tudies at home progressed steadily under Uncle Richard's supervision, meanwhile, and that grim gentleman found much more pleasure and satisfaction in directing his nephew's tasks than he would have been willing to acknowledge. The boy brought so much brightness and pleasant life into the gloomy stone house that the stern master, as week after week passed by, visibly began to lose something of his grimness and gloominess, and to take something like a faint interest in what was passing around him. And, after a time, he himself began to be sensible of this gradual change which was stealing over his thoughts and actions, and, vexed with himself, strove to check these new emotions, and wrap himself again in the cloak of sadness and melancholy which so long had shielded him from everything bright and cheerful and happy. But he found it hardly an easy task. Noll was almost always blithe and light-hearted, and Trafford found his bright influence a hard one to struggle against. He loved the boy so well that it was almost an impossibility to harden his heart to all his winning ways and pleasant talk, which met him so constantly, and these summer days, which Noll found such delight in, were days of struggle and wavering to his uncle. He could not but acknowledge to himself that he was interested in all the boy's plans for the future,—all his youthful anticipations of happiness and success,—all his present little projects for progress and self-improvement,—and these matters, trivial though they may have been, gradually drew his thoughts from himself and his sorrow, put them farther and farther away into the dimness and silence of the past, and made the present a more vivid and earnest reality. Was it any wonder that, seeing he could not maintain his gloom and grimness in Noll's sunshine, and finding it slipping away from him in spite of his endeavors to retain it, he should astonish his nephew by strange fits of moroseness, alternating with the utmost kindness and indulgence?
The boy sometimes fancied that his uncle had grown to utterly dislike him,—being so irritable and unjust at times; then again his heart was light with joy and hope, for he fancied that the grim man was just on the point of losing his great burden of gloom, and becoming hopeful and unoppressed. But how could he be hopeful for whom there was no hope?—who refused to trust in God's promises?—for whom the shadow of the grave was utter darkness and horror, wherein dear faces had vanished—forever?
One day Noll had begged him to come out for a walk on the beach, thinking he would lead his uncle on and on till they should come out upon Culm village, and in this manner disclose what he had been doing for the dwellings and their inmates.
Trafford at first appeared inclined to consent, and followed his nephew out as far as the piazza steps, but here he stopped, and all Noll's entreaties could not prevail upon him to go further. He sat down, looking dispiritedly across the tranquil sea, all warm and fair with changing lights, and down at his feet at the bit of verdure which Noll had caused to flourish by dint of much seed-sowing and watering, saying, "No, I've no part in it all. I'll go no further."
So Noll was obliged to set off for Culm alone, consoling himself with the thought that next time, perhaps, he should be so successful as to get Uncle Richard a little farther, and next time a little way farther still, till, at last, they might walk together as uncle and nephew should. Would that happy day ever come? he wondered.
At last, after many delays and hindrances, the plan of a school was decided upon. Noll did not begin the undertaking with much confidence of success, or with any great hope of making the Culm children very bright or vigorous scholars; but it would be something toward supplying the great want, he thought, and who could tell what this little beginning might lead to? So, about half-past four one misty, lowery afternoon, he found himself in a little room in Dirk's dwelling, with ten dirty-faced, frowsy-headed children huddled together in one corner, each of them regarding him with wide-open eyes, and apparently without the remotest idea what they were there for. The only furniture which the "schoolroom" could boast were two rough benches, just from John Sampson's hands, and a three-legged stool, which Noll appropriated to himself. Of course none of the ten had anything in the shape of books or primers, and here the boy had reason to rejoice that all his old school-books had made the journey with himself to Culm.
After getting the wondering assemblage seated in proper order, Noll began by asking, "Who wants to learn to read?"
It seemed as if the sound of his voice had wrought a spell, for each of the ten were as silent as so many mutes.
"Who would like to know how to read?" Noll repeated.