A HAPPY WALK.
Trafford looked up from his books as his nephew entered, and greeted
him with a smile. Noll thought this welcome portended good, and
remembered, with a grateful thrill in his heart, that Uncle Richard
had fallen into the habit of greeting him thus of late. He went up to
the reader's chair, and without waiting for his courage to cool, laid
a hand on the reader's arm, saying,--
"Uncle Richard, I've come to ask a great favor of you. Do you think
you'll grant it? Can't you guess what it is?"
Trafford did not reply at once, but sat looking steadfastly into his
nephew's face, his eyes wearing the dreamy, far-away look which
lingered in them much of late, and it was not until Noll had repeated
his question that he replied, musingly,--
"I'm sure I cannot think. Perhaps you wish more pocket-money, or--"
"Oh, no!" answered the boy, quickly, "it's nothing like that, Uncle
Richard! It's--it's--oh, it's will you take a walk?"
Trafford's forehead began to wrinkle and slowly gather the shade of
gloom which seemed always hovering about him, even in his most
cheerful moments; but before it had time to cover the man's brow, and
before he could utter a refusal, Noll's hand was endeavoring to
smooth away the wrinkles, and he was saying,--
"There, don't say 'No,'--don't, Uncle Richard! I won't ask you to go
again if you are not pleased with this walk, but _this_ time--just
_this_ once--do say 'Yes,' uncle! There can't be a pleasanter
afternoon in the whole year than this, and I've walked alone, always
till now. Why, Uncle Richard, you won't say 'No' _this_ time?"
Trafford hesitated, a refusal trembling on his lips, which he did not
quite wish to utter. The boy _had_ walked alone, he remembered, and it
was a very simple request to grant; and if it was going to be such a
pleasure and gratification to Noll, why not yield, and for once put
aside his own preferences and inclinations? It is not an easy matter
for a man who has lived only for himself and his own pleasure to put
the gratification of these aside to give place to the happiness and
comfort of another; but, with an effort, Trafford put his books away,
and rose from his chair, saying,--
"This once, Noll,--this once. One walk with me will suffice you, I
think. When shall we start?"
"Now,--at once, Uncle Richard!" said Noll, joyfully; "it's two o'clock
already, and the tide a long, long way out. Don't let's wait a minute
longer."
Trafford smiled a little at his nephew's eagerness, and taking his
hat, followed the boy to the piazza. It was a great change from the
half-gloom of the library, and the chilliness of the long, dark halls,
to the bright, sunny piazza, where the light fell so warm and broadly,
and from whence the blue and shining sea stretched far and wide and
vast.
Noll felt sure that Uncle Richard must notice it and rejoice, even
though it might be secretly. From east to west there were no clouds,
and nothing to hinder the sunbeams from finding the earth and working
wondrous charms on land and rock and sea. They stood for a few minutes
there, one of them, at least, enjoying the wide view very much, then
Noll said,--
"We'll go up the shore, if you'd as lief, Uncle Richard. It's much
pleasanter that way, I think."
"Very well," said Trafford, with an indifference which was not
encouraging, and they passed down the steps on to the sand. It was a
silent and uncomfortable walk for the first few rods, Trafford walking
with his head bowed upon his breast and looking only at the yellow
sand upon which he trod. He seemed to have no eyes for the calm and
gentle peace which had descended upon that afternoon, robbing the sea
of its terror and making it enchanting and lovely, and weaving a
mystic charm about the bare, bald Rock basking warm and purple under
the sun. Even the waves murmured only softly and soothingly and with
drowsy echoes, as they rippled in and out among the rocks and along
the sand. Fortunately for their pleasure, Noll picked up a curious
pebble before they had gone a great way. It was not an agate, nor was
it like the rounded pebbles of porphyry which the tide washed up, and
puzzling over this, and asking Uncle Richard, at last, to explain its
nature, somehow broke the heavy silence which had been between them,
and questions and pleasant talk came naturally enough after this.
Trafford lost his gloom and reserve, and followed after his nephew,
chatting and explaining strange matters of rock and sea, and stopping
now and then to pull over great bunches of freshly-stranded kelp to
help Noll search for rare shells or bits of scarlet or purple weed
which were hidden and entangled there. How brightly shone the sun!
What peace and calm hovered over land and sea! He was just beginning
to be conscious of the joy and loveliness which the afternoon held. It
was no wonder, he thought, that Noll's blithe, unclouded heart loved
such a pleasant earth, and found delight in all the hours which
flitted by. But for himself, alas! all this brightness was clouded
over by the ever-present, ever-shadowing darkness of the future. It
might have been different if--if--But with a sigh Trafford put away
these thoughts, and followed on. They lingered around the rocks in
their path, black with fringes of dry sea-weed, and talked of gneiss
and sienite, granite and trap; they stopped at the curve in the shore,
and sat down to watch the white flitting of sails on the far
horizon-line, and somehow, the sight of them led to a long talk about
Hastings and Noll's papa, and happy memories of other days. Trafford
was in a softened mood as they rose up from their seat on a great
fragment which had fallen from the cliff above, and Noll said,--
"Come, Uncle Richard, let's keep on toward Culm. It's _so_ pleasant,
and night is a long way off yet."
If he had followed his own inclinations, the uncle would have turned
about and retraced his steps, but Noll had started on, and Trafford
followed, thinking, "It isn't often the boy has company in his
rambles. I can humor him for once."
Slowly enough they approached the Culm houses, loitering along the
moist, shining sand, over which the waves had rolled and rippled but a
few hours before, and marking their devious path with straying
footprints. Noll's heart began to beat somewhat faster as they neared
the fishermen's houses, and he kept a keen watch upon his uncle's face
in order to detect the first look of surprise and astonishment that
should come across it when he perceived how the huts had been
improved. But Trafford's eyes were turned toward the sea, thoughtfully
and gravely, and they drew very near the village without the discovery
being made. They came upon Dirk, Hark Darby, and two or three other
fishermen, spreading their nets in the sun, all of whom touched their
hats and nodded respectfully to Noll, eying the uncle, meanwhile, with
curious eyes and half-averted faces. The sight of these men brought
Trafford's eyes and thoughts back to Culm and the present. He turned
to Noll, saying, with a little smile,--
"Some of your sworn friends?"
"Yes, they're my friends, Uncle Richard," said Noll, expecting every
moment to see Trafford raise his eyes to the houses, which they were
passing, "and they do me a great many favors too."
"In what way?" Trafford was about to ask; but just then he looked up
and about him, and the words died on his lips. Noll paused, waiting in
suspense for what was to come next. His uncle stood still, and looked
for a full minute upon Dirk's house, then cast his eyes up and down
the line of dwellings, while a look of wonder and amazement came over
his face. He turned about, and looked at Noll, who could not, for the
life of him, keep the bright color from creeping up into his cheeks
and over his forehead, and then he looked at the houses again. A
sudden suspicion came into Trafford's mind, and turning his keen eyes
upon Noll, he exclaimed,--
"Can you explain this?"
The nephew hesitated, looked down in some embarrassment, then
gathering sudden courage, looked up and answered, brightly, "Yes,
Uncle Richard, I know all about it."
It was all plain to Trafford then. For a moment his own eyes faltered
and refused to meet Noll's, and he showed some signs of emotion. But
his voice and tone were as calm as ever when he said, a few minutes
after,--
"_You_ did this? How can I believe it? What had you to do with? And
why was I not consulted, if this was your work?"
"Oh, Uncle Richard!" said Noll, quickly, "don't be vexed with me. You
gave me permission to help these Culm people. Don't you remember?"
Trafford made no reply, and again looked at the line of comfortable,
well-repaired houses. There were deeper thoughts and emotions in his
heart at that moment than Noll could know or guess.
The long silence was so uncomfortable that the boy was fain to break
it, with, "I've one more thing to show you, Uncle Richard. It's not
much,--only just a beginning,--but I'd like you to see and know about
it."
Trafford followed, without a word, and Noll led the way to the little
schoolroom, with its two benches and three-legged stool and pile of
well-thumbed primers and spelling-books.
"It's not much," said Noll, apologetically, "but it's a beginning, and
they all know their letters, and some can spell a little."
Trafford evinced no surprise, much to Noll's wonder, and merely asked,
"Where do you find the time?"
"After recitations," replied the nephew; and that was all that was
said about the matter.
Trafford went out and sat down on the little wharf, and Noll lingered
in the doorway of his schoolroom, thinking that he had never seen
Uncle Richard act more strangely. Was he offended at what he had done
and was doing for the Culm people? he wondered. He looked out and saw
that his uncle had turned his face away, and was looking off upon the
sea with the same dreamy, thoughtful look which he had noticed in his
eyes of late. Noll would have given a great deal could he have known
his thoughts at that moment. To human eyes this grave and thoughtful
man, who sat on the wharf, was not a whit less the stern and gloomy
creature that he had been an hour before. Yet, all hidden from others'
gaze, and almost from his own consciousness, a sudden sense of regret
and of a great short-coming in himself had welled up through the crust
of his hardened heart. His heart had been deeply stirred, and now it
smote him. His thoughts took some such shape as this,--even while he
was looking with such apparent calmness upon the changing, shadowy
lights of the sea:--
"This boy has done more in this short summer for his fellow-men and
for his God than I have done in my whole forty years of life! Oh, what
a life mine has been!--all a wreck, a failure, a miserable waste! And
he? Why, in this short summer-time, and on this barren Rock, he has
made his very life a blessing to every one upon it. I suppose those
dirty, ignorant fishermen bless the day that brought him here. And I?
O Heaven! what a failure, what a failure! I've done the world no
good,--it's no better for my having lived in it,--it would miss me no
more than one of these useless pebbles which I cast into the sea. And
this boy--_my_ boy--always at work to make others rejoice that he was
born into the world!"
For all the calmness and repose that was on his face, he longed to cry
out. Oh! was there no deliverance? Might not these long wasted years
yet be paid for by deeds of mercy and charity? But where was there a
deliverer? and who could tell how many years of good deeds and charity
could pay for forty years of wasted ones?