Old Westerbrook fell back in his chair, as Fred stood there with his two hands stretched out to him. Then he sprang up, burst into tears, and clasped Fred in his arms. Of all commotions! Mr. Brandon walked away out of it into the sun, putting his yellow silk handkerchief on his head. The Squire stared as if he had never seen a bronzed man before; Tod came leaping up, and the best part of the company after him.
“Edna, Edna!” called out Mr. Westerbrook, sitting back in his chair again, and holding Fred tightly. “Edna, I want you instantly.”
She advanced modestly, blushing roses, her hat held in her hand by its faded strings. Mr. Westerbrook looked at her through his tears.
“Here he is, my dear—do you see?—come back to us at last. We must both welcome him. The homestead is yours from this day, Fred; I will have only just a corner in it. I am too old now for a busy life: you must be the acting master. And, Edna, my child, you will come here to be his helpmeet in it, and to take care of me in my declining years—my dear little daughter! Thank God for all things!”
Fred gave us just a brief summary of the past. Getting over to America without much difficulty, he had sought there for some remunerative work, and sought in vain. One of those panics that the Americans go in for had recently occurred in the States, and numbers of men were unable to get employment. After sundry adventures, and some semi-starvation, he at length made his way to the West Indies. A cousin of his late mother was, he knew, settled somewhere within the regions of British Guiana. He found him in Berbice, a small merchant of New Amsterdam. To him Fred told his whole story; and the old cousin gave him a berth in his counting-house. Office-work was new to Fred; but he did his best; and with the first proceeds of his pay he enclosed the ten pounds to Edna; the house forwarding the letter to their agents in London, to be posted there. Some months later, he chanced to see the advertisement for him in an English newspaper. As soon as he was able, he came off to answer it in person; and—here he was.
“All’s well that ends well,” remarked Mr. Brandon, in his dry way.
“And don’t you go fraternizing with poachers again, Mr. Fred!” cried out the Squire. “See what it brought you to the last time.”
“No, Squire; never again,” answered Fred, pushing back his auburn hair (very long again), with a smile. “This one time has been quite enough.”
“But you cannot have Edna, you know,” said Mrs. Holland to him, with a disturbed face. “The Parsonage could not possibly get on without her.”
“I am afraid the Parsonage will have to try, Mrs. Holland.”