They said much more, thoroughly discussing the situation as two women will who have no troubles of their own on their minds, and are free to attend to their neighbors. But then this was not ill-natured gossip, and Mr. Thornton really felt obliged to them for telling him so many things he wished to know.
Later in the day Mr. Thornton called upon Mr. Haines to inquire about the property, hoping that he might be able to get it into his own possession, but he was informed that it was not for sale—that the location was the choicest in the city, and the house was soon to be remodeled for the owner's own residence. Moreover, he could not extend the time, as carpenters were to commence work on the inside as soon as possible. He considered it a marked favor that he gave the family as much time as he did, but then, some people were always ungrateful.
The more Mr. Thornton heard of this family the more interested did he become. This old man to be turned out of his home; this fair, brave girl battling with poverty appealed to everything sacred and chivalrous in his nature. How much he wished they were friends of his that he might say, "Share my home with me." He passed the house frequently the next few days and hunted his brain for a pretext for calling. The opportunity came in an unlooked-for way. One morning while he was passing, Mr. Winthrop happening to be coming down the stone steps leading from his lawn, lost his footing and would have fallen forward on the pavement had not Mr. Thornton sprang to his aid. As it was, one of his ankles was injured so that he was obliged to lean on Mr. Thornton's arm and return to the house. On examination both gentlemen agreed that it was probably only a slight sprain, not requiring the attendance of a surgeon. Mr. Thornton remained and assisted in bathing and bandaging it with his own hands, declaring that he was experienced inasmuch as he once had a sprained ankle himself.
Mr. Winthrop was slow to take in strangers, but who could wrap himself in cold reserve before the fascination of Mr. Thornton's manner? It was the perfection of kindness and delicate politeness. Mr. Winthrop found himself conversing with the freedom of an old friend, and begged him when he took leave, to come again.
Mr. Thornton in turn was perfectly captivated with the old gentleman. A most delightful plan began to loom up in his mind, and he betook himself to his favorite retreat to perfect it. The cottage had passed through the renovating process and was now as neat and pretty a home as could be desired.
Inside, it was finished up according to Mr. Thornton's own taste, which was of the best. He had pleased himself by fitting up one room in the style of the olden time. The modern wall-paper adorned with morning glory vines, and the fern leaf carpet chimed in with the idea sufficiently well. He procured a wide lounge covered with chintz, two high-backed old rocking-chairs, and several others of antique patterns and splint-bottoms. From an old aunt's possessions, he begged a tall secretary and bookcase, curiously carved, a table with claw feet, and a stand with three legs. He put tall candlesticks of silver on the high mantel, brass andirons in the broad fireplace, and when he had a veritable hickory log snapping on them, the firelight dancing on the wall, and gayly flowered damask curtains at the windows, he delightedly pronounced the room as much like his great-grandmother's as he could make it.
To-night he dropped the curtains, drew the arm-chair to the fire, and settled himself to the solving of a problem. He often came to this room when he wanted to be specially quiet; indeed, so fascinated was he by it that he would have enjoyed taking up his abode there. The old lady for whom all this comfort was intended, had not yet appeared. He had been quietly waiting and watching, certain that in due time his offering would be needed, and now he felt assured the time had come. But how to bestow it on Mr. Winthrop without bringing him under a sense of obligation that would be embarrassing whenever they met, for he had no idea of dropping the acquaintance just begun! His sympathies had a wide scope, and yet his friends were few and choice; he hoped to number this pure-hearted, clear-headed old man among them, and, mayhap, this maiden of heroic deeds.
Open fires must be favorable to untying hard knots, for after knitting his brows for a time he seemed to have arrived at some conclusion that pleased himself, at least, and he turned to his table and wrote a letter, sealed and addressed it, then sank back in his chair with the air of one who has dispatched his business and is free to dream dreams of firelight.
The letter was not the only result of the cogitations. It was but a day or two after that when workmen were busy with shovel and saw and hammer engaged in building a greenhouse. The season favored the plan; the frosts not having penetrated the ground yet. Mr. Thornton was there continually, directing, watching with as much interest as if he contemplated taking up the vocation of a florist at once.
One evening the postman brought a letter of importance to the Winthrops. It was just at dusk, and Lily, returned from another day of fruitless wanderings, sat by the fire, feeling more depressed in heart than was at all usual with her. The day had been "dark and cold and dreary," and chilled her through and through, soul as well as body. None of this appeared, though, in the cheerful words she forced herself to speak to her dispirited grandfather, who had almost lost hope, though struggling hard to keep up. He did not know that in the dark and drizzle of the November night a light was on the way to him.