‘Does the little boy amuse him?’
‘No, not exactly, poor little fellow. They are terribly afraid of each other, that is the worst of it. And then we left the boy too long with the old woman. I hear his lessons for a quarter of an hour a day, and he is a clever child enough; but his pronunciation and habits are an absolute distress, and he is not happy anywhere but in the housekeeper’s room. I try to civilize him, but as yet I cannot worry poor Owen. You can’t think how comfortable we are together, Phœbe, when we are alone. Since his sister went we have got on so much better. He was shy before her; but I must tell you, my dear, he asked me to read my Psalms and Lessons aloud, as I used to do; and we have had such pleasant evenings, and he desired that the servants might still come in to prayers in the study. But then he always was different with me.’
And Phœbe, while assenting, could not silence a misgiving that she thought very cruel. She would believe Owen sincere if Humfrey Randolf did. Honor, however, was very happy, and presently begged her to come and see Owen. She obeyed with
alacrity, and was conducted to the study. No Randolf was there, only pen, ink, paper, and algebra. But as she was greeting Owen, who looked much better and less oppressed, Honor made an exclamation, and from the window they saw the young man leaning over the sundial, partly studying its mysteries, partly playing with little Owen, who hung on him as an old playmate.
‘Yes,’ said Owen, ‘he has taken pity on the boy—he is very good to him—has served an apprenticeship.’
Mr. Randolf looked up, saw Phœbe, gave a start of recognition and pleasure, and sped towards the house.
‘Yes, Phœbe, I do see some likeness,’ said Honor, as though a good deal struck and touched.
All the ridiculous and troublesome confusion was so good as to be driven away in the contentment of Humfrey Randolf’s presence, and the wondrous magnetic conviction that he was equally glad to be with her. She lost all restlessness, and was quite ready to amuse Owen by a lively discussion and comparison of the two weddings, but she so well knew that she should like to stay too long, that she cut her time rather over short, and would not stay to luncheon. This was not like the evenings that began with Hiawatha and ended at Lakeville, or on Lake Ontario; but one pleasure was in store for Phœbe. While she was finding her umbrella, and putting on her clogs, Humfrey Randolf ran down-stairs to her, and said, ‘I wanted to tell you something. My stepmother is going to be married.’
‘You are glad?’
‘Very glad. It is to a merchant whom she met at Buffalo, well off, and speaking most kindly of the little boys.’