A Friend in Need.
“I’m sure it’s winter fairly.”
Burns.
Arthur started. He brushed hastily away the tears that lingered in his eyes, hoping that the new-comer had not observed them.
“I—I—” he began, then hesitated a little, “I’m on my way to Liverpool. I want to go to America.”
“Ameriky,” said the old man; “that’s a long way. Have ye friends there?”
Arthur shook his head. He did not care about this cross-questioning, and, had he reflected a little, he would not perhaps have answered so openly. But he was inexperienced, and unaccustomed to be on his guard. He tried to think of some observation to make which would turn the conversation, but nothing came into his head except the subject which never fails—the weather.
“Do you think it is going to snow again?” he said timidly, glancing up at his companion. He looked something like a farmer of the humbler class—farmers were always interested in the weather.
The man raised his head quickly, as if to look up, forgetting seemingly that he was not in the open air. Then he smiled a little.
“Can’t say,” he replied. “But I rather think we’ve had the worst of it for a while. And so ye’re off to Ameriky, young man? You don’t look so fit for it nayther.”
“I’m going to Liverpool first,” said Arthur. “Perhaps I’ll stay there. I have—” “an introduction there,” he was going on to say, but the words stopped on his lips. They sounded far too important under the circumstances. Besides, and for the first time this new difficulty struck him, he dare not avail himself of Mr Winthrop’s letter, which he had been so glad of! The person to whom it was addressed was pretty sure to be in some way connected, directly or indirectly, with his uncle’s business, and, even if not so, when Mr Winthrop came to hear of his, Arthur’s, disappearance, he might identify him with the traveller they had so kindly received, and trace him through this very introduction. And as all this went through his mind, his face fell. His companion, who was watching him, saw the change of expression.