wut-a-qut-o?"
"At Wuttle-quttle?" said Clam.
"At Wut-a-qut-o. What did you do there?"
"'Tain't the name of the place," said Clam. "They call it
Shah-wee-tah."
"Wut-a-qut-o is the name of the mountain -- it's all one. What
have you been used to do there?"
"Set tables --" said Clam considerately.
"What did Mrs. Landholm teach you?"
"She learned me 'most everything," said Clam. "What she
learned me most of all, was to have me read the Bible every
day, and do nothin' wrong o' Sundays, and never say nothin'
that wa'n't."
"That wasn't what?"
"That wa'n't _it_," said Clam. "Never to say nothin' that wa'n't
the thing."
"Why, did you ever do that?" said Elizabeth.
"Maybe I did," said Clam, considering her new mistress's
dressing-table. "Mis' Landholm was afeard on't."
"Well, you must be just as careful about that here," said
Elizabeth. "I love truth as well as she did."
"All kinds?" said the girl.
Elizabeth looked at her, with a mouthful of answer which she
did not dare to bring out. Nothing was to be made of Clam's
face, except that infallible air of capacity. There was no
sign of impertinent meaning.
"You look as if you could learn," she said.
"Been learnin' ever since I was big enough," said the black
girl. And she looked so.
"Are you willing to learn?"
"Like nothin' better."
"Provided it's the right kind, I suppose," said Elizabeth,
wholly unable to prevent her features giving way a little at
the unshakable coolness and spirit she had to do with. Clam's
face relaxed in answer, after a different manner from any it
had taken during the interview; and she said,
"Well, I'll try. Mr. Winthrop said I was to be good; and I
ain't a goin' to do nothin' to displease him, anyhow!"
"But the matter is rather to please _me_, here," said Elizabeth.
"Well," said Clam with her former wide-awake smile, "I guess
what 'll please him 'll please you, won't it?"
"Go down stairs, and come to me after breakfast," said her
mistress. "I'll let you make some new dresses for yourself the
first thing. And look here, --" said she pulling a bright-
coloured silk handkerchief out of a drawer, -- "put that into a
turban before you come up and let me see what you're up to."
Clam departed without an answer; but when she made her
appearance again, the orange and crimson folds were twisted
about her head in a style that convinced Elizabeth her new
waiting-maid's capacity was equal to all the new demands she
would be likely to make upon it.