“Why don’t you send him to sea? Let him see the hard side of life, come to misery, and learn to submit.”
“I would, but it would kill his mother. She thinks his temper is so violent he would kill some one, or be killed himself.”
“Nonsense! begging your pardon. He may be very violent with you or his mother; but let the mate of a vessel get afoul of him, and he would knuckle fast enough. I wish I was going to sea now; I’d engage to bring him to his bearings, and not hurt him, either.”
“His mother would never consent to his going to sea. But I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking of ever since I was at Elm Island. That is a place free from temptation. He resembles me in many things. Like me, he is extravagantly fond of gunning and fishing, and has keen appreciation of everything beautiful in nature. I thought, if he could spend a summer in that beautiful spot,—he likes you and Ben; he couldn’t help liking Charlie and Sally,—perhaps it might aid him to rally, for I think of late he has made some effort in that direction. His mother has often spoken of it, and says she would not be afraid to have him go to Elm Island.”
“She need be under no apprehension of his hurting Ben, and Ben certainly won’t hurt him.”
“It is not altogether in respect to Elm Island that I wished to speak. But while I was there, I became acquainted with Mr. Murch—Uncle Isaac, as everybody there calls him. He is certainly a most remarkable man. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about him impresses and influences one in spite of himself. I couldn’t help feeling, while I was talking with him, that I wanted him to have a good opinion of me, and was vexed with myself for wishing that I knew what he thought of me.”
“Let me tell you, my friend, you couldn’t have a greater compliment than Isaac’s good opinion.”
“But the most remarkable thing is the liking that your John and Charlie, and, as far as I could see, every other boy, seems to have for him, and the influence he has over them. Why, John told me—and Charlie says the same—that this young Williams was a bad, mischievous boy, so bad that they were determined not to play with him, and would have given him up had it not been for Mr. Murch. Now, if he can work such miracles, why, if my poor boy was down there, couldn’t he, with God’s help and blessing, do something for him?”
“It is quite a different case. These were boys; your son is—”
“Twenty-two next March.”