And they did, and the whole family was present. It was a kind of council in which the matter was thoroughly discussed, and plans laid for the reception of the expected visitors. The general explained why he did not feel at liberty to refuse his brother’s request—this being a private matter is something in which we have no interest—and urged upon his boys the necessity of regulating their own conduct, so that Clarence and his brother might see that there was more happiness, and much more respectability in a sober, well-regulated course of life, than in the career upon which they seemed to have entered. The new-comers, he was sorry to say, had a great many bad habits, and their father hoped that by sending them into the country for a season they might forget some of them, and by being brought under better influences, be finally led to see the folly of them and induced to abandon them altogether. One thing was certain, the general said: there was no dram-shop in the neighborhood, not even at the landing, and beer-drinking and card-playing were two practices that Clarence would have to forego so long as he remained in that part of the country. Tobacco was plenty, but it was not at all likely that a boy who had been in the habit of buying cigars worth ten and perhaps twenty-five cents apiece, would stoop to a cob-pipe and plug “Varginy.” Besides he was to have no money, so his father said, not a cent; and taking it altogether, it seemed as if Clarence must turn over a new leaf while he was under his uncle’s roof, whether he wanted to do so or not.
In regard to Marshall, the younger brother, the general had not much to say, for his father had scarcely mentioned him in his letters. But he inferred that he was following in the footsteps of Clarence, and that, being easily led in any direction, there might be some hope for him if he were taken in hand at once.
The unlooked-for intrusion of these discordant elements upon their quiet, happy family circle, afforded the boys something to talk about that night, and kept them awake long after they ought to have been asleep. Bert did not take it quite so much to heart after the first surprise was over. Indeed he hoped that the visit might prove both pleasant and profitable to all concerned. Clarence and Marshall were his cousins, and Bert had a warm place in his heart for them, even if they were not just such boys as he would have chosen for his companions. Don, on the other hand, took but little pains to conceal the annoyance he felt. Cousin or no cousin, he did not want such a companion as he knew Clarence would prove to be, and he hoped his uncle Robert would hurry and make up his mind to something, so that his visit might be brought to an end as speedily as possible. The expected visitors broke in on his arrangements in a way he did not like. It brought his school term to an end a week sooner than it ought to have been ended. Of course it would not be polite to leave Clarence and Marshall to themselves when they arrived, and in order to give Don and Bert an opportunity to make things pleasant for them, the general decided that the school should close at once.
Morning came at last, and immediately after breakfast the heavy, old-fashioned family carriage was drawn to the door by a span of splendid iron-gray horses, the tutor’s trunk was strapped on behind, and he, in company with the general and his two boys, stepped in, and the carriage was driven to the landing. Just as they arrived there, a steamer appeared in the bend, heading up the river. The general signalled to her with his handkerchief, and she landed, took the tutor and his luggage aboard, and continued on her way. The boys watched her in silence until she disappeared around the point. They had grown to like their tutor, and were sorry to see him go; but it was some consolation to them to know that the separation would not be a long one.
The Gray Eagle—that was the name of the steamer that took the tutor away—having disappeared, the boys turned their attention to a thick cloud of smoke farther up the river, and behind a point which jutted out from the right bank. Silas Jones, who was at the landing and expecting goods by the first steamer from Memphis, told the general that the Gray Eagle was the only packet that had gone up the river since midnight, so the boys knew that the smoke they were looking at must come from the chimneys of some steamer bound to New Orleans. They watched the cloud as it moved slowly along above the trees, and finally at the end of an hour a side-wheel steamer suddenly made her appearance in the bend.
“That’s the Emmy Deane,” said a well-known voice.
The boys turned and saw Godfrey Evans standing close behind them. He was barefooted as usual, and carried his rifle on his shoulder.
“How do you know it is the Emma Deane?” asked Don.
“Ah! mornin’, Mr. Don,” exclaimed Godfrey. “Proud to see ye, sar. How’s all the folks? Mine is only jest tol’able, thank ye, ’ceptin’ the ole woman, an’ she’s poorly. How do I know that’s the Emmy Deane? Kase I know it is, an’ I can tell a’most every boat on the river that stops here, too. When she whistles, ye’ll see she’s got four—two high up an’ two low down. Mr. Don,” added Godfrey, lowering his voice, “can I see ye jest a minute, please, sar?”
Don, wondering what business Godfrey could have with him, which was of so private a nature that it could not be spoken of in the hearing of his father and brother, drew off on one side, and the man, after clearing his throat, continued: