There was another short silence, and Silas became aware of the fact that Tug was breathing heavily, and that, for the first time since he had known him, he was asleep in his own house at night.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN.
Two years have passed since the great flood in the river, which is still told about with wonder by those who witnessed it, and Tug Whittle is now living in the detached building at The Locks, which was occupied so long by Mrs. Wedge, that worthy lady having long since taken a room in the main house.
Little Ben, released from his hard work at Quade's, is growing steadily worse, in spite of the kindness shown him by Mrs. Dorris and Mrs. Wedge. A victim of too much work is little Ben; but he is as mild and gentle as ever, and spends his days, when he is able, in wandering about the yard, and keeping out of the way, for he cannot forget the time when every hand was against him.
Mr. Whittle has become an industrious man during the two years, and is as devoted to Mrs. Dorris and her little child as it is possible for a man to be. The day after Tug's return to the Bend from his tramp to the lower country, he called on Mrs. Dorris, and related his story as he related it to Silas Davy, and going into the little detached house after its conclusion, he did not come out again for two days and nights; and it was supposed that he was making up for lost sleep. After his appearance he was fed by Mrs. Wedge, and at once began to make himself useful around the place. In a little while they learned to trust him, and he soon took charge of everything, conducting himself so well that there was never any reason for regretting the trust reposed.
Allan Dorris had died possessed of several farms in the adjoining neighborhood, and these Mr. Whittle worked to so much advantage, with the aid of tenants on each, that in a financial way Mrs. Dorris got on very well; for Mr. Whittle wanted nothing for himself except the privilege of serving her as he did.
Very often he was absent from The Locks for weeks at a time, looking after the farm affairs, and he seldom visited his mistress except to give accounts of his stewardship, which were always satisfactory. He had been heard to say that it was his fault that she was a widow; therefore he did not care to see her except when it seemed to be necessary, for her modest grief gave him such pangs of remorse that he wanted to take the musket, which he still retained in times of peace, and make away with himself. Therefore he spent much of his time in managing her affairs, which called him out of town; and he became known as a tremendous worker,—to rival his record as a loafer, Mr. Whittle himself said; but Silas Davy knew, and even the people admitted it, that he was greatly devoted to his young mistress, and that he had no other aim in life than to make her as comfortable as possible in her widowed condition.
Occasionally he came to town, on an errand, after nightfall, and returned to the country before day, as little Ben had done, and usually they only knew he had been around the house at all by something he had left for their surprise in the morning. If he found anything in the country he thought would please Mrs. Dorris or little Ben, he went to town with it after his day's work on the farm, and left his bed in the detached house before day to return.