Frank found little difficulty in persuading his mother to accept young
Morton's proposition. From her son's description she felt little doubt
that he would be a pleasant addition to the family circle, while his
fund of information would make him instructive as well as agreeable.
There was another consideration besides which determined her to take
him. Five dollars a week would go a great way in housekeeping, or,
rather, as their income from other sources would probably be sufficient
for this, she could lay aside the entire amount toward paying the
mortgage held by Squire Haynes. This plan occurred simultaneously to
Frank and his mother.
“I should certainly feel myself to blame if I neglected so good an
opportunity of helping your father,” said Mrs. Frost.
“Suppose we don't tell him, mother,” suggested Frank; “but when he gets
home surprise him with the amount of our savings.”
“No,” said Mrs. Frost, after a moment's thought, “your father will be
all the better for all the good news we can send him. It will make his
life more tolerable.”
Frank harnessed his horse to a light wagon and drove down to the tavern.
Henry Morton was sitting on the piazza, as the day was unusually-warm,
with a book in his hand.
“Well,” he said, looking up with a smile, “I hope you have come for me.”
“That is my errand, Mr. Morton,” answered Frank. “If your trunk is
already packed, we will take it along with us.”
“It is quite ready. If you will come up and help me downstairs with it,
I will settle with the landlord and leave at once.”
This was speedily arranged, and the young man soon occupied a seat
beside Frank.
Arrived at the farmhouse, Frank introduced the new boarder to his
mother.
“I hope we shall be able to make you comfortable,” said Mrs. Frost, in a
hospitable tone.
“I entertain no doubt of it,” he said politely. “I am easy to suit, and
I foresee that Frank and I will become intimate friends.”
“He was very urgent to have you come. I am not quite sure whether it
would have been safe for me to refuse.”
“I hope he will be as urgent to have me stay. That will be a still
higher compliment.”
“Here is the room you are to occupy, Mr. Morton,” said Mrs. Frost,
opening a door at the head of the front stairs.
It was a large square room, occupying the front eastern corner of the
house. The furniture was neat and comfortable, though not pretentious.
“I like this,” said the young man, surveying his new quarters with an
air of satisfaction. “The sun will find me out in the morning.”
“Yes, it will remain with you through the forenoon. I think you will
find the room warm and comfortable. But whenever you get tired of it you
will be welcome downstairs.”
“That is an invitation of which I shall be only too glad to avail
myself. Now, Frank, if you will be kind enough to help me upstairs with
my trunk.”
The trunk was carried up between them, and placed in a closet.
“I will send for a variety of articles from the city to make my room
look social and cheerful,” said Mr. Morton. “I have some books and
engravings in Boston, which I think will contribute to make it so.”
A day or two later, two large boxes arrived, one containing pictures,
the other books. Of the latter there were perhaps a hundred and fifty,
choice and well selected.
Frank looked at them with avidity.
“You shall be welcome to use them as freely as you like,” said the
owner--an offer which Frank gratefully accepted.
The engravings were tastefully framed in black walnut. One represented
one of Raphael's Madonnas. Another was a fine photograph, representing
a palace in Venice. Several others portrayed foreign scenes. Among them
was a street scene in Rome. An entire family were sitting in different
postures on the portico of a fine building, the man with his swarthy
features half-concealed under a slouch hat, the woman holding a child
in her lap, while another, a boy with large black eyes, leaned his head
upon her knees.
“That represents a Roman family at home,” explained Henry Morton.
“At home!”
“Yes, it is the only home they have. They sleep wherever night finds
them, sheltering themselves from the weather as well as they can.”
“But how do they get through the winter? should think they would
freeze.”
“Nature has bestowed upon Italy a mild climate, so that, although they
may find the exposure at this season disagreeable, they are in no danger
of freezing.”
There was another engraving which Frank looked at curiously. It
represented a wagon laden with casks of wine, and drawn by an ox and
a donkey yoked together. Underneath was a descriptive phrase, “Caro di
vino.”
“You don't see such teams in this country,” said Mr. Morton, smiling.
“In Italy they are common enough. In the background you notice a priest
with a shovel-hat, sitting sideways on a donkey. Such a sight is much
more common there than that of a man on horseback. Indeed, this stubborn
animal is found very useful in ascending and descending mountains, being
much surer-footed than the horse. I have ridden down steep descents
along the verge of a precipice where it would have been madness to
venture on horseback, but I felt the strongest confidence in the donkey
I bestrode.”
Frank noticed a few Latin books in the collection. “Do you read Latin,
Mr. Morton?” he inquired.
“Yes, with tolerable ease. If I can be of any assistance to you in
carrying on your Latin studies, it will afford me pleasure to do so.”
“I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Morton. I tried to go on with it by
myself, but every now and then I came to a difficult sentence which I
could not make out.”
“I think we can overcome the difficulties between us. At any rate, we
will try. Have no hesitation in applying to me.”
Before closing this chapter, I think it necessary to narrate a little
incident which served to heighten the interest with which Frank regarded
his new friend, though it involved the latter in a shadow of mystery.
Mrs. Frost did not keep what in New England is denominated “help.” Being
in good health, she performed the greater part of her household tasks
unassisted. When washing and house-cleaning days came, however, she
obtained outside assistance. For this purpose she engaged Chloe to come
twice a week, on Monday and Saturday, not only because in this way she
could help the woman to earn a living, but also because she found her a
valuable and efficient assistant.
Henry Morton became a member of the little household at the farm on
Thursday, and two days later Chloe came as usual to “clean house.”
The young man was standing in the front yard as Chloe, with a white
turban on her head, for she had not yet laid aside her Southern mode of
dress, came from the street by a little path which led to the back door.
Her attention was naturally drawn to the young man. No sooner did she
obtain a full view of him, than she stopped short and exclaimed with
every appearance of surprise, “Why, Mass' Richard, who'd'a' thought to
see you here. You look just like you used to do, dat's a fac'. It does
my old eyes good to see you.”
Henry Morton turned suddenly.
“What, Chloe!” he exclaimed in equal surprise. “What brings you up here?
I thought you were miles away, in Virginia.”
“So I was, Mass' Richard. But Lor' bless you, when de Linkum sogers
come, I couldn't stay no longer. I took and runned away.”
“And here you are, then.”
“Yes, Mass' Richard, here I is, for sure.”
“How do you like the North, Chloe?”
“Don't like it as well as de Souf. It's too cold,” and Chloe shivered.
“But you would rather be here than there?”
“Yes, Mass' Richard. Here I own myself. Don't have no oberseer to crack
his whip at me now. I'se a free woman now, and so's my little Pomp.”
The young man smiled at the innocent mistake.
“Pomp is your little boy, I suppose, Chloe.”
“Yes, Mass' Richard.”
“Is he a good boy?”
“He's as sassy as de debble,” said Chloe emphatically. “I don't know
what's goin' to 'come of dat boy. He's most worried my life out.”
“Oh, he'll grow better as he grows older. Don't trouble yourself about
him. But, Chloe, there's one favor I am going to ask of you.”
“Yes, Mass' Richard.”
“Don't call me by my real name. For some reasons, which I can't at
present explain, I prefer to be known as Henry Morton, for some months
to come. Do you think you can remember to call me by that name?”
“Yes, Mass'--Henry,” said Chloe, looking perplexed.
Henry Morton turned round to meet the surprised looks of Frank and his
mother.
“My friends,” he said, “I hope you will not feel distrustful of me, when
I freely acknowledge to you that imperative reasons compel me for a time
to appear under a name not my own. Chloe and I are old acquaintances,
but I must request her to keep secret for a time her past knowledge
concerning me. I think,” he added with a smile, “that she would have
nothing to say that would damage me. Some time you shall know all. Are
you satisfied?”
“Quite so,” said Mrs. Frost. “I have no doubt you have good and
sufficient reason.”
“I will endeavor to justify your confidence,” said Henry Morton, an
expression of pleasure lighting up his face.