"I'm Mrs. Hurst's son," corrected Tom proudly. "Who are you?"
"If I'm not yer Uncle Josh, I reckon he ain't be home terday,"
returned the man.--"Hi! up, Sally; you and me's not fit company, I
guess, for a city gent."
"If you _are_ Uncle Joshua, I beg your pardon I'm sure," said Tom
with his usual frankness. "Won't you shake hands, Uncle Joshua?"
Uncle Joshua took the thin, delicate hand in his own brown palm, and
looked at it curiously.
"Jes' as Hepsy said--Hetty's boy's more for ornament than use. Well,
youngster, now you're here ye'll work for yer bread, I hope. We're
poor folks here, an' can't keep idle hands. Ye'll hev to learn to
mind a team like this."
"I wouldn't mind if I'd a better horse, Uncle Josh," said Tom,
walking alongside of his uncle, and eying the hungry-looking steed
critically. "See his ribs. Don't you feed him ever, Uncle Josh?"
The man's face flushed angrily. "Shut up, younker!" he said savagely.
"Don't speak about things ye know nothing about."
Tom walked on a minute or two in silence, but in no way disconcerted.
"This is a very nice place, Uncle Josh," he said. "Mamma often told
us about it, but it's prettier than I thought it would be."
"The place'll do, I reckon," admitted Uncle Josh. "But farmin' ain't
what it was. It's a hard job gettin' meat an' drink out o'd
now-a-days."
"Mamma told us you were rich," said Tom in surprise. "But you can't
be, because--because--"
"Wal?" said Uncle Josh, with a slow, stupid smile.
"Because your horses are all thin, and _you_ wear these clothes; and
Aunt Hepsy doesn't dress like a lady. Rich people don't live so."
"You're a fool, youngster. Just your mother over again. You don't
know, I suppose, that to save money folks must live cheap, an' not be
all outside show. Ye'll learn better, maybe, afore ye've been long at
Thankful Rest,--Hi, Sally! Whoa, lass."
The thin, wretched-looking horse stood still, thankful to be released
from the heavy waggon; and Tom watched all his uncle's movements with
much interest. He followed him from the yard to the stable, saw him
give the five horses a scanty feed of corn and a pail of water.
"We'll go and hev a bite o' dinner now," he said; then, "Your
sister'll be indoors, I guess?"
Tom nodded, and the two proceeded to the house. Lucy was downstairs
by this time, awkwardly placing knives, forks, and plates on the
table, under Miss Hepsy's directions. A glad smile crept to her eyes
at sight of Tom; it seemed ages since he had gone out. She looked
timidly at her uncle as he shook hands with her, remarking she was a
pale-faced thing, and needed work and exercise to make her spry. Then
the company sat down, and Tom, if Lucy did not, did ample justice to
Miss Hepsy's cookery. It was an unsociable, uncomfortable meal. Aunt
and uncle ate, as they did everything else, as if for a wager, and
were finished before Lucy had touched her meat and potatoes.
"Look spry, child," said her aunt, beginning to clear away almost
immediately. "You'll ha' to learn to eat to some purpose. Time don't
last for ever."
Lucy pushed back her unfinished plateful and rose.
"Not dainty enough for ye, is it not?" was the next remark. "Ye'll
eat it by-and-by maybe."
"I'm not hungry, Aunt Hepsy," she said with quivering lips; and Tom
bit his to keep back angry words surging to them.
"May I go out for a little, Aunt Hepsy?" Lucy asked.
"When you've wiped them dishes you may," replied Aunt Hepsy. "I lost
two good hours goin' to that plaguy depot for you, so the least ye
can do is to help me through.--Josh, find summat for the boy to do;
'tain't no use hevin' him 'round idle lookin' for mischief."
"Come along to the barn then, What's-yer-name," said Uncle Josh,
picking up his hat and sauntering to the door.--"Don't be too hard on
that little 'un, Hepsy; she don't look over strong."
"Mind yer own business, will ye, Josh Strong," was Miss Hepsy's smart
rejoinder. "I guess I'm able to mind mine."
Under Miss Hepsy's directions, Lucy succeeded in washing up the
dishes without disaster, and was then requested to come to the far
parlour and receive a lesson in sweeping and dusting. Then baking
came on, and with one thing and another Miss Hepsy managed to keep
the child within doors and on her feet till past four o'clock. She
was fainting with fatigue, but would not complain, and Miss Hepsy was
too busy to observe the pallor on her face.
"May I sit down for a minute, please?" she said at last, after
bringing a huge can of flour from the larder. "I am afraid I am going
to faint, Aunt Hepsy;" and she looked like enough it, as she sank
wearily on the settle, and let her white lids droop over her tired
eyes.
Miss Hepsy was more than annoyed. "A delicate child above all
humbugs," she muttered, as she sprinkled a few drops of spring water
on the girl's face, and held her smelling-salts to her nostrils.
"Ye'd better go out an' get a mouthful of fresh air, I suppose," she
said ungraciously when Lucy rose at last, with a faint touch of
returning colour in her cheeks.
And Lucy gladly went upstairs for her hat, and crept out into the
beautiful sunshine. The garden gate was locked, but she managed to
turn the key, and went slowly, in a maze of delight, along the trim
paths, past beds of roses, hollyhocks, pansies, and sweet-scented
gilly-flowers. The orchard beyond looked tempting indeed, where the
sunbeams glistened through the bending boughs of apple, plum, and
cherry trees, on the soft carpet of grass beneath. She managed to
unfasten the gate there too, and choosing a wide-spreading
apple-tree, from which she could see the meadow and the river, flung
herself on the grass beneath it. There she fell asleep, and Tom found
her an hour after. His fine face looked worried and discontented, and
he flung himself beside her, saying gloomily,--
"How on earth I am to live here, Lucy Hurst, I don't know."
"What is it, Tom?" inquired she, forgetting her own troubles in
sympathy for him.
"Oh, Uncle Josh, that's all. He hasn't any patience with me, and
makes me speak up impertinently to him. And the things they say about
mamma are perfectly shameful. I won't bear it now, I won't."
His sister's gentle hand touched his lips to stem the passionate
words.
"You remember, Tom," she said softly, "what mamma said to us. We were
to endure all such little trials, remembering that it is God who
sends them. Think how grieved she would be if she could hear us
grumbling so soon."
"I don't care; I can't help it," said the boy recklessly. "It isn't
anything for you to be good, Lucy; you are just like mamma--a kind of
saint, I think. For me it is just a long battle all day. If a fellow
conquered in the end, it would not matter; but as it is--O Lucy,
Lucy! why did mamma die? It was so easy to be happy and good when we
had her to love and help us. I wish I were dead too."
Poor, proud, passionate Tom! His sister could only put her gentle arm
about his neck and cry too, her heart so sorely re-echoed the painful
longing in his voice.
So the first day at Thankful Rest did not promise very brightly for
Tom and Lucy Hurst.