A REMOVAL.
JOHN CASWELL'S business was by this time greatly extended, and he
began to be favourably known outside of his native city. The Sisters'
Hospital, the new wing of the Old Ladies' Home, and the new High-School
building, were all models in their way; and people who were planning
similar structures came from a distance to see them.
Beginning life as a simple carpenter's apprentice, John had put his
whole heart and soul into his business, and never lost an opportunity
of acquiring knowledge upon subjects connected with it. By the time
he was out of his apprenticeship, he had accumulated quite a little
library of books upon architecture, and some very rare and valuable
illustrated works.
John was known as an architect of taste and science, as well as an
honest and reliable builder; and so it came to pass that he was offered
the contract for certain costly public buildings in a flourishing
Western city, which would keep him busy for at least a year.
A good many things inclined John to accept the offer. Business was
rather dull in T— just at that time; he was not unwilling to travel and
see a little more of the world; he had an opportunity of renting his
place advantageously to a careful tenant; and he believed the change
would be good for Letty, who had never been quite strong since the
death of her little boy.
Accordingly, the furniture was safely stored, and the books were left
in care of Mrs. De Witt and Gatty, who also took charge of Ginger. He
was now a veteran among cats, and growing very infirm; but Letty would
almost as soon have thought of parting with a child as of having Ginger
put out of the way. He had been little Alick's first and favourite
playfellow, and was a memento of the last visit of Aunt Eunice; and
Gatty promised that he should never want for meat so long as she had
any herself. The new tenants—a middle-aged clergyman and his wife,
without children—promised to take care of the garden; and the lady
assumed the charge of Letty's poor-district and Sunday-school class.
Letty would gladly have gone to see poor Madge, to bid her good-by;
but she knew it would be vain to attempt such a thing, and contented
herself with sending her, through Fanny Cutler, a great many loving
messages, and a calico frock to be converted into patchwork.
Letty found herself very pleasantly situated in her new home. She had
letters to some friends of the Campions, who were cultivated people
and interested in all sorts of charities; and she soon found herself
engaged much as she had been before, in visiting the sick poor and
teaching a class in a large mission-school. Her health improved by the
change; and her little girl grew stout and rosy every day.
Gatty proved an excellent correspondent, giving all the news of the
town and neighbourhood, the Home and the church.
And Letty was not sorry when John asked her if she would be willing to
remain another year.
"It would be an advantage to me in every way," said he. "I should not
only have my jobs here, but I should be able to take a large contract
in M—, where they want me to build a church and some school buildings.
Dr. Marvin will be glad to keep the house, and the furniture is as safe
as possible."
"Oh, I am quite satisfied," replied Letty. "I don't know but I feel
as much at home here as though I had lived here all my life. The only
thing that I miss is my house and garden. I must confess I am growing
tired of boarding."
"I have been thinking about that," replied John; "and I have been
making some inquiries. I find we can rent a furnished house in the
suburbs, where there is a nice old garden, at a very reasonable rate.
It is an old-fashioned place both in fittings and furnishing; but it is
roomy and sufficiently convenient."
"I should not mind the fashion, if it is only comfortable and
pleasantly situated," remarked Letty. "I have rather a fondness for
old-fashioned houses."
"Let us go and see it," said John.
It proved to be a large brick house, with upper and lower verandas,
commanding a fine view and possessing a spacious garden overrun with
vines and large old shrubbery and filled with all sorts of flowers,
both rare and common. Letty fell in love with it at once.
"This is charming!" said she. "How I shall enjoy putting the garden in
order! There is every thing here, and nothing is needed but to reduce
it to some kind of system."
"You will hardly care to do much to a rented place," remarked the next
door neighbour, who had charge of the keys. "One cannot take much
interest in a garden which one expects soon to leave."
"As to that, we are all tenants at will," said John. "If the place were
my own, I should have no assurance of keeping it a single week."
"True," said Letty, thoughtfully; "and yet one does feel differently
about a place of one's own. It is pleasant to think that we can leave
the work of our hands to our children."
"And how many people in this country do so?" asked John. "Our
improvements will go to somebody's children, if not to our own; and,
meanwhile, we have the pleasure of seeing them."
The house was taken; and Letty, rejoiced to find herself once more
with a house and garden of her own, set herself to work in earnest
to remedy, by all sorts of contrivances, the deficiencies of the
furniture, and to weed and put in order the neglected flower-beds. The
place soon assumed a pleasant, cheerful aspect; and here Letty's third
child was born,—a fine, stout boy.
It was when the new-comer was two or three months old that John one day
brought in a paper directed in Gatty's handwriting.
"There must be something special in it," said Letty. "Look and see if
there is any place marked."
John looked, and uttered an exclamation of horror as the paragraph met
his eye. Letty read over his shoulder:—
"FRIGHTFUL ACCIDENT AND LOSS OF LIFE.—We are grieved to announce the
death of the infant son of our well-known townsman, Mr. Joseph Emerson.
It appears that Mr. and Mrs. Emerson had been out late at a party, and
on coming home went, as usual, to the nursery to see their boy. They
were horror-struck at seeing the room full of smoke, and, rushing to
the crib, found their little one almost reduced to a cinder. Terribly
injured as he was, the child survived several hours. There was a small
open fire in the room; and it is supposed that during the momentary
absence of the nurse a spark must have fallen into the crib."
Letty sat down, too much shocked to speak.
"What a frightful accident!" said John. "But does it not seem very
strange that the child's clothes should have been set on fire that way?"
"I do not believe that is the true story," said Letty. "There has been
some horrible carelessness, you may depend upon it. Poor Agnes! What
will become of her?—She was so bound up in that boy. Mrs. Cutler told
me she hardly ever saw a child so idolized."
"Perhaps her heart may be turned towards poor Madge," remarked John. "I
am afraid, from all I hear, that she has a great deal of trouble before
her. I met Mr. Williams on the cars the other day, and he told me that
Van Horn's establishment is gaining a very bad character, and that they
are hardly considered respectable. He says Joe lives very hard."
"I believe I will write to Agnes," said Letty, after some further
conversation. "It can, at any rate, do no harm; and her heart may be
softened by her troubles. Oh, if she might only be led to the true
source of consolation!"
Letty wrote accordingly; but she received no answer, and remained in
doubt whether Agnes ever received her letter. She heard indirectly
that they were increasing their expenses and making more and more
show in dress and equipage, and that Mrs. Cutler had removed from the
neighbourhood,—a circumstance which she very much regretted, on account
of poor Madge. Of Madge herself she could learn nothing whatever.
At the end of two years, John decided to sell out all his property
in T— and remove permanently to his Western home. It was not without
some pangs that Letty made up her mind to this step. Her affections
had taken very deep root in the little place in Myrtle Street, where
her married life began and where her Alick was born and died; but she
saw that her husband's heart was set upon it, and she could not but
own that it was best. She was obliged to admit that her own health was
improved by the change to a milder climate; the children were very
well, and she had now no special ties to their old home.
So it was finally decided that they should return to T— for two
or three months, to settle to their affairs, sell the place and
superintend the packing and removal of the furniture. And, as Dr.
and Mrs. Marvin were going away for a few weeks, they took up their
quarters in their own house for that length of time.
Letty could not but admit that the house seemed very small and
confined, and the garden very little, after the place to which she had
been lately accustomed. And, though she refused to confess as much to
John, she was obliged to own to herself that she should be very glad to
find herself back again.
It chanced, one day shortly after her arrival, that she went with
little Eunice—or Una, as she was called—into Williams's grand
restaurant of the little city of T—. She noticed a lady standing at the
counter as she entered, but did not observe her particularly.
As she paused at the counter and ordered some ice-cream and sponge-cake
for herself and Una, the stranger turned quickly round. She was dressed
in the height of the fashion; but her countenance was careworn and
haggard, and her complexion was of a dead, livid paleness.
After a few moments' apparent hesitation, the stranger spoke to her.
Letty started and turned round. The voice was surely familiar.
"Agnes! Is it possible this can be you?"
"Even so," replied Agnes, returning the greeting with some appearance
of affection. "I thought you did not mean to speak to me, Letty."
"I did not know you," said Letty, "you are so thin and pale. Are you
ill?"
"I am as usual, thank you," said Agnes. "I know I am very much altered,
but I did not think of your not recognizing me. I could hardly expect
you to speak to me, after all that has passed."
"Let by-gones be by-gones," said Letty. "I am very glad to have met
you. I have asked about you several times, but could hear nothing. How
is Madge?"
"She is about the same. There is very little change in her, that I
can see," replied Agnes, in an indifferent tone. "She has been at Dr.
Woodman's establishment for the last year, and seems very happy there.
You know he has bought the old Bingham place and set up a sort of
private hospital."
"Yes; so I heard. I am very glad Madge is under his care, as I have the
greatest faith in his skill."
"Is that your little girl? A fine child: isn't she?"
"She is very healthy," said Letty. "She has never known a day's illness
in her life. Una, this is the mother of Cousin Madge, of whom I have so
often told you."
"You have another child, have you not?" she asked, after another
interval of silence.
"Yes; a fine little fellow, over a year old."
"I suppose you heard how I lost my boy?" said Agnes.
"Yes; Gatty De Witt sent us a paper containing the account. I wrote to
you as soon as I heard of it."
"I never received the letter," said Agnes. "I had a feeling that you
would write if you heard; though I hardly know what reason I had to
expect it."
"It was a terrible accident, and seemed a very mysterious one," said
Letty, thinking she saw a desire on the part of Agnes to continue the
conversation. "Did you have a wood-fire in the nursery?"
"There was no fire of any kind," said Agnes, abruptly. She paused,
looked around, and then drew close to Letty. "Letty, that child was
murdered!—Murdered by his own father!"
"Agnes! What do you mean?" said Letty. "You don't know what you are
saying!"
"It is true!" said Agnes. "Just as I say. We came home late, and Joseph
was half drunk, as usual. I was detained down-stairs, looking for a
ring; which I drew off with my glove. He went straight to the nursery,
lighted a cigar at the lamp, and threw the burning paper into the
baby's cradle. It was a warm night; the child was covered only with a
cotton spread, and the mosquito-bars were partly down. I caught a sight
of the blaze from the stairs; but before I could get to him, the whole
crib was a sheet of flame;—it was too late! He recognized my voice, and
stretched out his arms to me. He lived six hours afterwards; but they
gave him chloroform, and he never knew me again!"
Letty did not know what to say. Agnes spoke rationally,—too rationally
for her to doubt the truth of the narrative, even if it had not been in
itself quite probable. Nothing astonished her more than the change in
Agnes herself. There was nothing of the old fretful excitability and
emphatic manner of talking even about trifles. She spoke in a low, dull
tone, almost as if she were talking in her sleep.
"Joseph told his own story," she continued, "and I was too much
occupied with the child to contradict him, even if it had been worth
while. He is very much changed,—more than I am. He is mad with brandy
half the time. Even Madge had lost her influence with him, and he was
glad to get her out of the house."
"Poor Madge!" said Letty.
"Oh, she is happy enough," returned Agnes, indifferently. "She had no
love for her home, and they take very good care of her. It seemed cruel
that she should be spared, while my noble, healthy boy was destroyed.
If she had been the one—"
"Oh, Agnes, don't say so!" interrupted Letty. "Madge is your own child,
your first-born, and has a double claim upon your affection in her
helplessness. She might be a great comfort to you, if you will only
feel it so."
"Perhaps so," said Agnes; "but I am past all feeling. I think I should
like to see your boy, Letty."
"Why will you not come home and spend the day with me, Agnes?" asked
Letty. "You need see no one,—not even John, if you do not wish it."
"I cannot go to-day; though I should like it," said Agnes. "But Joseph
is going to New York to-night, to be away some days, and I may come
while he is gone,—that is, if you care to have me."
"What has become of Mrs. Van Horn?" asked Letty.
"I never see her," replied Agnes. "We quarrelled long ago, and we do
not speak when we meet. You were quite right in your estimation of
those people, Letty. It was an evil day for us when we first saw them."
"So I rather supposed; but we will let that go with the rest, Agnes.
There is no use in recalling old grievances. I wish I could see you
looking better. I am sure you must be suffering. Do you have that cough
all the time?"
"Whenever I am tired, or take a little cold. But good-by! I have stayed
too long here."