THE HOME OF THE HERMIT
When Robert awoke the next morning he found himself alone. His strange
host was absent, on some errand perhaps.
After a brief glance of bewilderment, Robert remembered where he was,
and with the recovery of his strength, which had been repaired by sleep,
he felt a natural curiosity about his host and his strange home.
So far as he knew, he was the first inhabitant of the village who had
been admitted to a sight of its mystery.
For two years the hermit of the cliff had made his home there, but he
had shunned all intercourse with his neighbors and had coldly repelled
all advances and checked all curiosity by his persistent taciturnity.
From time to time he went to the village for supplies, and when they
were too bulky to admit of his carrying them, he had had them delivered
on the beach in front of the entrance to his cave dwelling and at his
leisure carried them in himself.
He always attracted attention, as with his tall, slender, majestic
figure he moved through the village, or paced the beach, or impelled his
frail boat. But speculation as to who he was or what had induced him to
become a recluse had about ceased from the despair of obtaining any
light upon these points.
No wonder then that Robert, admitted by chance to his dwelling, looked
about him in curious wonder.
Cavern as it was, the room was fitted up with due regard to comfort and
even luxury.
The bed on which our hero reposed was soft and inviting. The rough stone
floor was not carpeted, but was spread with Turkish rugs. There was a
bookcase, containing perhaps two hundred books; there was a table and
writing desk, an easy-chair and a rocking-chair, and the necessarily
dark interior was lighted by an astral lamp, diffusing a soft and
pleasant light. On a shelf ticked a French clock and underneath it was a
bureau provided with toilet necessaries.
No one in the village knew how these articles had been spirited into the
cavern. No one of the villagers had assisted. Indeed, no one, except
Robert, knew that the hermit was so well provided with comforts.
Our hero found his clothes on a chair at his bedside. They were drier
and suitable for wearing.
“I may as well dress,” thought Robert. “I won’t go away till I’ve seen
the hermit. I want to thank him again for taking such good care of me.”
He did not have to wait long, however. He had scarcely completed his
toilet when the hermit appeared.
“So, my young friend, you arc quite recovered from your bath?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That is well.”
“I think, sir, I had better go home now, for my aunt will be anxious
about me.”
“I sent a message to your aunt last evening. She knew before she went to
bed that you were safe.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“I am not apt to be curious, but I wish, before you leave me, to ask you
a few questions. Sit down, if you please.”
Robert seated himself. He felt that the hermit had a right to ask some
questions of one whom he had saved.
“How came you so far out at sea on a frail raft? If you had been
shipwrecked, that would explain it, but as you have not been to sea, I
cannot understand it.”
“I found myself on Egg Island, without any means of getting off. So I
made a raft from the timbers of the wreck and launched it. I thought it
would last long enough for me to reach land.”
“It was a hazardous enterprise. But how came you on the island? Surely
you did not swim there?”
“No, sir. My uncle carried me there in his boat. He refused to take me
off unless I would give up some money which I wanted to spend for my
aunt.”
“Was the money yours?”
“Yes, sir. It was given me by a gentleman living at the hotel.”
“Your uncle--John Trafton--is not a temperate man?”
“No, sir. He spends all the money he earns on drink, and my aunt and I
have to live as we can.”
“What a fool is man!” said the hermit musingly. “He alone of created
beings allows himself to be controlled by his appetites, while
professing to stand at the head of the universe!”
Robert felt that he was not expected to answer this speech and remained
respectfully silent till his host resumed his questioning.
“And you,” said the old man abruptly, “what do you do?”
“Sometimes I go out with my uncle’s boat and catch fish for use at home.
Sometimes I find jobs to do in the village which bring in a little
money. I am always glad of that, for we can’t buy groceries without
money, and my uncle never gives us any. My aunt is very fond of tea, but
once for three weeks she had to do without it.”
“That was a pity. There are some who find great comfort in tea.”
“It is so with Aunt Jane. She says it puts new life in her.”
“Have you any money now?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you of my good luck!” said Robert eagerly. “Just
before I left the wreck I dug up this,” and he displayed the purse with
the gold pieces in it. “It would have been a pity if I had been drowned
with all this in my pocket.”
“My poor boy, your young life would have outweighed a thousandfold the
value of these paltry coins. Still I do not depreciate them, for they
may be exchanged for comforts. But will not your uncle seek to take them
from you?”
“He will not know that I have this money. I shall not tell him.”
“It will be better.”
For a brief time the hermit gazed at Robert in thoughtful silence and
then said:
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen, sir.”
“Have you ever thought of life and its uses--I mean of the uses of your
own life? Have you ever formed plans for the future?”
“No, sir. It did not seem of much use. I have had to consider how to get
enough for my aunt and myself to live upon.”
“So your uncle’s burdens have been laid on your young shoulders? Have
you no aspirations? Are you willing to follow in his steps and grow up a
fisherman, like your neighbors?”
“No, sir. I should be very sorry if I thought I must always live here at
Cook’s Harbor and go out fishing. I should like to see something of the
world, as I suppose you have.”
“Yes, I have seen much of the world--too much for my happiness--or I
would not have come to this quiet spot to end my days. But for a young
and guileless boy, whose life is but beginning, the world has its
charms. Do you care for books?”
“I have never looked into many, sir, but that is not my fault. I have
half a dozen tattered books at home and I study in some of them every
day. I have been nearly through the arithmetic and I know something of
geography. Sometimes I get hold of a paper, but not often, for my uncle
takes none and does not care for reading.”
“Look among my books. See if there is any one you would like to read.”
Robert had already cast wistful glances at the rows of books in the
handsome bookcase.
He had never before seen so many books together, for Cook’s Harbor was
not noted for its literary men and book lovers. He gladly accepted the
hermit’s invitation.
His attention was quickly drawn to a set of the Waverley novels. He had
often heard of them, and an extract which he had seen in his school
reader from “Rob Roy” had given him a strong desire to read the story
from which it was taken.
“I should like to borrow ‘Rob Roy,’” he said.
“You may take it. When you have read it, you may, upon returning it,
have another.”
“Then I may call to see you, sir?”
“I shall be glad to have you do so. It is an invitation I never expected
to give, but you have interested me, and I may be able to serve you at
some time.”
“Thank you, sir. If you should ever want any one to run errands for you,
I hope you will call upon me. I should like to make some return for your
great kindness.”
“That is well thought of. You may come to me every Tuesday and Friday
mornings, at nine o’clock, and carry my orders to the village. I do not
care to go there, but have had no messenger I could trust. For this
service I will pay you two dollars a week.”
Robert was astonished at the mention of such liberal payment.
“But, sir, that is rather too much,” he began.
“Let it be so,” said the hermit. “I have money in plenty and it does not
bring me happiness. In your hands it may do good.”
“It will be a great help to me, sir.”
“It is understood then. I will not detain you longer. Go home and
gladden the heart of your aunt.”
Robert left the cavern, more than ever puzzled by his brief acquaintance
with the mysterious recluse.