THE HOME COMING
Quincy desired to have his return to America unheralded by items in
the newspapers of stories of his wonderful rescue, captivity, and final
recovery of his reason, so when he booked for passage on the _Gallia_ he
gave the name of Mr. S. Adams, wife and son.
During the homeward voyage the father and son had an opportunity to
become acquainted. The father told the story of his life at Mason's
Corner; first going back to his college days. He told his son how he had
opposed his father's wish that he would become a lawyer and sustain the
reputation of the old firm of Sawyer, Crowninshield, and Lawrence; about
his health breaking down and his visit to Mason's Corner; about the
blind girl whom he had made his wife, and how he had secured medical
assistance and her sight had been restored. Once again he lived over his
life in the country town, and told about his friends and foes--Obadiah
Strout and Bob Wood--who were enemies no longer, and honest,
good-hearted 'Zeke Pettingill, and his sweet wife, little Huldah Mason.
And Hiram who stammered so and Mandy who didn't. Nearly all the people
mentioned in their long talks were well known to young Quincy and after
his father had finished his reminiscences the young man supplied the
sequel.
“What do you think of Mr. Strout?” asked the father.
“Think? I know he's a dishonest man. You say that you parted friends. He
is no friend of yours or mine.”
Then he told of his encounter with young Bob Wood.
“I had some trouble with his father many years ago,” said Quincy. “What
did he do to you?”
“Nothing to me. He insulted a young lady, and I took her part. Tom was
going to help me but I arranged to handle him, in a very unscientific
way though.”
“It was a rough and tumble of the worst sort,” interjected Tom. “I was
afraid they'd bite each other before they got through.”
“Quincy,” said his father, “you must take boxing lessons. When occasion
requires, it is the gentleman's weapon.”
The mention of Mary Dana naturally led to a rehearsal of the Wood case,
and all Mary had done in helping Quincy at the beginning of the search
for his father.
“I think I see which way the wind blows,” laughed his father, while
Quincy blushed to the roots of his hair, “and I want to meet the young
lady who did so much to bring us all together again.”
Alice was proud of her son. He resembled her, having light hair and blue
eyes; a decided contrast to his father whose skin had been darkened by
Italian suns, who had dark eyes, dark hair frosted at the ends, and a
heavy beard, cut in Van Dyke fashion. Few, if any, would have recognized
in him the young man who more than twenty-three years before had taken
passage on the _Altonia_, looking forward to a pleasant trip and an
early return to his native land.
Alice explained to her son her apparent lack of affection for him in
allowing him to be separated from her so long.
“I knew you were with your relatives and good friends, Quincy. In my
nervous, depressed state I was poor company for a young, healthy boy.
Then, I had such a fear of the ocean I dared not go to you and was
afraid to have you come to me. Can you forgive me?”
“My darling mother,” said young Quincy, “what you did turned out for the
best. I have been educated as an American and that fully atones for my
apparent neglect. Your beautiful letters kept you always in my mind, and
I used to take great pleasure in telling my schoolmates what a pretty
mother I had.”
Alice, despite her years, blushed.
“Quincy, you are like your father in praising those you love.”
Tom gave Quincy's father graphic descriptions of the changes in
Fernborough and fully endorsed his friend's opinion of Mr. Strout.
“He's a snake in the grass,” said Tom. “He'd pat you on the back with
one hand and cut your throat, figuratively speaking, with the other.”
“Do you think he'd recognize me?” asked Quincy.
“I think not,” said Tom. “His perceptive powers are not strong. He's
sub-acute rather than 'cute.”
Quincy and Alice sat for hours looking out upon the wide expanse of
ocean, and at the blue sky above them. It did not seem possible that
so many years had passed since they were together. Memory is a great
friend. It bridged the great gap in their lives. They were lovers as of
yore, and would be always. They did not hesitate to talk of the cruel
past--not sadly, for were they not in the happy present?
Said Alice one morning, “While you were gone I was in a terribly nervous
condition. Aunt Ella said that I must have something to employ my
mind--and I wrote, or tried to write. I couldn't keep my mind on one
thing long enough to write a story, but I have collected the material
for one, and now that I am happy once more, when we have settled down, I
am going to write it.”
“What's the title, or, rather, the subject?” her husband inquired.
“Oh, it opens with a ship-wreck--not a collision but a fire was
the cause. Among the passengers are many children--of high and low
degree--and they get mixed up--fall into wrong persons' hands,--fathers
and mothers are lost and cannot claim them, and their future lives have
supplied me with the strongest and most intricate and exciting plot that
I have ever constructed.”
“Which is the 'star' child?”
“He is the son of a Russian Grand Duke--the offspring of a morganatic
marriage--his mother is driven from the country by order of the Czar.
The title is _The Son of Sergius_.”
They did not remain in New York but took the first train for Boston.
They were driven to the Mount Vernon Street house.
“I knew you were coming,” cried Maude, as she ran eagerly down the steps
to meet them.
“Who has turned traitor? I pledged them all to secrecy,” cried Quincy.
“Harry told me, and I had a cablegram from Florence.”
“Did she use my name? If so, we are undone and the reporters will swarm
like bees.”
“You are safe,” said Maude. “The message read: Brother found. Keep
quiet.”
Tom was prevailed upon to remain in Boston until Quincy could go to
Fernborough. At supper they were introduced to Maude's family.
“Six of them,” said Quincy. “I am uncle to a numerous extent. Maude,
what are all their names--the girls first.”
“This is Sarah, named after mother; Ella for Aunt Ella, and little Maude
for her mother.”
“Good! Now the boys.”
“Stuart--the old gentleman was so nice to Harry and me when we were on
our wedding tour--Nat for father, and Harry--”
“Thank Heaven--no Quincy. That name was becoming contagious. I am glad,
Maude, that you were wise and kept the epidemic out of your family.”
That evening Quincy and Mr. Merry talked about business matters. Harry
told of Hiram's accident and the destruction of the store by fire.
“There's something funny about it,” said Harry. “We authorized Mr.
Strout to rebuild and restock at once, and we hear that he has done so,
but he has not called on us for a dollar, nor has he sent up any bills
for payment.”
“I wish you would send a telegram to Mr. Ezekiel Pettingill the first
thing to-morrow morning asking him to come to the city--say important
business.”
About three o'clock Ezekiel arrived at the office of Sawyer,
Crowninshield, Lawrence and Merry. He was shown into what had been the
late Hon. Nathaniel's private office, and came face to face with Quincy.
“I'm heartily glad to see you again,” he exclaimed as he wrung Quincy's
helpless hand after the first surprise of the meeting. “Huldy'll be
delighted too. You must come down and tell us all about it. Just to
think--more'n twenty years--but you're looking well.”
Quincy assured him that his health was never better.
“What I wanted to see you about are affairs in Fernborough. What is
Strout up to?”
“You've used just the right word. He's up to something. He's got up a
sign--O. Strout, Fine Groceries--an' says Hiram's out of the firm, and
that he owns the whole business.”
Quincy smiled. “So, I've got to fight it out with him again, have I?
Well it will be the final conflict. To use Mr. Strout's words, one
or the other of us will have to leave town. You aren't going back
to-night?”
“Oh, I must.”
“Well, come up to the house first and see Alice and the boy. Well go
down to-morrow.”