CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
OUR STORY COMES TO AN END.
Home! What a host of old and deep and heart-stirring associations arisein every human breast at the sound of that old familiar word! How wellwe know it--how vividly it recalls certain scenes and faces--howpleasantly it falls on the ear, and slips from the tongue--yet howlittle do we appreciate home until we have left it, and longed for it,perhaps, for many years.
Our hero, Ned Sinton, is home at last. He sits in his old place besidethe fire, with his feet on the fender. Opposite to him sits old MrShirley, with a bland smile on his kind, wrinkled visage, and two pairof spectacles on his brow. Mr Shirley, as we formerly stated,regularly loses one pair of spectacles, and always searches for them invain, in consequence of his having pushed them too far up on his baldhead; he, therefore, is frequently compelled to put on his second pair,and hence makes a spectacle, to some extent, of himself. Exactlybetween the uncle and the nephew, on a low stool, sits the cat--the cat,_par excellence_--Mr Shirley's cat, a creature which he has always beenpassionately fond of since it was a kitten, and to which, after Ned'sdeparture for California, he had devoted himself so tenderly, that hefelt half-ashamed of himself, and would not like to have been asked howmuch he loved it.
Yes, the cat sits there, looking neither at old Mr Shirley nor at youngMr Sinton, but bestowing its undivided attentions and affections on thefire, which it enjoys extremely, if we may judge from the placid mannerin which it winks and purrs.
Ned has been a week at home, and he has just reached that point ofexperience at which the wild life of the diggings through which he haspassed begins to seem like a vivid dream rather than reality.
Breakfast had just been concluded, although the cloth had not yet beenremoved.
"Do you know, uncle," remarked Ned, settling his bulky frame morecomfortably in the easy-chair, and twirling his watch-key, "I find itmore difficult every day to believe that the events of the last fewmonths of my life have actually occurred. When I sit here in my oldseat, and look at you and the cat and the furniture--everything, infact, just the same as when I left--I cannot realise that I have beennearly two years away."
"I understand your feelings, my dear boy," replied Mr Shirley, takingoff his spectacles, (the lower pair,) wiping them with his handkerchiefputting them on again, and looking _over_ them at his nephew, with anexpression of unmitigated admiration. "I can sympathise with you, Ned,for I have gone through the same experience more than once in the courseof my life. It's a strange life, boy, a very strange life this, asyou'll come to know, if you're spared to be as old as I am."
Ned thought that his knowledge was already pretty extended in referenceto life, and even flattered himself that he had had some stranger viewsof it than his uncle, but he prudently did not give expression to histhoughts; and, after a short pause, Mr Shirley resumed--
"Yes, lad, it's a very strange life; and the strangest part of it is,that the longer we live the stranger it gets. I travelled once inSwitzerland--," (the old gentleman paused, as if to allow the statementto have its full weight on Ned's youthful mind,) "and it's a curiousfact, that when I had been some months there, home and all connectedwith it became like a dream to me, and Switzerland became a reality.But after I came back to England, and had spent some time here, homeagain became the reality, and Switzerland appeared like a dream, so thatI sometimes said to myself, `Can it be possible that I have been there!'Very odd, isn't it?"
"It is, uncle; and I have very much the same feelings now."
"Very odd, indeed," repeated Mr Shirley. "By the way, that reminds methat we have to talk about that farm of which I spoke to you on the dayof your arrival."
We might feel surprised that the above conversation could in any wayhave the remotest connexion with "that farm" of which Mr Shirley was sosuddenly reminded, did we not know that the subject was, in fact, neverout of his mind.
"True, uncle, I had almost forgotten about it, but you know I've been somuch engaged during the last few days in visiting my old friends andcollege companions, that--"
"I know it, I know it, Ned, and I don't want to bother you with businessmatters sooner than I can help, but--"
"My dear uncle, how can you for a moment suppose that I could be`bothered' by--"
"Of course not, boy," interrupted Mr Shirley. "Well, now, let me askyou, Ned, how much gold have you brought back from the diggings?"
Ned fidgeted uncomfortably on his seat--the subject could no longer beavoided.
"I--I--must confess," said he, with hesitation, "that I haven't broughtmuch."
"Of course, you couldn't be expected to have done much in so short atime; but _how_ much?"
"Only 500 pounds," replied Ned, with a sigh, while a slight blush shonethrough the deep bronze of his countenance.
"Oh!" said Mr Shirley, pursing up his mouth, while an arch twinklelurked in the corners of each eye.
"Ah! but, uncle, you mustn't quiz me. I _had_ more, and might havebrought it home too, if I had chosen."
"Then why didn't you?"
Ned replied to this question by detailing how most of his money had beenlost, and how, at the last, he gave nearly all that remained to hisfriend Tom Collins.
"You did quite right, Ned, _quite right_," said Mr Shirley, when hisnephew had concluded; "and now I'll tell you what I want you to do. Youtold me the other day, I think, that you wished to become a farmer."
"Yes, uncle. I do think that that life would suit me better than anyother. I'm fond of the country and a quiet life, and I don't likecities; but, then, I know nothing about farming, and I doubt whether Ishould succeed without being educated to it to some extent at least."
"A very modest and proper feeling to entertain," said Mr Shirley, witha smile; "particularly when it is considered that farming is anexceedingly difficult profession to acquire a knowledge of. But I havethought of that for you, Ned, and I think I see a way out of thedifficulty."
"What way is that?"
"I won't tell you just yet, boy. But answer me this. Are you willingto take any farm I suggest to you, and henceforth to give up all notionof wandering over the face of the earth, and devote yourself steadily toyour new profession?"
"I am, uncle; if you will point out to me how I am to pay the rent andstock the farm, and how I am to carry it on in the meantime without aknowledge of husbandry."
"I'll do that for you, all in good time; meanwhile, will you put on yourhat, and run down to Moxton's office--you remember it?"
"That I do," replied Ned, with a smile.
"Well, go there, and ask him for the papers I wrote about to him twodays ago. Bring them here as quickly as you can. We shall then takethe train, and run down to Brixley, and look at the farm."
"But are you really in earnest!" asked Ned, in some surprise.
"Never more so in my life," replied the old gentleman, mildly. "Now beoff; I want to read the paper."
Ned rose and left the room, scarcely believing that his uncle did notjest. As he shut the door, old Mr Shirley took up the paper, pulleddown the upper pair of spectacles--an act which knocked the lower pairoff his nose, whereat he smiled more blandly than ever--and began toread.
Meanwhile, Edward Sinton put on his great-coat--the identical one heused to wear before he went away--and his hat and his gloves, and walkedout into the crowded streets of London, with feelings somewhat akin,probably, to those of a somnambulist. Having been so long accustomed tothe free-and-easy costume of the mines, Ned felt about as uncomfortableand stiff as a warrior of old must have felt when armed _cap-a-pie_.His stalwart frame was some what thinner and harder than when he lasttook the same walk; his fair moustache and whiskers were somewhat moredecided, and less like wreaths of smoke, and his countenance was of adeep-brown colour; but in other respects Ned was the same dashing fellowthat he used to be--dashing by _nature_, we may remark, not by_affectation_.
In half-an-hour he stood before Moxton's door. There it was, as largeas life, and as green as ever. Ned
really found it impossible tobelieve that it was so long since he last saw it. He felt as if it hadbeen yesterday. The brass knocker and the brass plate were there too,as dirty as ever--perhaps a thought dirtier--and the dirty house stillretreated a little behind its fellows, and was still as much ashamed ofitself--seemingly--as ever.
Ned raised the knocker, and smote the brass knob. The result was, asformerly, a disagreeable-looking old woman, who replied to the question,"Is Mr Moxton in?" with a sharp, short, "Yes." The dingy littleoffice, with its insufficient allowance of daylight, and itscompensating mixture of yellow gas, was inhabited by the same identicalsmall dishevelled clerk who, nearly two years before, was busilyemployed in writing his name interminably on scraps of paper, and whonow, as then, answered to the question, "Can I see Mr Moxton?" bypointing to the door which opened into the inner apartment, and resuminghis occupation--the same occupation--writing his name on scraps ofpaper.
Ned tapped--as of yore.
"Come in," cried a stern voice--as of ditto.
Ned entered; and there, sure enough, was the same tall, gaunt man, withthe sour cast of countenance, standing, (as formerly,) with his back tothe fire.
"Ah!" exclaimed Moxton, "you're young Sinton, I suppose?"
Ned almost started at the perfect reproduction of events, and questions,and answers. He felt a species of reckless incredulity in reference toeverything steal over him, as he replied--
"Yes; I came, at my uncle's request, for some papers that--"
"Ah, yes, they're all ready," interrupted the lawyer, advancing to thetable. "Tell your uncle that I shall be glad to hear from him again inreference to the subject of those papers; and take care of them--theyare of value. Good-morning!"
"Good-morning!" replied our hero, retreating.
"Stay!" said Moxton.
Ned stopped, and turned round.
"You've been in California, since I last saw you, I understand?"
"I have," replied Ned.
"Umph! You haven't made your fortune, I fancy?"
"No, not quite."
"It's a wild place, if all reports are true?"
"Rather," replied Ned, smiling; "there's a want of law there."
"Ha! and lawyers," remarked Moxton, sarcastically.
"Indeed there is," replied Ned, with some enthusiasm, as he thought ofthe gold-hunting spirit that prevailed in the cities of California."There is great need out there of men of learning--men who can resistthe temptation to collect gold, and are capable of doing good to thecolony in an intellectual and spiritual point of view. Clergymen,doctors, and lawyers are much wanted there. You'd find it worth yourwhile to go, sir."
Had Edward Sinton advised Mr Moxton to go and rent an office in themoon, he could scarcely have surprised that staid gentleman more than hedid by this suggestion. The lawyer gazed at him for one moment inamazement. Then he said--
"These papers are of value, young man: be careful of them.Good-morning--" and sat down at his desk to write. Ned did not ventureto reply, but instantly retired, and found himself in the street with--not, as formerly, an indistinct, but--a distinct impression that he hadheard the dishevelled clerk chuckling vociferously as he passed throughthe office.
That afternoon Ned and old Mr Shirley alighted from the train at asmall village not a hundred miles out of London, and wended their wayleisurely--for it was a warm sunny day for the season--towards a large,quaint, old farm-house, about two miles distant from the station.
"What a very pleasant-looking house that is on the hill-top!" remarkedNed, as he gave his arm to his uncle.
"D'you think so? Well, I'm glad of it, because that's the farm I wishyou to take."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Ned, in surprise. "Surely the farm connected withsuch a house must be a large one?"
"So it is," replied the other.
Ned laughed. "My dear uncle," said he, "how can _I_ manage such aplace, without means or knowledge?"
"I said before, boy, that I would overcome both these difficulties foryou."
"You did, dear uncle; and if you were a rich man, I could understand howyou might overcome the first; but you have often told me you had nomoney in the world except the rent of a small property."
"Right, Ned; I said so; and I say it again. I shan't leave you asixpence when I die, and I can't afford to give you one while I amalive."
"Then I must just leave the matter in your own hands," replied Ned,smiling, "for I cannot comprehend your plans."
They had now reached the gate of the park that surrounded the fine oldbuilding of Brixley Hall.
The house was one of those rambling, picturesque old mansions, which,although not very large in reality, have a certain air of magnitude, andeven grandeur, about them. The windows were modern and large, so thatthe rooms were well lighted, and the view in all directions wasmagnificent. Wherever the eye turned, it met knolls, and mounds, andfields, and picturesque groves, with here and there a substantialfarm-steading, or a little hamlet, with its modest church-spire pointingever upwards to the bright sky. Cattle and sheep lowed and bleated inthe meadows, while gentle murmurs told that a rivulet flowed along itsplacid course at no great distance.
The spot was simply enchanting--and Ned said so, in the fulness of hisheart, emphatically.
"'Tis a sweet spot!" remarked his uncle, in a low, sad tone, as heentered the open door of the dwelling, and walked deliberately into thedrawing-room.
"Now, Ned, sit down--here, opposite that window, where you can see theview--and I'll tell you how we shall manage. You tell me you have 500pounds?"
"Yes, uncle."
"Well, your dear mother left you her fortune when she died--it amountsto the small sum of 200 pounds. I never told you of it before, my boy,for reasons of my own. That makes 700 pounds."
"Will that suffice to stock and carry on so large a farm," inquired Ned?
"Not quite," replied Mr Shirley, "but the farm is partly stockedalready, so it'll do. Now, I've made arrangements with the proprietorto let you have it for the first year or two rent free. His lasttenant's lease happens to have expired six months ago, and he is anxiousto have it let immediately."
Ned opened his eyes very wide at this.
"He says," continued the old gentleman, "that if you can't manage tomake the two ends meet in the course of a year or two, he will extendthe _gratis_ lease."
Ned began to think his uncle had gone deranged. "Why, what _do_ youmean," said he, "who is this extraordinary proprietor?"
"He's an eccentric old fellow, Ned, who lives in London--they call himShirley, I believe."
"Yourself, uncle!" cried Ned, starting up.
Dear reader, the conversation that followed was so abrupt, exclamatory,interjectional, and occasionally ungrammatical, as well as absurd, thatit could not be reduced to writing. We therefore leave it to yourimagination. After a time, the uncle and nephew subsided, and againbecame sane.
"But," said Ned, "I shall have to get a steward--is that what you callhim? or overseer, to manage affairs until I am able to do it myself."
"True, Ned; but I have provided one already."
"Indeed!--but I might have guessed that. What shall I have to pay him?a good round sum, I suppose."
"No," replied Mr Shirley; "he is very moderate in his expectations. Heonly expects his food and lodging, besides a little care, and attention,and love, particularly in his old age."
"He must be a cautious fellow, to look so far forward," said Ned,laughing. "What's his name?"
"His name--is Shirley."
"What! yourself again?"
"And why not, nephew? I've as much right to count myself fit tosuperintend a farm, as you had, a year ago, to think yourself able tomanage a gold mine. Nay, I have a better right--for I was a farmer thegreater part of my life before I went to reside in London. Now, boy, asI went to live in the Great City--which I _don't_ like--in order to giveyou a good education, I expect that you'll take me to the country--whichI _do_ like--to be your overseer. I was
born and bred here, Ned; thiswas my father's property, and, when I am gone, it shall be yours. It isnot much to boast of. You won't be able to spend an idle life of ithere; for, although a goodly place, it must be carefully tended if youwould make it pay."
"I don't need to tell _you_," replied Ned, "that I have no desire tolead an idle life. But, uncle, I think your terms are very high."
"How so, boy?"
"_Love_ is a very high price to pay for service," replied Ned. "Yourkindness and your generosity in this matter make me very happy and verygrateful, and, perhaps, might make me very obedient and extremelyattentive; but I cannot give you _love_ at any price. I must refuse you_as an overseer_, but if you will come to me as old Uncle Shirley--"
"Well, well, Ned," interrupted the old gentleman, with a benign smile,"we'll not dispute about that. Let us now go and take a run round thegrounds."
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It is needless, dear reader, to prolong our story. Perchance we havetaxed your patience too much already--but we cannot close without a wordor two regarding the subsequent life of those whose fortunes we havefollowed so long.
Ned Sinton and old Mr Shirley applied themselves with diligence andenthusiasm to the cultivation of their farm, and to the cultivation ofthe friendship and good-will of their neighbours all round. In bothefforts they were eminently successful.
Ned made many interesting discoveries during his residence at BrixleyHall, chief among which was a certain Louisa Leslie, with whom he felldesperately in love--so desperately that his case was deemed hopeless.Louisa therefore took pity on him, and became Mrs Sinton, to theunutterable delight of old Mr Shirley--and the cat, both of whombenefited considerably by this addition to the household.
About the time this event occurred, Ned received a letter from TomCollins, desiring him to purchase a farm for him as near to his own aspossible. Tom had been successful as a merchant, and had made a largefortune--as was often the case in those days--in the course of a year ortwo. At first, indeed, he had had a hard struggle, and was more thanonce nearly driven, by desperation, to the gaming-table, but Ned'sadvice and warnings came back upon him again and again--so he foughtagainst the temptation manfully, and came off victorious. Improvedtrade soon removed the temptation--perhaps we should say that hisheavenly Father took that means to remove it--and at last, as we havesaid, he made a fortune, as many had done, in like circumstances, beforehim. Ned bought a farm three miles from his own, and, in the course ofa few months, Tom and he were once more walking together, arm in arm,recalling other days, and--arguing.
Lizette and Louisa drew together like two magnets, the instant they met.But the best of it was, Tom had brought home Larry O'Neil as hisbutler, and Mrs Kate O'Neil as his cook while Nelly became his wife'smaid.
Larry, it seems, had not taken kindly to farming in California, the moreso that he pitched unluckily on an unproductive piece of land, whichspeedily swallowed up his little fortune, and refused to yield anyreturn. Larry, therefore, like some men who thought themselves muchwiser fellows, pronounced the country a wretched one, in reference toagriculture, and returned to San Francisco, where he found Tom Collins,prospering and ready to employ himself and his family.
As butler to an English squire, Larry O'Neil was, according to his ownstatement, "a continted man." May he long remain so!
Nelly Morgan soon became, out of sight, the sweetest girl in thecountryside, and, ere long, one of the best young fellows in thedistrict carried her off triumphantly, and placed her at the head ofaffairs in his own cottage. We say he was one of the best youngfellows--this husband of Nelly's--but he was by no means the handsomest;many a handsome strapping youth there failed to obtain so good a wife asNelly. Her husband was a steady, hard working, thriving, good man--andquite good-looking enough for her--so Nelly said.
As for Captain Bunting and Bill Jones, they stuck to each other to thelast, like two limpets, and both of them stuck to the sea like fish. Noshore-going felicities could tempt these hardy sons of Neptune toforsake their native element again. He had done it once, Bill Jonessaid, "in one o' the splendidest countries goin', where gold was to behad for the pickin' up, and all sorts o' agues and rheumatizes fornothin'; but w'en things didn't somehow go all square, an' the anchorgot foul with a gale o' adwerse circumstances springin' up astarn, why,wot then?--go to sea again, of coorse, an' stick to it; them wos _his_sentiments." As these were also Captain Bunting's sentiments, theynaturally took to the same boat for life.
But, although Captain Bunting and Bill did not live on shore, theyoccasionally, at long intervals, condescended to revisit the terrestrialglobe, and, at such seasons of weakness, made a point of running down toBrixley Hall to see Ned and Tom. Then, indeed, "the light of otherdays" shone again in retrospect on our adventurers with refulgentsplendour; then Larry sank the butler, and came out as the miner--as oneof the partners of the "R'yal Bank o' Calyforny"--then Ned and Tomrelated marvellous adventures, to the admiration of their respectivewives, and the captain smote his thigh with frequency and emphasis, tothe terror of the cat, and Bill Jones gave utterance to deeply-pregnantsentences, and told how that, on his last voyage to China, he had beenup at Pekin, and had heard that Ah-wow had dug up a nugget of gold threetimes the size of his own head, and had returned to his native land a_millionnaire_, and been made a mandarin, and after that something else,and at last became prime minister of China--so Bill had been _told_, buthe wouldn't vouch for it, no how.
All this, and a great deal more, was said and done on these great andrare occasions--and our quondam gold-hunters fought their battles o'eragain, to the ineffable delight of old Mr Shirley, who sat in hiseasy-chair, and gazed, and smiled, and stared, and laughed, and evenwept, and chuckled--but never spoke--he was past that.
In the course of time Ned and Tom became extremely intimate with thepastor of their village, and were at last his right and left-hand men.This pastor was a man whose aim was to live as his Master had livedbefore him--he went about doing good--and, of all the happy years ourtwo friends spent, the happiest were those in which they followed in thefootsteps and strengthened the hands of this good man, Lizette andLouisa were helpmates to their husbands in this respect, as in allothers, and a blessing to the surrounding country.
Ned Sinton's golden dream was over now, in one sense, but by no meansover in another. His sleeping and his waking dreams were still, as ofold, tinged with a golden hue, but they had not a metallic ring. The_golden rule_ was the foundation on which his new visions were reared,and that which we are told is _better_ than gold, "yea, than much finegold," was thenceforth eagerly sought for and coveted by him. As forother matters--he delighted chiefly in the sunshine of Louisa's smile,and in fields of golden grain.
THE END.
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