"While Captain Norris was building, planting, clearing, and turning everything upside down, and making improvements, after some models he had seen abroad, and while the embargo and the war of 1812 lasted, he was contented; but when he had made about all the improvements his purse would allow, and maritime business began to revive after the war, he was as uneasy as a fish out of water, and sold the place to my father, with all his improvements, for half what it had cost him, and went back to Salem, and to sea again."
"It must have been a sad day to you, when you came to take leave of this home, and—"
"And go to the place where you found us, you mean. Well, it was a bitter day to all of us, but there were some reasons that made it especially so to me. Father and mother had known sorrow, and so had my sisters. I had a little brother and sister, neither of whom I ever saw. They died within a year of each other, and my sisters were old enough to realize it. But never since I can remember has there been a cloud in our sky till now. Father was prosperous, I was petted and indulged, had all I wanted, loved my books and my parents (never knew how much I did love them till now), and never had a sorrow, except when some pet animal died; but those tears were soon dried, and when I awoke the next morning the sorrow was all forgotten in some new pleasure, or some new pet. It seems to me now that I was just like one of the humming-birds that always come to the honeysuckle that hangs over that western window.—By the way, that was my room, Mort."
"I see it all, Rich; and now, let me tell you, I wasn't in a very cheerful frame when, on my way to college, I met you at Portland. I had left home, and was looking forward to a four years' course at college, with hardly any funds, and the prospect for the future was gloomy enough, when you came across my path, just like a gleam of sunshine, and appeared so buoyant, happy, and trustful, that I said to myself, 'There's a boy that's grown up in some happy home, without a care or sorrow.'"
"Just so, Mort. But there was another thing which gave to this place a charm for me that it did not possess for the rest of our family."
"What was that?"
"I'll tell you. The girls were born in Portsmouth, and their earliest associations were there. My father and mother also have had homes at other spots; but if I was not born here, I grew up among these great trees, and, I can tell you, the very roots of them were in my heart, and it was hard parting. One of the very first things I can remember is, crawling out of the front door, when mother's attention was turned, and making for dear life towards that birch with the hang-bird's nest on it. Sometimes in my haste, I'd tumble down the steps—roll from the top to the bottom. If it half killed me, I wouldn't cry, for fear mother would come and get me before I reached the tree; and when she did, O, didn't I yell some? Here I made my little gardens, dug wells, and put water in 'em; here I had my pets, hens and ducks, pigeons, and kittens, and birds; and when any of them died, I buried them under that walnut with the drooping branches, because I thought it felt sorry for me. I didn't have many playmates, for I was a shy boy, and so I loved the trees, birds, and flowers all the more, and played with them, and my sisters, and Uncle Robert. You see that large maple that stands next to the hemlock—the biggest tree in the field?"
"Yes, it is almost as large as the great pine in the glen at Brunswick."
"Don't you think, when I was a little thing, wore long clothes, red stockings, and red morocco shoes, my father tapped that tree, and used to give us the sap to drink. One washing day, when they were all busy, I got away, ran for the maple, and got down on my hands and knees to drink out of the trough. I was having the nicest time, putting down the sap, when a bee came whiz in my face, struck me on my upper lip, and ran his stinger in the whole length. I suppose he thought I was going to drink up all the sap, and he shouldn't get any. The girl was hanging out clothes, heard an outcry, and saw me flat on my back, kicking and screaming. She ran, and mother ran, and my sisters, and such a time as there was when mother pulled the stinger out. I tell you, Mort, no other place ever seems like the one where you played when you were little."
"That's so, Rich. The corn in the dish on the table don't taste half so good as that you roast out doors, and down with it, all over smut and ashes, and half raw; and the apples they carry round in the evening at home don't begin with the ones you've hid in the haymow, and eat when they are so full of frost it makes your teeth ache."