CHAPTER XI.

WE must now ask our readers to pass hastily over a period of about two years, during which time nothing particularly worthy of notice occurred to our hero and heroine.

Robert continued to live at the Doctor's, going to school in winter and working in the garden in summer, and employing all his spare moments in study and reading. He had been steady so long that scarcely any one remembered his having been any thing else, and if his former delinquencies were spoken of, it was only as a striking proof, that no one, however unpromising, ought to be considered quite hopeless.

He made rapid progress in all his studies, and became extremely fond of every department of natural science, especially chemistry, and during the last winter of his stay in school, he was able to render essential service to the chemical professor in preparing his experiments. He had taken a class in Sunday-school, and was a faithful and successful teacher, being particularly earnest in visiting and instructing those of his class, (and there were several such,) whose condition at all resembled that of his own early life; for though others might forget his former circumstances, Robert himself never did, and he often spoke to Mr. Ellison of the morning when he first went to work in the parsonage garden.

"That morning," said he one day, "was the beginning of all that was good in me."

Celia still lived at Mrs. Dennison's, but more as a daughter than a servant. She had thought and talked a little of going to learn the trade of dressmaking, for which she had a special aptness, but Mrs. Dennison seemed so grieved at the idea of parting with her that she gave it up, and remained very contentedly on the farm. She could now fearlessly undertake the whole business of churning, and do it as well as Auntie Dennison herself, besides being remarkably skillful in all the finer arts of cookery, for which Mrs. Dennison had always been renowned.

By dint of constant painstaking, she had become extremely neat in her work as well as in her person, and Aunt Nancy declared that she was the only "young gal" she ever saw who could do up a plain muslin cap as it ought to be; even Jane herself could not make them look as well. She had, moreover, acquired very sweet and winning manners, and though not what is called accomplished, she was sufficiently well-educated. She had grown-up into a tall handsome girl, and was beginning to attract a good deal of attention from the young men in the neighborhood, several of whom began to manifest such a deep interest in Mr. Dennison's high-bred cattle and improved stables, that it was quite remarkable to see them.

Her first offer was from poor Hewson, whose wife never recovered from the injuries she received by her unlucky fall into the cistern, but died three months after the accident. Her husband was quite disconsolate, and indeed entirely inconsolable at first. But by degrees, as the poignancy of his grief abated, he found out that his house was even more uncomfortable than usual, and beginning to look out for a successor to his lost partner, he cast his eyes upon Celia, not in the least doubting that she would, as he elegantly expressed it, "jump at the chance of getting a good-looking husband, and a home, of her own."

Accordingly, he began to spend long evenings at Mr. Dennison's, much to the discomfort of Celia, who could not imagine what he came for, as he never seemed to have any thing to say, and to the mingled amusement and annoyance of Mrs. Dennison, who, as she said, saw plainly enough which way the wind blew. When Mr. Hewson at last made his offer to Celia, which he did in the shape of a letter, written on green paper, with a pink envelope, she could hardly understand what he meant, and carried the epistle to Mrs. Dennison, who happened to be engaged in skimming milk in the cheese-room.

"I have got the queerest letter here, Auntie," she said. "It is from Mr. Hewson, and I don't know what to make of it at all. He seems to want me to come and live with him. I wonder if he is going to be married?"

Mrs. Dennison rested the skimming-dish on the edge of the pan and took the letter.

"You little goose," she exclaimed, laughing heartily as she read it, "don't you see into it? The man wants you to marry him yourself."

Celia opened her eyes in blank amazement and read the letter again, and as the truth dawned upon her, she sat down upon an empty butter firkin, and laughed till she cried.

"It is a serious matter, Celia," said Auntie Dennison, at last, wiping her eyes and taking breath; "I am surprised to see you laugh so. Only think of the advantages Mr. Hewson offers you—a nice house all ready to go into, and plenty of furniture to begin house-keeping with."

"And a nice open cistern, all ready to tumble into whenever I pleased," continued Celia; "I don't believe he has made a cover to it yet."

"He has not, I know, for I noticed it the other day. Well, Celia, my dear, I have no desire to part with you, and if you want to get married, I have no kind of doubt that you can do better by waiting a little; but, however, you must decide for yourself. Perhaps you had better consult Robert about it."

"Dear me, no! He would never leave off laughing at me in the world. But what do you think I had better do about it? I am sure I can never answer him with a straight face."

"You don't mean to have him, then, I conclude?"

Celia held up her hands in horror. "The idea of my having any body. I think I will wait till I get my growth first. I had to let the tucks out of my frock yesterday. I wish you would ask Mr. Dennison to speak to him about it, for I am sure I never can."

Mr. Dennison accordingly informed Mr. Hewson that Celia was much obliged to him for his offer; but she did not want to leave her home, and considered herself quite too young to think of matrimony yet.

"Just as she likes," replied the lover, philosophically, "'taint every girl that has such a chance to get a house of her own. But it's just my luck; I always was the most unfortunate of mortals. Every thing goes against me. Well, it is more her loss than mine, that's one comfort."

Mr. Dennison did not think so, but he kept his opinion to himself, feeling it quite a comfort to be relieved of Mr. Hewson's company, who went quietly on his way as before.

We may as well say here, for the information of those who have taken an interest in that "lone and lorn" individual, that he found some one to have him. About three months after Celia's refusal, he married a widow, a little, thin, dried-up woman, with a tongue that ran unceasingly, and a love of neatness and order that amounted to an absolute passion. Under her hands, the house and farm soon assumed a new aspect, the cistern was covered, the doors mended, the house cleaned, and Mr. Hewson was seen going about his work with more swiftness and purpose than ever he had done before. His wife's tongue was sharp as well as swift, and her will unconquerable, and he soon found that if he meant to have any peace at all, he must, as she expressed it, toe the mark. But this complete revolutionizing was quite too much for him, and he died two years after his second marriage.

Robert was now nineteen, a tall, well-grown young man, with a tolerably good education, and very agreeable, gentlemanly manners. He was quite one of the family at the Doctor's, who would have been much at a loss what to do without him. He now began to think seriously of his future prospects, and to consider what he was going to make himself. He felt that he could not bind himself down to any mechanical occupation, however respectable and necessary, while all his tastes led him to incline towards the study of medicine. He had always hoped that Dr. George would offer to take him into the office, but he had not yet done so, and Robert did not like to speak first. He would have given a great deal to be able to go through college, but he could not see his way at all in that direction, though he tried very hard.

The more he thought, the more bewildered he grew, and his perplexity really began to affect his health and spirits, though remembering the comforting promise, "Commit thy way unto Him and he will bring it to pass," he strove to wait in patience for its fulfillment.

Dr. Huntley saw his trouble and guessed the cause of it, and with characteristic kindness, he determined to try and clear his path for him. Their first conversation on the subject took place, as did all their confidential talks, as they were driving together in the country.

"How old are you, Robert?" asked the Doctor, by way of opening the subject.

"Past nineteen, sir. I was nineteen two months ago."

"And you have been with me more than three years. It hardly seems longer ago than yesterday that you first came to work in my garden. But you have done and learned a great deal in that time."

"Yes, sir, thanks to you!"

"Well, you are old enough to think what you are going to do with yourself."

"So I think myself; sir," replied Robert.

"Which way are you looking—towards a profession or a trade?"

"I am rather thinking of a profession, sir."

"So I supposed," said the Doctor; "and what profession do you prefer?—For I presume you have made up your mind."

"I should prefer the study of medicine, sir. I have always had a strong inclination for it, ever since I began to think about such things."

The Doctor smiled kindly. "That is as I hoped, Robert; for although I would not for a moment oppose your taking up any other respectable occupation, but on the contrary I would further your wishes as far as I was able, yet I do not feel as though I wanted to part with you at all. You see I take it for granted that you mean to study with me."

"Of course, sir," replied Robert. "I hope you do not imagine that I would think of going to any one else. If you will take me into your office, it will be the height—that is—" said he, correcting himself, "it will be the accomplishment of one of my dearest wishes."

"But not the height of your ambition, eh?" said the Doctor, noticing the correction. "Come, now, be frank, for I know there is something behind, and tell me what is the height of your desires."

Robert hesitated, colored, and then with his eyes steadfastly fixed on his horse's ears, he said: "I have thought I should like to go to college, sir."

"Whew!" whistled the Doctor. "Go to college, eh? I had never thought of that. Then you don't think you have learned quite enough yet, it seems."

"Why, no, sir. If I had thought so, I should not have wanted to study medicine."

"Well, that is true. You know, I suppose, that it would take you four years to go through."

"I think not, sir. I was talking to Philip Myers about it yesterday, and I find I know enough already to enter the Sophomore Class, so there is one year off."

"True; that shortens the time, and of course lessens the expense considerably. I suppose you think you would be a better doctor for reading Greek tragedies and all else that people do at college."

"I do not know about that, Doctor, but I think I should feel better satisfied with myself, and as I have often heard you say, no knowledge can come amiss in any station, though Mr. Mandeville does think that no man can make good shoes who understands geometry."

"Mr. Mandeville is a gosling!" said the Doctor, in a parenthesis.

"And beside all that, it seems to me to be a duty to learn all one can. Then, if the heart is right, the more knowledge a man possesses, the more good he can do in the world, as I have often heard you say."

"I must be careful what I say, if I am to be quoted to such an extent," said the Doctor, smiling. "Well, Robert, my boy, I like your ideas on the subject very well. But we must take into consideration the ways and means. You know it will take a good deal of money to go through college; how do you propose to get it?"

"That is just where I do not see my way, sir," replied Robert somewhat sadly. "If I had a trade, I could make my way by that; but I have none, and I am afraid I could not earn enough by gardening."

"I should think not, but what do you say to teaching school? A great many young men do that."

"I never thought of it, sir. It did not occur to me that I could teach school."

"It is, however, a very common way of getting through, and, I think, a very good one. It gives a man confidence in himself, reveals to him the extent of his own resources, and is moreover an excellent discipline for acquiring exactness, patience, and steadiness of temper, three things, let me tell you, very essential to a physician."

"I am afraid I do not know enough to teach school."

"Why not? You understand very thoroughly arithmetic, grammar, and geography, which are the main things to be taught, and you possess another qualification very necessary to the government of children, namely, very quiet, gentlemanly manners. What, then, should hinder you from teaching a district-school successfully?"

"I do not know, except that I never thought of it."

"Then, if you do not entirely pay your way," continued his friend, "the college authorities are always ready to give credit to promising young men until they make enough to pay for their education. I have known it done in several cases."

"I don't think I should like that as well, sir. I have always had a perfect horror of running in debt ever since you first helped me out of mine to poor Child's. I should not study with any comfort unless I knew I was paying my way."

"Still, if we can not do as we will, we must do as we can, you know. But we will keep the matter in mind, Robert, and I am sure some way will present itself."

The evening of the day on which this conversation occurred, Mr. Vanderburgh and his wife dropped in to spend the evening at the Doctor's. Mr. Vanderburgh had quite given up his persuasion that Robert would come to the gallows, and had become very fond of him.

"Well, and how is Bob getting on?" he inquired in the course of the evening. "He must be pretty nearly ready to begin life for himself, I should think. And what does he mean to do, eh?—For I suppose you are in his confidence of course."

"He is going to study medicine," replied the Doctor; "but he has set his heart upon going to college first."

"To college, eh? He is an aspiring young man. To college—well, it is natural enough, too, but who would have thought of it three years ago? It's a world of changes, ain't it?"

"It certainly is," replied the Doctor; "there is no denying it. I only wish all the changes were as much for the better as Robert's. He is very anxious to finish his education, and I am equally desirous to have him do so, if we can only manage the pecuniary part of the matter."

"How could he do it?" asked Mrs. Vanderburgh. "It costs a good deal, first and last."

"He might make his way by teaching school I presume. To be sure, he would have to work very hard, but not harder than a great many young men; and he has the great advantage of perfect health, a cheerful temperament, and most indomitable perseverance. I spoke to him of getting credit for his tuition till he should have finished his medical studies and got into practice, but he has such a horror of running in debt, that he will not hear of it."

"And very right too, in my opinion," said Mr. Vanderburgh. "It is a bad thing, a very discouraging thing for a young man to begin the world in debt. And yet he wants to go to college, and ought to go, too," he continued, musingly, turning his spectacles round and round, and wiping them with his handkerchief, as was his custom when he was meditating. "You say he has made good use of his advantages thus far—was a good scholar at the academy, eh?"

"Whitney says he never had a better," returned Doctor George, "and he always tells plain truth, you know."

Mr. Vanderburgh stopped wiping his spectacles, put them on, and then pushed them up on his forehead; by which signs, those who knew his ways saw that his musings had arrived at a happy termination. "I am thinking of a plan for him," said he, "which I think will be just the thing, but I don't know what you will say to it."

"I shall know when I hear it," replied the Doctor; "and at any rate he will thank you for taking an interest in his affairs, for no kindness is lost on him."

"Or on his sister," remarked Mrs. Huntley; "they are certainly two very fine young people."

"This is my plan, then," began Mr. Vanderburgh. "You know, I suppose, that I have a scholarship in B— University?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I have always meant to reserve it for Jack, thinking to make a lawyer of him, and I confess I had quite set my heart on it. But now that he is old enough to make up his mind, Jack don't like the idea at all, and says he wants to be an engineer, like his uncle Gordon, who will be very glad to take him. I would a little rather have him study law; but after all, he has a genius for mathematics, and his health is much better when he is out of doors, as he says himself. If he were an idle lad, who only wanted to take up an outdoor life to get rid of work, I would not hear of it; but that isn't the case, for though he is my own boy, I will say for him, that a better or more faithful lad never lived. And though he is quite set on this engineering scheme, he says he will give it up and study law if I say so. But I don't want to cross his inclinations unnecessarily, and I have about come to the conclusion to let him have his own way. Then there is my scholarship of no use to me, eh?"

"Well!" said the Doctor, beginning to see into his brother-in-law's idea.

"Well, I am bound to fill it, at some rate, you see, and get the worth of my money. Now here is Robert, a good steady young man, who has made great efforts to render himself respectable and get a good education, and he wants to go to college. Now, what can I do better than to put this same steady, industrious young man into my scholarship, eh?" And Mr. Vanderburgh flourished his white handkerchief, as who should say: "See how clever I am! Now, you would never have thought of that!"

"He will be greatly obliged to you, William, and so, I am sure, shall I," said Dr. George, shaking his brother-in-law's hand heartily. "I could not feel the kindness more, if it were my own boy."

"Nor I," added Mrs. Huntley. "It will be good news to him, poor fellow, for he has been quite in despair about his prospects lately."

"Tut! Tut!" said Mr. Vanderburgh, returning his brother's pressure of the hand. "That isn't any thing; I should have been glad to have any one do as much for me when I was a poor boy. But you think this will answer his purpose?"

"Admirably," replied the Doctor. "He would not wish for any thing better. Now he will have nothing to provide for but his board and clothes, which he can easily do without any more hard work than is good for him. I can not speak for a certainty, to be sure, but I think I may safely say, William, that you will never repent of your kindness."

"Oh! I never expect to. If the boy does not turn out well, (but he will,) I may be sorry that the advantages were thrown away on him, but I shan't be sorry that I have done him the kindness. Not at all! I believe I never did that. Well, if you all approve the plan, suppose we call the young man in and communicate the matter."

Robert was according summoned, and Mr. Vanderburgh explained his projects with certain rhetorical flourishes, which would have brought a smile to the Doctor's face but for the respect which he felt for his brother-in-law's kindness.

Robert listened in silence till Mr. Vanderburgh had finished, and then as that gentleman paused for a reply, he said in a low and faltering voice: "I am very much obliged to you, sir, for your kindness, and I will try—" His feelings entirely overcame him, and he burst into tears.

"Come, come, Bob, you mustn't be hysterical," said Mr. Vanderburgh, while his own eyes glistened. "I owe you something, you know, to pay for prophesying such a sad end to you so many times. So you think it will suit you, eh?"

"I am sure, sir, I don't know what to say, except that I am very much obliged to you," said Robert, recovering himself a little. "It is just what I wanted. I have had it so very much at heart, but I could not see my way through. I hope I shall be able to repay you some day, as well as all the other friends, who have been so kind to me. I—I am not a good hand at expressing myself, sir, but I hope you will understand what I mean to say."

"Perfectly well, Robert, perfectly well, my boy! No occasion to say any more, I assure you."

"And since you wish to make some present proof of your gratitude, you may do it by cracking a basket of butter-nuts and bringing them in," said Mrs. Huntley, who saw that Robert would be glad of an excuse to escape from the parlor.

He left the room accordingly; but before going for the nuts, he ascended to his own apartment, and there poured out his whole soul in thankfulness for the good conferred upon him—a good so much beyond his highest expectations, and dedicated solemnly to the service of God those talents which He had given with the means to improve them.

When he returned to the parlor, he had quite regained his composure, and was able to enter calmly and soberly into the conversation on his plans and prospects. So the matter was settled. He was to go in two or three weeks to B., to be present at the commencement, to pass his examination, and to find a suitable boarding-place.

Celia was almost as much delighted with her brother's prospects as he was himself, and the brother and sister made a great many pleasant plans as they talked the matter over.

Little Mark felt at first rather dissatisfied that Bob should go to college and be a doctor while he should be only a shoemaker. But upon his "Boss" representing to him that people wanted shoes as much as they wanted medicine, and that moreover there was nothing in the world to prevent his studying what he pleased as soon as he had finished learning his trade, and being besides presented with the Lives of Celebrated Shoemakers by Robert, he became quite contented with his lot, and wished his brother all success, promising to make a pair of boots for him by the time he left college.

We have for some time heard nothing from Mr. Merritt. He was now a permanent inmate of the county hospital, having been disabled, soon after his wife's death, by a stroke of the palsy, which considerably affected his mind. He was still able to use his hands a little, and was employed in various small matters about the house. Robert went frequently to see him and carry him some little luxury or indulgence not furnished by the institution; his father always seeming glad to see him, and taking a great deal of pride in his being such a well-dressed, handsome young man. He had now and then fits of violence, when it became necessary to confine him for a short time, but in general he was gentle and happy, seeming to have quite forgotten his former way of life, and never expressing any desire to return to it. It was rather painful to the children to have their father dependent on public charity in any degree, but they feared if he were taken away from the restraints of the hospital and placed in the midst of familiar things, his old appetite would return; so they contented themselves with clothing him out of their earnings, and doing what else they could for him where he was.

Robert went with Dr. Huntley to B. to attend the commencement, and after passing an excellent examination, entered his name as a member of the Sophomore Class. He had some trouble in finding a suitable boarding-place, but at last succeeded in engaging a room with a widow lady, who supported herself and her daughters by taking boarders. His vacation was employed partly in study and partly in hard work in the garden, and as harvest-hand for Mr. Dennison, by which means, as men were scarce and wages high, he increased considerably his stock of ready money, besides having the pleasure of spending two or three weeks with Celia. At the end of the vacation, he departed for B., and was soon deeply engaged in his studies, and gaining great credit, both as a bright scholar and a steady, well-conducted young man.