The next morning Mr. W---- sent one of his house-servants to the
residence of Mr. Legare with the portfolio of drawings, but without any
message, for he knew the old gentleman would come to the bindery to
hear how he had fared in his mission, and he could better tell him by
word of mouth than on paper.
But the two sketches--the caricature of himself and foreman and the
mountain scene--he took out, and carried them with him when he went
down to the bindery. He went through the shop, as usual, after his
arrival, and saw all the hands at their various benches and tables, and
noticed with a sigh that Hattie Butler, her hair neatly bound up, sat
in her plain, but becoming, dress at her table, apparently unconscious
of everything but the work before her.
She did not even start and blush, as she had done once before, when he
spoke to her, as he now bade her “good-morning,” but responded in a
quiet, lady-like way--cheerfully, too--“good-morning, Mr. W----”
“Will you have the kindness to step into the office by and by, Miss
Hattie, when you are most at leisure? I have something to show you,” he
said.
“Certainly, Mr. W----. I have only ten more pages to arrange in this
volume, and it will take me but a little while. Then I will come.”
Mr. W---- moved on around the room, speaking to one employee here and
there till he saw her start for the office, and he entered it a moment
before she did.
“I have taken a liberty, I fear,” said he, “but in looking over your
portfolio I found this sketch by a different hand, and thinking you
might not wish to part with it to Mr. Legare, I took it from the
portfolio before sending it.”
“Oh, thank you--thank you, Mr. W----. I would not have parted with it
for a world. I did not know it was in there. I thought I had restored
it to the envelope in which it was sent to me by ----, a very dear
friend.”
She blushed, and seemed confused as she spoke thus, rapidly, holding
out her hand, and taking the sketch.
“And on another point I have taken a liberty,” he added, kindly looking
away, that she might recover from her agitation. “I found a very fine
portrait of myself and one of Mr. Jones, our foreman, and, remembering
well the scene, felt a desire to preserve it. Will you allow me to
purchase it?”
And he exhibited the sketch which had made him and his sisters so merry
the night before.
Hattie blushed to the very temples.
“Oh, forgive me, Mr. W----, I had forgotten that I ever made that
sketch. If I had only thought of it I would have taken it out of the
portfolio. But I was in a hurry, and perhaps agitated in my mind, when
I got it and brought it down to you. Please let me tear it up; it was a
thoughtless sketch, taken on the moment.”
“I would not have it torn up on any account, Miss Hattie. It is perfect
and truthful. I want to frame it, and hang it up where I can see it
every day. It will teach me not to lose my temper, as I did that day,
with an old and a faithful employee. Please sell it to me.”
“I will not sell it to you, Mr. W----, but if you attach any value to
it, please keep it as a welcome gift.”
“I thank you, Miss Hattie--from my heart I thank you. I will strive to
make you a suitable return in some way.”
“I need none, Mr. W----. Is this all you require of me?”
“All at present, Miss Hattie. There is something I would like to talk
with you about, but I will put it off to a time when I can speak and
you listen thoughtfully.”
Hattie bowed, and went out to her work, after folding up that mountain
sketch.
“I wonder who that very dear friend can be who sent her that sketch,”
muttered Mr. W----, after Hattie had gone. “How she blushed when she
spoke of whence it came, and took it from my hand. Oh, I hope and pray
her heart is not already gone. If it is, what have I to hope for? For
I love her--madly love her. I must know if her heart is disengaged. I
dare not trust myself to ask her; I should break down in the attempt.
I’ll write to her. Yes, on paper I may be able to express my thoughts.”
And going out to Mr. Jones, he gave directions that he was not to be
disturbed by any one, except on the most unavoidable business, for the
next hour.
And then he sat down at his desk to try to write out his hopes and his
wishes, not asking now, as he had once before, “What will the world say
about it?”
It seemed a hard task, for three times he filled a sheet of paper and
then burned it. It seemed as if he couldn’t get his thoughts together
to suit him.
But at last he completed his letter, sealed and directed it, and made
up his mind to hand it to Hattie just as she was leaving work at night.
And his heart was lighter after the work was done. He had allowed
himself to rise above the cold conventionalities of a callous,
heartless world--to say to himself, “If she will but have me, I will
wed worth, modesty, purity, beauty, and virtue, no matter how humble
the source from whence all these attributes spring. I will not allow
false pride or the opinions of others to chill the ardor of true and
manly affection. I will be true to nature and nature’s God, and respond
to the warm and noblest impulses which He alone can plant in the human
breast.”
And it seemed as if a brighter light beamed in his eye when he left his
office and came out among his work-people. There was surely a kindlier
tone in his voice.