CHAPTER XVIII.
AUNT AND NEPHEW.
"I don't think I can come here till to-morrow, Aunt Deborah," saidFerdinand, a little later. "I'll stay at the hotel to-night, andcome round with my baggage in the morning."
"Very well, nephew, but now you're here, you must stay to tea."
"Thank you, aunt, I will."
"I little thought this mornin', I should have Henry's son to tea,"said Aunt Deborah, half to herself. "You don't look any like him,Ferdinand."
"No, I don't think I do."
"It's curis too, for you was his very picter when you was a boy."
"I've changed a good deal since then, Aunt Deborah," said her nephew,a little uneasily.
"So you have, to be sure. Now there's your hair used to be almostblack, now it's brown. Really I can't account for it," and AuntDeborah surveyed the young man over her spectacles.
"You've got a good memory, aunt," said Ferdinand with a forced laugh.
"Now ef your hair had grown darker, I shouldn't have wondered,"pursued Aunt Deborah; "but it aint often black turns to brown."
"That's so, aunt, but I can explain it," said Ferdinand, after aslight pause.
"How was it?"
"You know the French barbers can change your hair to any shade youwant."
"Can they?"
"Yes, to be sure. Now--don't laugh at me, aunt--a young lady I usedto like didn't fancy dark hair, so I went to a French barber, and hechanged the color for me in three months."
"You don't say!"
"Fact, aunt; but he made me pay him well too."
"How much did you give him?"
"Fifty dollars, aunt."
"That's what I call wasteful," said Aunt Deborah, disapprovingly.
"Couldn't you be satisfied with the nat'ral color of your hair? Tomy mind black's handsomer than brown."
"You're right, aunt. I wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been forMiss Percival."
"Are you engaged to her?"
"No, Aunt Deborah. The fact was, I found she wasn't domestic, anddidn't know anything about keeping house, but only cared for dress,so I drew off, and she's married to somebody else now."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Deborah, emphatically. "The jade! Shewouldn't have been a proper wife for you. You want some good girlthat's willin' to go into the kitchen, and look after things, and notcarry all she's worth on her back."
"I agree with you, aunt," said Ferdinand, who thought it politic, inview of the request he meant to make by and by, to agree with hieaunt in her views of what a wife should be.
Aunt Deborah began to regard her nephew as quite a sensible youngman, and to look upon him with complacency.
"I wish, Ferdinand," she said, "you liked farmin'."
"Why, aunt?"
"You could stay here, and manage my farm for me."
"Heaven forbid!" thought the young man with a shudder. "I should bebored to death. Does the old lady think I would put on a frock andoveralls, and go out and plough, or hoe potatoes?"
"It's a good, healthy business," pursued Aunt Deborah, unconscious ofthe thoughts which were passing through her nephew's mind, "and youwouldn't have to spend much for dress. Then I'm gittin' old, andthough I don't want to make no promises, I'd very likely will it toyou, ef I was satisfied with the way you managed."
"You're very kind, aunt," said Ferdinand, "but I'm afraid I wasn'tcut out for farming. You know I never lived in the country."
"Why, yes, you did," said the old lady. "You was born in thecountry, and lived there till you was ten years old."
"To be sure," said Ferdinand, hastily, "but I was too young then totake notice of farming. What does a boy of ten know of such things?"
"To be sure. You're right there."
"The fact is, Aunt Deborah, some men are born to be farmers, and someare born to be traders. Now, I've got a talent for trading. That'sthe reason I've got such a good offer from San Francisco."
"How did you get it? Did you know the man?"
"He used to be in business in New York. He was the first man Iworked for, and he knew what I was. San Francisco is full of money,and traders make more than they do here. That's the reason he canafford to offer me so large a salary."
"When did he send for you?"
"I got the letter last week."
"Have you got it with you?"
"No, aunt; I may have it at the hotel," said the young man,hesitating, "but I am not certain."
"Well, it's a good offer. There isn't nobody in Centreville gets solarge a salary."
"No, I suppose not. They don't need it, as it is cheap living here."
"I hope when you get out there, Ferdinand, you'll save up money.You'd ought to save two-thirds of your pay."
"I will try to, aunt."
"You'll be wantin' to get married bimeby, and then it'll beconvenient to have some money to begin with."
"To be sure, aunt. I see you know how to manage."
"I was always considered a good manager," said Deborah, complacently."Ef your poor father had had _my_ faculty, he wouldn't have died aspoor as he did, I can tell you."
"What a conceited old woman she is, with her faculty!" thoughtFerdinand, but what he said was quite different.
"I wish he had had, aunt. It would have been better for me."
"Well, you ought to get along, with your prospects."
"Little the old woman knows what my real prospects are!" thought theyoung man.
"Of course I ought," he said.
"Excuse me a few minutes, nephew," said Aunt Deborah, gathering upher knitting and rising from her chair. "I must go out and see abouttea. Maybe you'd like to read that nice book you brought."
"No, I thank you, aunt. I think I'll take a little walk round yourplace, if you'll allow me."
"Sartin, Ferdinand. Only come back in half an hour; tea'll be readythen."
"Yea, aunt, I'll remember."
So while Deborah was in the kitchen, Ferdinand took a walk in thefields, laughing to himself from time to time, as if something amusedhim.
He returned in due time, and sat down to supper Aunt Deborah hadprovided her best, and, though the dishes were plain, they were quitepalatable.
When supper was over, the young man said,--
"Now, aunt, I think I will be getting back to the hotel."
"You'll come over in the morning, Ferdinand, and fetch your trunk?"
"Yes, aunt. Good-night."
"Good-night."
"Well," thought the young man, as he tramped back to the hotel."I've opened the campaign, and made, I believe, a favorableimpression. But what a pack of lies I have had to tell, to be sure!The old lady came near catching me once or twice, particularly aboutthe color of my hair. It was a lucky thought, that about the Frenchbarber. It deceived the poor old soul. I don't think she could everhave been very handsome. If she was she must have changed fearfully."
In the evening, John Clapp and Luke Harrison came round to the hotelto see him.
"Have you been to see your aunt?" asked Clapp.
"Yes, I took tea there."
"Have a good time?"
"Oh, I played the dutiful nephew to perfection. The old lady thinksa sight of me."
"How did you do it?"
"I agreed with all she said, told her how young she looked, andhumbugged her generally."
Clapp laughed.
"The best part of the joke is--will you promise to keep dark?"
"Of course."
"Don't breathe it to a living soul, you two fellows. _She isn't myaunt of all_!"
"Isn't your aunt?"
"No, her true nephew is in New York--I know him.--but I know enoughof family matters to gull the old lady, and, I hope, raise a fewhundred dollars out of her."
This was a joke which Luke and Clapp could appreciate, and theylaughed heartily at the deception which was being practised on simpleAunt Deborah, particularly when Ferdinand explained how he got overthe difficulty of having different colored h
air from the real ownerof the name he assumed.
"We must have a drink on that," said Luke. "Walk up, gentlemen."
"I'm agreeable," said Ferdinand.
"And I," said Clapp. "Never refuse a good offer, say I."
Poor Aunt Deborah! She little dreamed that she was the dupe of adesigning adventurer who bore no relationship to her.