On the first morning of November the summit of the Peak was draped in
white, and a slight sprinkling of snow sparkled on the plain. Frost
was hard enough to freeze the duck-pond and the horse-trough. Winter
had begun. It was very cold; Lucy shivered over her dressing every
morning in her little attic chamber, and had just to work to get
warm, as Aunt Hepsy permitted no sitting over the stove. Tom had to
turn out of doors at six every morning, and feed a score of cattle
before breakfast, and woe betide him if the work was not done up to
Uncle Josh's mark. Uncle Josh had a vocabulary of his own, from which
he selected many an epithet to bestow on Tom! Sometimes yet the quick
temper would fly up, and there would be a war of words; but the lad's
strong striving was beginning to bear its fruit, and he found it
daily easier to keep hold of the bridle, as Miss Goldthwaite termed
it. Keziah had been dismissed also, and Lucy's burden was sometimes
more than she could bear. Miss Hepsy refused to see what others
saw--that the girl was overwrought; and her feelings had been blunted
so long, that only a very sharp shock would bring them into use
again. And the time had not come yet. For more highly favoured young
folks than Tom and Lucy Hurst, these frosty days brought innumerable
enjoyments in their train--skating and sleighing by daylight and
moonlight, evening parties, and all sorts of frolics. There were gay
times at the Red House, especially when in Christmas week Mr. Robert
Keane came home, bringing with him two school-boy cousins from
Philadelphia. Miss Alice Keane called at Thankful Rest on her pony,
one morning, to ask Tom and Lucy to a Christmas-eve gathering. The
invitation was curtly declined by Miss Hepsy, and she was dismissed
with such scant courtesy that she departed very indignant indeed.
"What a woman that is at Thankful Rest," she said to Miss Goldthwaite
when she called at the parsonage. "I almost forgot myself, Carrie,
and nearly gave her a few rude words. I am truly sorry for those poor
children."
"Well you may be," answered Carrie with a sigh, knowing better than
Alice what their life was.
Only one half-holiday was vouchsafed to them at Miss Goldthwaite's
earnest entreaty, and they took tea at the parsonage, after which the
party went up to the Red House pond to see the skating there. They
were very warmly welcomed--Minnie, especially, being quite overjoyed
to see Lucy again.
"Do you skate, Tom?" asked Miss Keane, coming up breathless after a
long run down the lake.
"Yes, Miss Keane. But I have no skates; they were left at home--in
Newhaven, I mean."
"Here, Minnie, my pet, run to the house and bring out a couple of
pairs. You will find them in George's room, I think; and tell Robert
_I_ want him on the lake."
Minnie ran off obediently. Pretty soon Mr. George Keane and the two
cousins appeared round the bend, and Miss Keane introduced the latter
to Tom. They did not take long to become acquainted, and were soon
talking quite familiarly. They stood waiting till Minnie returned,
her brother with her, carrying the skates. He was a tall, slight
young man, rather like Miss Keane; and his face looked a trifle stern
at first, as hers did, but that wore off when you got to know him.
"This is Tom Hurst I told you of, Robert," said Miss Keane; and Tom
shook hands with him reverentially, remembering he was the great
painter all America was talking of.
"I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Robert Keane frankly. "Let us get on
our skates, and you and I shall take a run together. I haven't been
on the ice this season."
Tom sat down and quickly put on his skates, and the pair set off,
keeping close together. Miss Keane turned to Mr. Goldthwaite with a
smile. "Robert is interested already. I want him to do something for
Tom, and I think he will."
"He will not regret it," answered Mr. Goldthwaite. "They are all off
now but we two, Miss Keane; come, we must not be behind."
"My sister tells me you would like to be a painter, Tom," said Mr.
Robert Keane, when they had gone a hundred yards in silence.
"Yes, sir," answered Tom, wishing to say a great deal more, but
unable to utter more than two words.
"What would you say to go back to Philadelphia, and let me look after
your training?"
"O Mr. Keane!" Tom stood still on the ice and lifted incredulous eyes
to his companion's face. There was a smile there, but the eyes were
sincere enough.
"I see you would like it. Don't stand; we can talk while we go. Well,
my boy, there is a great deal of hard work, patient plodding,
uninteresting study to be gone through, and as many failures and
tumbles as days in the year, before you reach even the first step of
the ladder. Do you think you could go through it?"
"I would go through anything, Mr. Keane, and toil for twenty years,
if need be, only to be allowed to work at it. Do you know, it is life
to me even to think of it."
Robert Keane glanced curiously at the lad. His face was kindling with
emotion, and his eyes shone like stars.
"All right, my boy; you're the right stuff, I see. Leave it with me;
I'll fix it right enough. And you'll go to Philadelphia as sure as my
name's Keane. No need to thank me. Let your future success be my
reward, if I need any. Let us try a race back; you're a splendid
skater."
They turned, and sped along the ice at lightning speed, and Tom came
in a dozen yards in front at the farther side.
"Ahead of me," laughed Mr. Keane. "Is that an omen of the future,
Tom?"
Miss Goldthwaite noted the boy's flushed, happy face and bright eyes,
and concluded Mr. Robert Keane must have wrought the change. She
turned to remark upon it to Alice, when a hand touched her arm, and
Tom's voice said eagerly, "Will you skate with me, Miss Goldthwaite?
I want to speak to you." She nodded smilingly and gave him her hand.
"O Miss Goldthwaite," said Tom in a great burst of happiness, "Mr.
Robert Keane says he will take me to Philadelphia with him, and help
me to be a painter."
"I guessed he would," said Carrie. "I am very glad of it, Tom. Do you
remember what I said about this joy coming in God's good time?"
"I have not forgotten, Miss Goldthwaite."
She stopped on the ice, and laid her slim hand a moment on his
shoulder. "My soldier will remember his Captain still, I hope, in
those happier days, and work for Him with double energy because they
are happier."
The moonlight showed trembling drops in the boy's earnest eyes as he
answered reverently--"I will never forget how good He has been to me,
Miss Goldthwaite, when I so little deserved it."
"That is right, my boy; I am not afraid of you," she said heartily.
"Here we are round the bend. How lovely that moonlight shines through
these gloomy pines. Let us go right to the end before we turn."
They set off again along the smooth sheet of ice, and as they neared
the farther end of the lake Miss Goldthwaite turned aside to explore
an opening between the trees. A moment more and Tom heard a crash,
followed by a faint scream. He looked round, to see the edge of Miss
Goldthwaite's fur cloak disappearing through a huge fissure in the
ice! He had presence of mind to utter one wild, despairing cry, which
re-echoed far off in the lonely pine wood, and then he plunged after
her and caught her dress. Superhuman strength seemed to come to him
in that moment of desperate peril, and he managed to keep, hold of
her with one hand, and with the other cling to the broken edge of
ice. It seemed hours before the ring of skates and the sound of
voices announced help at hand, and his numbed fingers relaxed their
hold of the ice just as Robert Keane and his brother's strong arms
bent down to rescue them. He still had hold of Miss Goldthwaite, and
two minutes sufficed to extricate them both. They were unconscious,
and Carrie's sweet face was so deathly white that a mighty fear took
hold of all present. Alice Keane knelt down and laid her hand to her
heart. "Thank God," she uttered tremulously, and it was fervently
re-echoed by every lip. They were borne to the Red House with great
speed, and restoratives being applied, both rallied in a very short
time. Miss Goldthwaite's first question was for Tom, as his had been
for her; and she whispered to them faintly that he had saved her life
at the risk of his own. When Tom looked round, after a while, it was
to find the judge and Mr. George Keane standing by his bed.
"God bless you, my lad," said the old man huskily. "You have saved
our pretty flower. All Pendlepoint will thank you for this."
And Mr. George bent over him, his honest gray eyes dim with tears. "I
owe my wife's life to you, Tom, my boy. As long as I live I shall
never forget this."
A message was despatched to Thankful Rest reporting the accident, and
saying the children would remain till next day, at least, at the Red
House. Mr. Goldthwaite also remained. His words of thanks to Tom were
few: he was too deeply moved to speak, but Tom was quick to
understand. Next morning Miss Goldthwaite was able to appear at the
breakfast table, looking a little paler than usual, but apparently
not much the worse of her ducking. Dr. Gair forbade Tom to get up
till noon, so Carrie herself took up his breakfast-tray. He looked
surprised and greatly relieved to see her, and tried to make light of
what he had done.
"It is nothing," he said. "I would gladly do fifty times more for
you."
"We are bound more closely together now," she said. "I owe my life to
you." And bending over him she kissed him, and slipped away, leaving
him very happy indeed.
In the evening he came down to the drawing-room, where he was treated
as a hero. Everybody made so much of him that he began to feel
uncomfortable, and took refuge at last with Mr. Robert Keane, who
good-naturedly showed him the sketch-book he had filled in Europe,
and explained everything to him, as if he found pleasure in it. And
he did find pleasure, for Tom was an enthusiastic listener.
No inquiry had come from Thankful Rest, which had astonished Mrs.
Keane very much. She thought they would be sure to feel anxious about
Tom's recovery. She did not know Joshua Strong and his sister. The
following morning Dr. Gair said Tom might go home as soon as he
liked; so Miss Alice drove him and Lucy to Thankful Rest in the
course of the forenoon. Miss Hepsy was plucking chickens for the
market, and tossed up her head when her nephew and niece appeared
before her.
"I wonder you'd come back at all after livin' so long among gentle
folk. It'll be a long time, I reckon, afore ye get the chance to jump
through the ice after Miss Goldthwaite or any other miss.--Here,
Lucy, get off yer hat, and lend a hand wi' them chickens.--You'll
find plenty wood in the shed, boy, waitin' to be chopped, if yer
uncle hain't anything else for ye to do. Off ye go."
The contrast between the happy circle they had left and their own
home was so painful that Lucy's tears fell fast as she went to do her
aunt's bidding. And Tom departed to the wood-shed with a very
downcast and rebellious heart.