“It’s all right now, uncle,” said Phil. “I don’t wonder you thought I was a contemptible rascal. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to start off and look for you, Emile would not have dared to come here, the bells would not have been hung up, you would have been home in the afternoon, and everything would have been all right.”
“It often happens that way, my boy,” said Mr. Berkeley. “But you have had a hard time, Phil, and you have done splendidly. If any mistakes were made they were not your fault. You have saved me this property, and I shall never forget what I owe you. When I went away, I expected you would have some bothers and perplexities, but I thought it would be a useful experience for you to weather through them. It would have been impossible for me to imagine that you would have such anxieties and trials as those you have gone through. And, although I always had a good opinion of you, I would not have supposed that you would have stood up against your difficulties so manfully.”
As to the deficiency in money for household and other expenses, Mr. Berkeley easily explained that. He had expected a certain sum which was owing to him to be paid on his account to Mr. Welford, which that gentleman had not received. If this payment had been properly made, there would have been no difficulty in carrying on the Hyson Hall establishment until Mr. Berkeley’s return.
“But, uncle,” said Phil, as they were preparing to go up-stairs, “there’s one thing I don’t understand. You said, in the long letter you left for me when you went away, that you couldn’t stay at home any longer because life here was so monotonous. Now, it seems to me it must have been ever so much more monotonous in a little log hut in the woods, where you never saw a soul. Of course I can understand why you couldn’t study here, where you are interrupted every five minutes by some of us.”
“It was the monotony of interruption that disturbed me,” said Mr. Berkeley, smiling. “Every day it was the same thing. I would plan out a certain amount of reading, and the day would often pass without my opening a book. In the woods it was very different. Law is generally considered a very dry and musty subject, but my studies were very fresh and interesting to me. The whole affair seemed like an adventure. It reminded me of part of my life in South America, and I enjoyed it greatly. I was not only leading an untrammelled life in the woods, but I was doing something useful and sensible besides, and this is more than I can say of a good deal of the out-door life of my earlier years. And, then, there was the spice of running away from a tyrannical nephew. That made it all the jollier, don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t,” said Phil. “But some of these days I may run away from you, just to see how pleasant it is.”
“If you do,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I’ll let old Touron buy Hyson Hall, and when you are tired of roving you can come back and live with Emile.”
When the two went up-stairs, Chap called out to them from his room. He had evidently been keeping himself awake on purpose to hail them when they came up.
“Phil,” cried Chap, “did you ask your uncle if he saw anything of the lonely sumach when he was in the Green Swamp?”
“That boy again!” groaned Mr. Muller, as he turned over in his bed.