CHAPTER XIV.

A REMOVAL.

JOHN CASWELL'S business was by this time greatly extended, and he began to be favourably known outside of his native city. The Sisters' Hospital, the new wing of the Old Ladies' Home, and the new High-School building, were all models in their way; and people who were planning similar structures came from a distance to see them.

Beginning life as a simple carpenter's apprentice, John had put his whole heart and soul into his business, and never lost an opportunity of acquiring knowledge upon subjects connected with it. By the time he was out of his apprenticeship, he had accumulated quite a little library of books upon architecture, and some very rare and valuable illustrated works.

John was known as an architect of taste and science, as well as an honest and reliable builder; and so it came to pass that he was offered the contract for certain costly public buildings in a flourishing Western city, which would keep him busy for at least a year.

A good many things inclined John to accept the offer. Business was rather dull in T— just at that time; he was not unwilling to travel and see a little more of the world; he had an opportunity of renting his place advantageously to a careful tenant; and he believed the change would be good for Letty, who had never been quite strong since the death of her little boy.

Accordingly, the furniture was safely stored, and the books were left in care of Mrs. De Witt and Gatty, who also took charge of Ginger. He was now a veteran among cats, and growing very infirm; but Letty would almost as soon have thought of parting with a child as of having Ginger put out of the way. He had been little Alick's first and favourite playfellow, and was a memento of the last visit of Aunt Eunice; and Gatty promised that he should never want for meat so long as she had any herself. The new tenants—a middle-aged clergyman and his wife, without children—promised to take care of the garden; and the lady assumed the charge of Letty's poor-district and Sunday-school class.

Letty would gladly have gone to see poor Madge, to bid her good-by; but she knew it would be vain to attempt such a thing, and contented herself with sending her, through Fanny Cutler, a great many loving messages, and a calico frock to be converted into patchwork.

Letty found herself very pleasantly situated in her new home. She had letters to some friends of the Campions, who were cultivated people and interested in all sorts of charities; and she soon found herself engaged much as she had been before, in visiting the sick poor and teaching a class in a large mission-school. Her health improved by the change; and her little girl grew stout and rosy every day.

Gatty proved an excellent correspondent, giving all the news of the town and neighbourhood, the Home and the church.

And Letty was not sorry when John asked her if she would be willing to remain another year.

"It would be an advantage to me in every way," said he. "I should not only have my jobs here, but I should be able to take a large contract in M—, where they want me to build a church and some school buildings. Dr. Marvin will be glad to keep the house, and the furniture is as safe as possible."

"Oh, I am quite satisfied," replied Letty. "I don't know but I feel as much at home here as though I had lived here all my life. The only thing that I miss is my house and garden. I must confess I am growing tired of boarding."

"I have been thinking about that," replied John; "and I have been making some inquiries. I find we can rent a furnished house in the suburbs, where there is a nice old garden, at a very reasonable rate. It is an old-fashioned place both in fittings and furnishing; but it is roomy and sufficiently convenient."

"I should not mind the fashion, if it is only comfortable and pleasantly situated," remarked Letty. "I have rather a fondness for old-fashioned houses."

"Let us go and see it," said John.

It proved to be a large brick house, with upper and lower verandas, commanding a fine view and possessing a spacious garden overrun with vines and large old shrubbery and filled with all sorts of flowers, both rare and common. Letty fell in love with it at once.

"This is charming!" said she. "How I shall enjoy putting the garden in order! There is every thing here, and nothing is needed but to reduce it to some kind of system."

"You will hardly care to do much to a rented place," remarked the next door neighbour, who had charge of the keys. "One cannot take much interest in a garden which one expects soon to leave."

"As to that, we are all tenants at will," said John. "If the place were my own, I should have no assurance of keeping it a single week."

"True," said Letty, thoughtfully; "and yet one does feel differently about a place of one's own. It is pleasant to think that we can leave the work of our hands to our children."

"And how many people in this country do so?" asked John. "Our improvements will go to somebody's children, if not to our own; and, meanwhile, we have the pleasure of seeing them."

The house was taken; and Letty, rejoiced to find herself once more with a house and garden of her own, set herself to work in earnest to remedy, by all sorts of contrivances, the deficiencies of the furniture, and to weed and put in order the neglected flower-beds. The place soon assumed a pleasant, cheerful aspect; and here Letty's third child was born,—a fine, stout boy.

It was when the new-comer was two or three months old that John one day brought in a paper directed in Gatty's handwriting.

"There must be something special in it," said Letty. "Look and see if there is any place marked."

John looked, and uttered an exclamation of horror as the paragraph met his eye. Letty read over his shoulder:—

"FRIGHTFUL ACCIDENT AND LOSS OF LIFE.—We are grieved to announce the death of the infant son of our well-known townsman, Mr. Joseph Emerson. It appears that Mr. and Mrs. Emerson had been out late at a party, and on coming home went, as usual, to the nursery to see their boy. They were horror-struck at seeing the room full of smoke, and, rushing to the crib, found their little one almost reduced to a cinder. Terribly injured as he was, the child survived several hours. There was a small open fire in the room; and it is supposed that during the momentary absence of the nurse a spark must have fallen into the crib."

Letty sat down, too much shocked to speak.

"What a frightful accident!" said John. "But does it not seem very strange that the child's clothes should have been set on fire that way?"

"I do not believe that is the true story," said Letty. "There has been some horrible carelessness, you may depend upon it. Poor Agnes! What will become of her?—She was so bound up in that boy. Mrs. Cutler told me she hardly ever saw a child so idolized."

"Perhaps her heart may be turned towards poor Madge," remarked John. "I am afraid, from all I hear, that she has a great deal of trouble before her. I met Mr. Williams on the cars the other day, and he told me that Van Horn's establishment is gaining a very bad character, and that they are hardly considered respectable. He says Joe lives very hard."

"I believe I will write to Agnes," said Letty, after some further conversation. "It can, at any rate, do no harm; and her heart may be softened by her troubles. Oh, if she might only be led to the true source of consolation!"

Letty wrote accordingly; but she received no answer, and remained in doubt whether Agnes ever received her letter. She heard indirectly that they were increasing their expenses and making more and more show in dress and equipage, and that Mrs. Cutler had removed from the neighbourhood,—a circumstance which she very much regretted, on account of poor Madge. Of Madge herself she could learn nothing whatever.

At the end of two years, John decided to sell out all his property in T— and remove permanently to his Western home. It was not without some pangs that Letty made up her mind to this step. Her affections had taken very deep root in the little place in Myrtle Street, where her married life began and where her Alick was born and died; but she saw that her husband's heart was set upon it, and she could not but own that it was best. She was obliged to admit that her own health was improved by the change to a milder climate; the children were very well, and she had now no special ties to their old home.

So it was finally decided that they should return to T— for two or three months, to settle to their affairs, sell the place and superintend the packing and removal of the furniture. And, as Dr. and Mrs. Marvin were going away for a few weeks, they took up their quarters in their own house for that length of time.

Letty could not but admit that the house seemed very small and confined, and the garden very little, after the place to which she had been lately accustomed. And, though she refused to confess as much to John, she was obliged to own to herself that she should be very glad to find herself back again.

It chanced, one day shortly after her arrival, that she went with little Eunice—or Una, as she was called—into Williams's grand restaurant of the little city of T—. She noticed a lady standing at the counter as she entered, but did not observe her particularly.

As she paused at the counter and ordered some ice-cream and sponge-cake for herself and Una, the stranger turned quickly round. She was dressed in the height of the fashion; but her countenance was careworn and haggard, and her complexion was of a dead, livid paleness.

After a few moments' apparent hesitation, the stranger spoke to her.

Letty started and turned round. The voice was surely familiar.

"Agnes! Is it possible this can be you?"

"Even so," replied Agnes, returning the greeting with some appearance of affection. "I thought you did not mean to speak to me, Letty."

"I did not know you," said Letty, "you are so thin and pale. Are you ill?"

"I am as usual, thank you," said Agnes. "I know I am very much altered, but I did not think of your not recognizing me. I could hardly expect you to speak to me, after all that has passed."

"Let by-gones be by-gones," said Letty. "I am very glad to have met you. I have asked about you several times, but could hear nothing. How is Madge?"

"She is about the same. There is very little change in her, that I can see," replied Agnes, in an indifferent tone. "She has been at Dr. Woodman's establishment for the last year, and seems very happy there. You know he has bought the old Bingham place and set up a sort of private hospital."

"Yes; so I heard. I am very glad Madge is under his care, as I have the greatest faith in his skill."

"Is that your little girl? A fine child: isn't she?"

"She is very healthy," said Letty. "She has never known a day's illness in her life. Una, this is the mother of Cousin Madge, of whom I have so often told you."

"You have another child, have you not?" she asked, after another interval of silence.

"Yes; a fine little fellow, over a year old."

"I suppose you heard how I lost my boy?" said Agnes.

"Yes; Gatty De Witt sent us a paper containing the account. I wrote to you as soon as I heard of it."

"I never received the letter," said Agnes. "I had a feeling that you would write if you heard; though I hardly know what reason I had to expect it."

"It was a terrible accident, and seemed a very mysterious one," said Letty, thinking she saw a desire on the part of Agnes to continue the conversation. "Did you have a wood-fire in the nursery?"

"There was no fire of any kind," said Agnes, abruptly. She paused, looked around, and then drew close to Letty. "Letty, that child was murdered!—Murdered by his own father!"

"Agnes! What do you mean?" said Letty. "You don't know what you are saying!"

"It is true!" said Agnes. "Just as I say. We came home late, and Joseph was half drunk, as usual. I was detained down-stairs, looking for a ring; which I drew off with my glove. He went straight to the nursery, lighted a cigar at the lamp, and threw the burning paper into the baby's cradle. It was a warm night; the child was covered only with a cotton spread, and the mosquito-bars were partly down. I caught a sight of the blaze from the stairs; but before I could get to him, the whole crib was a sheet of flame;—it was too late! He recognized my voice, and stretched out his arms to me. He lived six hours afterwards; but they gave him chloroform, and he never knew me again!"

Letty did not know what to say. Agnes spoke rationally,—too rationally for her to doubt the truth of the narrative, even if it had not been in itself quite probable. Nothing astonished her more than the change in Agnes herself. There was nothing of the old fretful excitability and emphatic manner of talking even about trifles. She spoke in a low, dull tone, almost as if she were talking in her sleep.

"Joseph told his own story," she continued, "and I was too much occupied with the child to contradict him, even if it had been worth while. He is very much changed,—more than I am. He is mad with brandy half the time. Even Madge had lost her influence with him, and he was glad to get her out of the house."

"Poor Madge!" said Letty.

"Oh, she is happy enough," returned Agnes, indifferently. "She had no love for her home, and they take very good care of her. It seemed cruel that she should be spared, while my noble, healthy boy was destroyed. If she had been the one—"

"Oh, Agnes, don't say so!" interrupted Letty. "Madge is your own child, your first-born, and has a double claim upon your affection in her helplessness. She might be a great comfort to you, if you will only feel it so."

"Perhaps so," said Agnes; "but I am past all feeling. I think I should like to see your boy, Letty."

"Why will you not come home and spend the day with me, Agnes?" asked Letty. "You need see no one,—not even John, if you do not wish it."

"I cannot go to-day; though I should like it," said Agnes. "But Joseph is going to New York to-night, to be away some days, and I may come while he is gone,—that is, if you care to have me."

"What has become of Mrs. Van Horn?" asked Letty.

"I never see her," replied Agnes. "We quarrelled long ago, and we do not speak when we meet. You were quite right in your estimation of those people, Letty. It was an evil day for us when we first saw them."

"So I rather supposed; but we will let that go with the rest, Agnes. There is no use in recalling old grievances. I wish I could see you looking better. I am sure you must be suffering. Do you have that cough all the time?"

"Whenever I am tired, or take a little cold. But good-by! I have stayed too long here."