"Do you know, my son, the sinfulness of the estate in which you are
living?"
"Sinfulness of the estate whereunto man fell?" says Reuben, briskly.
"Know it like a book:--'Consists in the guilt of _Adam's_ first sin the
want of original righteousness and the corruption of his whole nature
which is commonly called original sin together with all actual
transgressions which proceed from it.' There's a wasp on your shoulder,
father,--there's two of 'em; I'll kill em."
No wonder the good Doctor is disheartened, and trusts more and more, in
respect to his boy, to the silent influences of the Spirit.
Adele has no open quarrels with Miss Johns; she is obedient; she, too,
has fallen under the influence of that magnetic voice, and accepts the
orders and the commendations conveyed by it as if they were utterances
of Fate. Yet, with her childish instincts, she has formed a very fair
estimate of the character of Miss Eliza; it is doubtful even if she has
not fathomed it in certain directions more correctly and profoundly than
the grave Doctor. She sees clearly that the spinster's unvarying
solicitude in regard to the dress and appearance of "dear Adele" is due
more to that hard pride of character which she nurses every day of her
life than to any tenderness for the little stranger. For at the hands of
her old godmother and of her father Adele has known what real tenderness
was. It is a lesson children never unlearn.
"Adele, my dear, you look charmingly to-day, with that pink bow in your
hair. Do you know, I think pink is becoming to you, my child?"
And Adele listens with a composed smile, not unwilling to be admired.
What girl of--any age is? But the admiration of Miss Johns does not
touch her; it never calls a tear to her eye.
In the bright belt-buckle, in the big leg-of-mutton sleeves, in the
glittering brooch containing coils of the Johns' hair, in the jaunty
walk and authoritative air of the spinster, the quick, keen eye of Adele
sees something more than the meek Christian teacher and friend. It is a
sin in her to see it, perhaps; but she cannot help it.
Miss Johns has not succeeded in exciting the jealousy of Reuben,--at
least, not in the manner she had hoped. Her influence over him is
clearly on the wane. He sees, indeed, her exaggerated devotion to the
little stranger,--which serves, in her presence, at least, to call out
all his indifference. Yet even this, Adele, with her girlish instinct,
seems to understand, too, and bears the boy no grudge in consequence of
it. Nay, when he has received some special administration of the
parson's discipline, she allows her sympathy to find play in a tender
word or two that touch Reuben more than he dares to show.
And when they meet down the orchard, away from the lynx eye of Aunt
Eliza, there are rare apples far out upon overhanging limbs that he can
pluck, by dint of venturous climbing, for her; and as he sees through
the boughs her delicate figure tripping through the grass, and lingers
to watch it, there comes a thought that _she_ must be the Amanda of the
story, and not Rose,--and he, perched in the apple-tree, a glowing
Mortimer.