CHAPTER XVI

But Neal would not "give in." Cynthia's renewed entreaties were of no more avail than they had been before.

"I will not come," he repeated again and again; and at last Cynthia gave up asking.

He got out of the canoe just below the Oakleigh landing, and where he was hidden from the house.

"I hope you won't be ill, Cynthia," he said. "I am sorry I made you come out such a day; it will be my fault if you take cold. One more bad thing I have done. My life isn't a bit of good, anyhow; I've a good mind to go and drown myself--I'm half drowned now."

He laughed, somewhat bitterly, as he looked down at his drenched clothes.

"Cynthia, I'm a brute. Hurry in and change your things. I'm off to Pelham; I'll take a train there for Boston. I'll let you know where I go; and I say, Cynth, won't you write to a fellow now and then? I don't deserve it, I know, but I'd like to hear from you, and I'll want to know how Edith gets along."

"Yes, if you will let me know your address. Good-bye, Neal," she said, sadly.

"Good-bye."

He stood and watched her. She rounded the curve where the boat-house was and waved her hand as she disappeared. She was only a few yards away, and yet he could no longer see her. He could easily imagine how it would all be.

A man would come down from the barn and help her with the canoe. She would go up the hill and follow the path to the side door behind the conservatory. There would be exclamations of dismay when she came in, all dripping wet. Hester and the servants would hurry to help her, and she would be thoroughly dried and warmed; his sister would see to that--his sister, who thought him no better than a common thief!

And then Cynthia would tell how she had met him, and that he would not come home. How astonished Hester would be to hear that he was so near. He turned abruptly when he thought of this, and sprang up the bank to the road that lay between Brenton and Pelham. He crossed the bridge, and with one more look at the dark river, struck out at a good pace for Pelham, the nearest railway station.

He glanced back once at the chimneys and white walls of Oakleigh when he reached the spot from which they could be seen for the last time on the Pelham road. Then, bidding good-bye to his past life, he hastened on.

The road that runs from Brenton to Pelham is very straight after one has passed Oakleigh. There are but few houses--nothing but meadows, trees, and bushes on either side. Neal, tramping over the broad expanse of gray mud, had nothing to distract his mind from the thoughts that filled it. At first they were very desperate ones.

"Cynthia had no right to come and rant the way she did. The idea of calling me a coward, and telling me I was like a boy in a dime novel because I ran away! It was the only thing to do. They had no business to suspect me. They--confound it! I won't put up with such treatment. I'll stick to my resolution and drop the whole concern. What a long, straight road this is, and how I hate the rain!"

At last he reached the end of it and entered the little town of Pelham, uninteresting at the best of times, and doubly so on such a day as this. The inhabitants were all within doors; not even a dog was stirring.

"Every one is dry and comfortable but me," thought Neal, miserably, as he went into the station.

Fortunately, the next train for Boston was soon due, and it did not take long for him to reach the friend's house in one of the suburbs at which he had left his possessions.

A merry party was staying there for the Easter holidays, and Neal was the subject of much speculation and concern when he appeared, weary and wet, in their midst. Every one supposed that he had gone to Brenton to visit his sister, and they wondered why he had come back on such a stormy day.

Though the story of Neal was well known in Brenton, oddly enough it had not yet reached his friends in Boston, and he did not enlighten them. He went to his room and stayed there for several hours. With dry clothes he came into a better frame of mind.

Poor little Cynthia! How good she was to come to meet him such a day, when she must have wanted to stay with Edith. And how badly she felt about him; much more so than he deserved. He was not worth it. How she had fired up when she told him that he was a coward! He must prove to her that he was not. He would never give in and go back there, never! But there were other ways of proving it; he could go to work and show her that he was made of good stuff after all. He should not have frightened Cynthia by saying that he would "go to the bad." But, then, he had been abominably treated. He could not go to college now, for he would never accept it from Hessie, who had been willing to believe he took the money. He lashed himself into a fury again as he thought of it. He was utterly unreasonable, but of course he was quite unconscious of being so.

Finally the better thoughts came uppermost again, and he decided what to do. He would go to Philadelphia and ask his guardian to put him in the way of getting some work. He would tell him the whole story. Fortunately, he did not remember that Cynthia had said her father went to Philadelphia; if he had he would not have gone, thinking that his guardian would have been prejudiced against him by his brother-in-law.

He packed his valise and started that night, though his friends urged him to stay longer. He felt a feverish impatience to be off and have things settled. With it was a feeling of excitement; he was going to seek his fortune. Thrown upon a cold world by the unkind and unjust suspicions of his nearest relatives, he would rise above adverse circumstances and "ennoble fate by nobly bearing it!"

It was a very heroic martyr that bought a ticket for Philadelphia that night.

He did not engage a berth in the sleeping-car; he was a poor man now and must begin to economize. Besides, upon counting his money he found that he had but just enough with which to reach his destination.

He was very tired with the adventures of the last two days, and the night before, spent in a shed, had not been comfortable, so he slept well, notwithstanding the fact that he was not in a Pullman sleeper. He did not wake until it was broad daylight, and the train was speeding along through New Jersey. The storm was over, the sun was shining down upon a bright and rain-washed world, and Neal Gordon was entering upon a new life.

"So this is the 'Quaker City,'" he thought, as the train glided over the bridges and into the huge station. "I wonder if every one is in a broad-brimmed hat! And now to find cousin William Carpenter. He's a Quaker of the Quakers, I suppose; I can never get into the habit of saying 'thee' and 'thou.'"

He did not see much of the Quaker element in the busy station, nor when he went down-stairs and out on to Broad Street. He was on the point of jumping into a hansom to be driven to his cousin's house, when he remembered that he had not a cent in his pocket with which to pay for it. It was a novel experience for Neal.

He inquired the way to Arch Street, and found that it was not very far from where he was, and he soon reached the designated number.

"Not a broad-brimmer have I seen yet," he said to himself, as he pulled the bell-handle. He looked up and down the street while he waited. It was wider than some that he had passed through, and rather quiet except for the jingling horse-cars. It was very straight, and lined with red brick houses with white marble steps and heavy wooden shutters.

He looked down, as he stood on the dazzling steps, at his boots splashed with Boston mud, and he shuddered at the effect they might have on his cousins. He should have had them cleaned at the station; but, then, he did not have five cents to spend.

The door was opened, and he walked into the parlor and sent up his card. It was a large room with very little furniture in it, and the few chairs and sofas that there were stood stiffly apart. Not an ornament was to be seen but a large clock that ticked slowly and sedately on the marble mantel-piece. There were no curtains, but "Venetian blinds," formed of green slats, hung at the windows. It all looked very neat and very bare, and extremely stiff.

It was not long before Neal heard a step in the hall, and an elderly man entered the room. He was very tall, and wore a long, quaint-looking coat that flapped as he walked. His face was smooth, and of a calm, benign expression that Neal afterwards found was never known to vary. He came in with outstretched hand.

"Thee is Neal Gordon. I am pleased to meet thee again, cousin. Come up-stairs to breakfast; Rachel will be glad to see thee."

Who Rachel was Neal could not imagine, as he followed his host up a short flight of stairs to the breakfast-room. He supposed she must be a young daughter of the house, for although William Carpenter was both his kinsman and his guardian, the relationship had until now been merely nominal, and Neal knew very little about him or his family.

Sitting at the table, behind the tall silver urn and the cups and saucers, was an old lady in a close white cap and spectacles. A snowy kerchief of some fine white material was folded about her shoulders over a gray dress. Her face, also, was calm and sweet, and wore the same expression as did her husband's.

"Rachel," said he, "this is our cousin, Neal Gordon. Neal, this is my wife, Rachel."

"I am glad to see thee, Neal," she said, extending her hand without rising; "sit down. Thee'll be glad to have a cup of coffee, doubtless, if thee's just arrived from the train, as thee has the look of doing." This with a glance at his travel-stained clothes.

Neal, very conscious of his muddy boots, thanked her, and sat down at the table, where a neat-looking servant had made ready a place for him. It seemed funny that they took his arrival as a matter of course, but he supposed that was the Quaker way. At any rate, they were very kind, and it was the best breakfast he ever ate. Even if he had not been so hungry, the coffee would have been delicious, and all the rest of it, too.

His cousins asked him no questions, but after breakfast he was shown to a room and told to make himself comfortable.

"But I would like to speak to you, sir," he said to his host--"that is, if you don't mind. I came on to Philadelphia on business." This with a rather grand air.

"Verily," said William Carpenter; "but I have no time now. I go to my office every day at this hour. Thee can come with me if thee wishes, and we will converse there."

Neal agreed, and hastily brushing his clothes and giving a dab to his boots he set out, much amused at the new company in which he found himself. Mr. Carpenter wore a tall beaver hat, of wide brim and ancient shape, which he never removed from his head, even though he met one or two ladies who bowed to him.

"They don't all seem to be Quakers, though," thought Neal, as, leaving Arch Street, they took their way across the city, and met and passed many people of as worldly an aspect as any to be seen in Boston--in fact, his companion's broad-brimmed hat seemed sadly out of place.

The houses too were different in this locality. Easter flowers bloomed in the windows between handsome curtains, and there were not so many white shutters and marble steps--in fact, with a street-band playing on the corner and the merry peal of chimes that rang from a neighboring steeple, it seemed quite a gay little town, thought Neal, with condescension.

His cousin pointed out the sights as they walked.

"There are the public buildings," he said, "and beyond is the great store of John Wanamaker. This is Chestnut Street, and yonder is the Mint. Thee will go there and to Independence Hall while thee is here, and to Girard College--that is, if thee has a proper amount of public spirit, as I hope to be the case."

Neal humbly acquiesced, and then remarked upon the distance of his cousin's place of business from his house.

"Do you always walk?" he asked.

"Always. I have found that exercise is good, and the car-fare worth saving. 'A penny saved is a penny gained,' I have made my motto through life, and for that reason I have never known want. I hope thee is neither extravagant nor lazy?"

[Illustration: "'I HOPE THEE IS NEITHER EXTRAVAGANT NOR LAZY'"]

This with a keen, shrewd, not unkindly glance from beneath the level, gray eyebrows.

Neal colored and hoped he was not, knowing all the time that these were two serious faults of his.

They had passed through the fashionable part of the city, and were walking down a narrow, low-built street. In the distance was a huge space filled with great piles of boards that came far up above the high fence which surrounded the whole square.

"This is my office," said Mr. Carpenter, as he opened the door of a small, low building in the corner of the great yard. "I am in the lumber business."

It was some time before he could say any more to his cousin. There were letters to be opened, his head-clerk to be interviewed, men to be directed.

Neal sat at a window that looked out on the yard, and watched some men that were loading a huge dray. There were boards, boards, boards everywhere. How tired he should get of lumber if he had to stay here. He hoped that his business, whatever it might prove to be, would be more exciting, and more in the heart of things than this remote lumber-yard. He thought from what he had heard that he would like to be a stock-broker, as long as he was barred out of the professions by not going through college.

He was just imagining himself on 'Change, in the midst of an eager crowd of other successful brokers, a panic imminent, and he alone cool and self-possessed, when his cousin's voice rudely interrupted his revery. It sounded calmer than ever in contrast to Neal's day-dream.

"Cousin, if thee will come into my private office I will listen to thee for fifteen or twenty minutes."

Neal obeyed, but found it difficult to begin his story. It is a very hard thing to tell a man that you are suspected of being a thief.

"I don't know whether you know," he began, rather haltingly, "that I--that--in fact, I've left Hester for good and all. You are my guardian, so you must know all about that conf--that abom--that--er, well, that will of my grandmother's. Hester didn't give me a large enough allowance--at least, I didn't think it was enough--and I got into debt at school. It was not very much of a debt for a fellow with such a rich sister."

He paused, rather taken aback by the quick glance that was shot at him from the mild blue eyes of his Quaker cousin.

"What does thee call 'not much'?"

"A hundred dollars. I knew they would think it a lot, so I only told Hessie and John fifty, and she gave it to me. Afterwards the fellow I owed it to came down on me for the rest, and wrote to John, Hessie's husband. In the meantime I had got hold of some money in a _perfectly fair, honorable_ way, and sent it to the fellow, and he wrote again to John Franklin and said I had paid up. Then, just because a present one of the Franklin children expected at that time didn't come, they accused me of taking it. They had no earthly reason for supposing it except that I paid fifty dollars in gold for the money-order I sent, and the child's present was fifty dollars in gold."

"And where did thee get the money?"

The question came so quietly and naturally that Neal was taken unawares, and answered before he thought.

"Cynthia Franklin lent it to me. I hated to borrow of a girl, and I made her promise not to tell; afterwards I was glad I had. If they choose to suspect me, I'm not going to lower myself by explaining. And I will ask you, as a particular favor, cousin William, not to tell any one. I didn't mean to mention it."

His cousin merely bowed, and asked him to continue.

"Well, there's not much more, except that I was suspended from school before that for a scrape I wasn't in, and it put everybody against me, and now I want to get something to do. I am going to support myself, and I thought I'd come to you, as you're my guardian and a cousin, and perhaps you would help me."

"Did thee know that thy brother-in-law, John Franklin, was here within a few days?"

Neal sprang to his feet.

"He was! Then he told you all this. I might have known it!"

"Thee may as well remain calm, Neal. Thee will gain nothing in this world by giving vent to undue excitement. John Franklin told me nothing, except that thee had left his home, and he had supposed thee was with me. He did not tell me of the gold, but he did say he feared thee was extravagant, in which I agree with him. Thee has nothing to find fault with in what he said."

Neal felt rather ashamed of himself. After all, it had been generous in his brother-in-law not to prejudice his guardian against him.

"And now what does thee wish to do?" asked the old man, as he looked at his large gold-faced watch.

"I want to get some work," replied Neal.

"Is thee willing to take anything thee can get?"

"Yes, almost anything," with a hasty glance at the piles of lumber without.

"Does thee know that times are hard, and it is almost impossible for even young men of experience to get a situation, while thee is but a boy?"

"Ye-es. I suppose so."

"Thee need not expect much salary."

"No, only enough to live on. I'm going to be very economical."

William Carpenter smiled, and looked at the boy kindly. He was silent for a few minutes, and then he said:

"Neal, as thee is my ward and also my cousin, I am willing to make a place for thee here. We can give thee but a small stipend, but it is better than nothing for one who is anxious for work, as thee says thee is. Thee will not have board and lodging to pay for, however, as thee can make thy home with Rachel and myself. Our boy, had he lived, would have been about thy age."

This was said calmly, with no suspicion of emotion. It was simply the statement of a fact.

"Oh, thank you, cousin William, you are very kind! But--do you think I could ever learn the lumber business? It--it seems so--well, I don't exactly see what there is to do."

"Thee is too hasty, by far. Thee could not be expected to know the business before thee has set foot in the yard. But thee must learn first that it is well to make the most of every opportunity that comes to hand. Will thee, or will thee not, come into my home and my employ? It is the best I can do for thee."

And after a moment's hesitation, and one wild regret for the lost pleasures of the Stock Exchange, Neal agreed to do it.

It was thus he began his business life.