Henry Morton rose with the sun. This was not so early as may be
supposed, for already November had touched its middle point, and the
tardy sun did not make its appearance till nearly seven o'clock. As he
passed through the hall he noticed that breakfast was not quite ready.
“A little walk will sharpen my appetite,” he thought. He put on his hat,
and, passing through the stable-yard at the rear, climbed over a fence
and ascended a hill which he had observed from his chamber window.
The sloping sides, which had not yet wholly lost their appearance of
verdure, were dotted with trees, mostly apple-trees.
“It must be delightful in summer,” said the young man, as he looked
thoughtfully about him.
The hill was by no means high, and five minutes' walk brought him to the
summit. From this spot he had a fine view of the village which lay at
his feet embowered in trees. A narrow river wound like a silver thread
through the landscape. Groups of trees on either bank bent over as if
to see themselves reflected in the rapid stream. At one point a dam had
been built across from bank to bank, above which the river widened and
deepened, affording an excellent skating-ground for the boys in the cold
days of December and January. A whirring noise was heard. The grist-mill
had just commenced its work for the day. Down below the dam the shallow
water eddied and whirled, breaking in fleecy foam over protuberant rocks
which lay in the river-bed.
The old village church with its modest proportions occupied a knoll
between the hill and the river. It was girdled about with firs
intermingled with elms. Near-by was a small triangular common, thickly
planted with trees, each facing a separate street. Houses clustered here
and there. Comfortable buildings they were, but built evidently rather
for use than show. The architect had not yet come to the assistance of
the village carpenter.
Seen in the cheering light of the rising sun, Henry Morton could not
help feeling that a beautiful picture was spread out before him.
“After all,” he said thoughtfully, “we needn't go abroad for beauty,
when we can find so much of it at our own doors. Yet, perhaps the more
we see of the beautiful, the better we are fitted to appreciate it in
the wonderful variety of its numberless forms.”
He slowly descended the hill, but in a different direction. This brought
him to the road that connected the village with North Rossville, two
miles distant.
Coming from a different direction, a boy reached the stile about the
same time with himself, and both clambered over together.
“It is a beautiful morning,” said the young man courteously.
“Yes, sir,” was the respectful answer. “Have you been up looking at the
view?”
“Yes--and to get an appetite for breakfast. And you?”
Frank Frost--for it was he--laughed. “Oh, I am here on quite a different
errand,” he said. “I used to come here earlier in the season to drive
the cows to pasture. I come this morning to carry some milk to a
neighbor who takes it of us. She usually sends for it, but her son is
just now sick with the measles.”
“Yet I think you cannot fail to enjoy the pleasant morning, even if you
are here for other purposes.”
“I do enjoy it very much,” said Frank. “When I read of beautiful scenery
in other countries, I always wish that I could visit them, and see for
myself.”
“Perhaps you will some day.”
Frank smiled, and shook his head incredulously. “I am afraid there is
not much chance of it,” he said.
“So I thought when I was of your age,” returned Henry Morton.
“Then you have traveled?” said Frank, looking interested.
“Yes. I have visited most of the countries of Europe.”
“Have you been in Rome?” inquired Frank.
“Yes. Are you interested in Rome?”
“Who could help it, sir? I should like to see the Capitol, and the Via
Sacra, and the Tarpeian Rock, and the Forum--and, in fact, Rome must be
full of objects of interest. Who knows but I might tread where Cicero,
and Virgil, and Caesar had trodden before me?”
Henry Morton looked at the boy who stood beside him with increased
interest. “I see you are quite a scholar,” he said. “Where did you learn
about all these men and places?”
“I have partly prepared for college,” answered Frank; “but my father
went to the war some weeks since, and I am staying at home to take
charge of the farm, and supply his place as well as I can.”
“It must have been quite a sacrifice to you to give up your studies?”
said his companion.
“Yes, sir, it was a great sacrifice; but we must all of us sacrifice
something in these times. Even the boys can do something for their
country.”
“What is your name?” asked Henry Morton, more and more pleased with his
chance acquaintance. “I should like to become better acquainted with
you.”
Frank blushed, and his expressive face showed that he was gratified by
the compliment.
“My name is Frank Frost,” he answered, “and I live about half a mile
from here.”
“And I am Henry Morton. I am stopping temporarily at the hotel. Shall
you be at leisure this evening, Frank?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I should be glad to receive a call from you. I have no
acquaintances, and perhaps we may help each other to make the evening
pass pleasantly. I have some pictures collected abroad, which I think
you might like to look at.”
“I shall be delighted to come,” said Frank, his eyes sparkling with
pleasure.
By this time they had reached the church, which was distant but a few
rods from the hotel. They had just turned the corner of the road, when
the clang of a bell was heard.
“I suppose that is my breakfast-bell,” said the young man. “It finds me
with a good appetite. Good morning, Frank. I will expect you, then, this
evening.”
Frank returned home, feeling quite pleased with his invitation.
“I wish,” thought he, “that I might see considerable of Mr. Morton. I
could learn a great deal from him, he has seen so much.”
His road led him past the house of Squire Haynes. John was sauntering
about the yard with his hands in his pockets.
“Good morning, John,” said Frank, in a pleasant voice.
John did not seem inclined to respond to this politeness. On seeing
Frank he scowled, and without deigning to make a reply turned his back
and went into the house. He had not forgotten the last occasion on which
they had met in the woods, when Frank defeated his cruel designs upon
poor Pomp. There was not much likelihood that he would forget it very
soon.
“I can't understand John,” thought Frank. “The other boys will get mad
and get over it before the next day; John broods over it for weeks.
I really believe he hates me. But, of course, I couldn't act any
differently. I wasn't going to stand by and see Pomp beaten. I should do
just the same again.”
The day wore away, and in the evening Frank presented himself at the
hotel, and inquired for Mr. Morton. He was ushered upstairs, and told to
knock at the door of a room in the second story.
His knock was answered by the young man in person, who shook his hand
with a pleasant smile, and invited him in.
“I am glad to see you, Frank,” he said, very cordially.
“And I am much obliged to you for inviting me, Mr. Morton.”
They sat down together beside the table, and conversed on a variety of
topics. Frank had numberless questions to ask about foreign scenes and
countries, all of which were answered with the utmost readiness. Henry
Morton brought out a large portfolio containing various pictures, some
on note-paper, representing scenes in different parts of Europe.
The evening wore away only too rapidly for Frank. He had seldom
passed two hours so pleasantly. At half-past nine, he rose, and said
half-regretfully, “I wish you were going to live in the village this
winter, Mr. Morton.”
The young man smiled. “Such is my intention, Frank,” he said quietly.
“Shall you stay?” said Frank joyfully. “I suppose you will board here?”
“I should prefer a quieter boarding-place. Can you recommend one?”
Frank hesitated.
“Where,” continued Mr. Morton, “I could enjoy the companionship of an
intelligent young gentleman of your age?”
“If we lived nearer the village,” Frank began, and stopped abruptly.
“Half a mile would be no objection to me. As I don't think you will find
it unpleasant, Frank, I will authorize you to offer your mother five
dollars a week for a room and a seat at her table.”
“I am quite sure she would be willing, Mr. Morton, but I am afraid we
should not live well enough to suit you. And I don't think you ought to
pay so much as five dollars a week.”
“Leave that to me, Frank. My main object is to obtain a pleasant home;
and that I am sure I should find at your house.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Frank; “I will mention it to my mother, and let
you know in the course of to-morrow.”