Time, with his noiseless step, glided on, till but a few weeks remained
before the school would break up for the midsummer vacation. Happy as I
was at Uncle Nathan's, I looked eagerly forward to the holidays, for I
was then to pay a visit of several weeks to my home at Elmwood, having
been absent nearly a year, and, as this time drew nigh, every day seemed
like a week till I could set out on the journey. Added to the joy of
again meeting my mother and sister, I would also meet Charley Gray, who
was also to spend his vacation at home. We had kept up a regular
correspondence during the past year. I could always judge of Charley's
mood by the tone of his letters. Sometimes he would write a long and
interesting letter, in such a glowing, playful style, that I would read
it over half-a-dozen times at the least, and perhaps his very next
letter would be just the reverse, short, cold and desponding. Any one
who knew Charley as I did could easily tell the state of mind he was in
when he wrote, but so well did I know the unhappy moods to which he was
subject, that a desponding letter now and then gave me no surprise. In
fact, had the style of his letters been uniformly gay and lively, I
should have been more surprised, so well did I understand his variable
temper. But we both looked forward to our anticipated meeting with all
the eagerness and impatience of youthful expectation. For, as I said
near the opening of my story, I loved Charley as a brother, and so
agreeable and pleasant was his disposition when he was pleased, you
quite forgot for the time being the unhappy tempers to which he was
subject.
There is ever a feeling of sadness connected with the closing of school.
Owing to the excellence of the institution, there were pupils attending
Fulton Academy from many distant places. But with the coming of the
holidays this youthful band, who had daily assembled at the pleasant old
Academy would be scattered far and wide. Probably never all to meet
again on earth. Many of the youths who had studied a sufficient time to
obtain a business education were the coming autumn to go forth to make
their own way in the world. The only intimate friend I had made among
these was a youth whose home was two hundred miles distant from Fulton;
his name was Robert Dalton, and he had studied at Fulton Academy for the
past three years, and, having obtained an education which fitted him for
the business he intended to follow, he expected to return to Fulton no
more. His father was a merchant in one of the cities of the Upper
Province, and in the fall Robert was to enter the store, in order to
obtain a practical knowledge of business, as his tastes also led him
to mercantile pursuits. When I entered the school, a stranger to all,
Robert Dalton was the first youth who bestowed kind attentions upon me,
and we soon became firm friends; together we studied and mutually
assisted each other, and always shared in the same sports and
recreations. I could not help sometimes thinking it was well that
Charley Gray was attending another institution, for I felt certain (were
he there) that the friendship existing between myself and Robert would
irritate his fiery and jealous nature beyond measure. Poor Charley, it
was a pity that he possessed that unhappy temper; for there was much
suffering in store for himself and others arising from this source. Much
had he yet to endure before that jealous, exclusive spirit would be
brought under subjection. During the summer evenings a ramble to
"Beechwood" had been a favourite recreation with Robert and I, and
thither we took our way the last evening we expected to spend together
at Fulton. We lingered long there that evening, and, seated upon a mossy
rock beneath the shade of those old trees, we talked of our coming
separation, as well us of our individual plans for the future, till the
gathering darkness hastened our departure. The next morning we parted,
each to meet the friends who were looking for us with the anxious eyes
of love.
I knew not how much I had learned to love my kind relatives till the
time drew nigh when I was to bid them adieu for a season. The day
before I was to start for home, Aunt Lucinda made a most unexpected
announcement, which was no less than she had made up her mind to
accompany me to Elmwood. She had never before visited my mother since
her marriage, and she thought she might not again have so good an
opportunity of visiting the sister whom she had not seen for so many
years. My aunt and I were by this time the best of friends, and I was
pleased when she declared her intention to accompany me to my home. It
did not matter to me that my aunt was odd and old-fashioned in her
dress, and still more odd and eccentric in her manner and conversation,
to me she was the kind aunt who had cared for my wants, and treated me
as kindly as a mother could have done, and to one of my nature this was
sufficient to claim my affection and respect. This journey was quite an
event in the usually quiet and stay-at-home life of my aunt, but she
allowed that having made up her mind she had but one life to live, she
might as well enjoy herself sometimes as other folks. Grandma Adams
fairly wept when I bade her good-bye, saying: "who will read to me while
you are gone, Walter? and it may be when you come back you will find the
old arm-chair empty. No one is certain of a day of life but remember the
saying 'the young may die, but the old _must_ die.' I hope to see you
again, but should I not, strive to become a good and useful man, and
remember my counsels." Uncle Nathan shook me warmly by the hand, and
hoped to see me return soon, telling me also, with a comical look, to
take good care of Aunt Lucinda on the journey, as she was _young_ and
inexperienced, and not accustomed to travelling. "Nathan Adams," replied
my aunt, "if you must talk, do try sometimes and talk with a little
sense."
I was fearful of missing the train, so long was my aunt in giving
directions to the Widow Green, who had come to keep house during her
absence. Grandma allowed that though the widow might not understand all
the ways of the house, with _her_ help they could get along tolerably
well for a few weeks. "Never fear, mother," said Uncle Nathan. "There'll
be no one to scold while Lucinda's away, and we'll get along famously.
Only I suppose we will be called to a startling account when the
rightful mistress of the house returns." We soon took our places in the
carriage which awaited us, and, taking his place on the front seat,
Uncle Nathan started the impatient horse into a swift trot toward
Fulton, where we were to meet the train which was to bear us to Elmwood.