But Walter looked upon them with other eyes; the murmur of the streams and the glance of the river through the green foliage appealed to susceptibilities that did not exist in the breast of the other. In all other respects he was Griffin to the backbone. He was a universal favorite; all the boys loved Walter Griffin, and he loved them in return. He loved John Rhines, Fred Williams, and Uncle Isaac, but Charlie Bell was his ideal of perfection, and, though so much his senior, seemed nearer than all the rest. The thoughtful tenderness of Charlie’s nature touched an answering chord in that of Walter; he found something there, he could not find among his mates.
Charlie, trading with Fred, and owning a portion of the goods, was often in the store, and brought a good deal in contact with Walter; they naturally grew together.
When he found Charlie was going to be married, he told John he was real sorry, because he knew he shouldn’t see so much of him, and he was afraid he wouldn’t love him so much. But he soon found, to his great gratification, that “the more angels in the heart, the more room.”
No sooner was Charlie married than he bought a pew in the meeting-house, and asked Walter to sit with him (as Mr. Griffin had a large family, and their pew was always crowded), and frequently invited him to tea; he soon began to feel at home there, and found that he saw a great deal more of Charlie than when he was obliged to go on to Elm Island to see him, or met him occasionally at the store.
Charlie’s religion was not something put upon him like lacker upon metal, but it was a part of him, as much so as the very blood in the chambers of his heart, or the pulse in his veins; it made him happy, and it was an instinct with him to communicate that which so blessed himself to those he loved. It was not a task; he could not help it. ‘Twas just as much a part of his nature, as to press the hand or kiss the lips of those he loved.
The period occupied by our narrative was long before the era of Sabbath schools, notwithstanding young people by no means grew up, in the days of our fathers, without religious instruction, and that of the most substantial kind; since parents then discharged, in respect to their children, the duties which are now but too often surrendered to Sabbath school teachers, and the material for mission schools, now so abundant, did not then exist.
Parson Goodhue was accustomed, once a month, to assemble all the children, as also the older boys and girls, in the school-house on Saturday afternoon, and to put them the questions contained in the Westminster Catechism, previously committed to memory.
Walter Griffin had made all his preparations for going to sea, as a green hand, in the Casco, with Isaac Murch; the ship was ready to sail Monday, for Cadiz. Walter having attended the catechising for the last time, when he saw all his schoolmates, and received a parting blessing from the good minister, started up to Pleasant Cove, to take leave of Charlie, whom he met coming from the barn, where he had been tying up his oxen.
“Good evening, Mr. Bell.”