With this tormenting suggestion, that some officious elf thrust into her mind, she allowed herself but seldom to remain in the room during his visits, and, depriving herself of a pleasure she would have enjoyed exceedingly, rarely joined in the conversation, only occasionally forgetting ugly suggestions of prim propriety, and putting in her vivacious word or merry laugh with such childlike abandon as made Mr. Thornton remember the maple leaves and the violets.
He did not mean to be an artful man, but the truth was, that there was not a look or tone or motion of this maiden's but he noted and studied, no matter how absorbed he pretended to be with the subject in hand. It puzzled him not a little that she seemed to avoid him, for he too was accustomed to being considered a person of importance. And yet it was almost refreshing to meet a young lady who did not constantly seek his society, oppress him with attention and smile approval upon him. Always smiling, it was restful to meet this face that could be grave, and lips that could be silent, or speak of something besides trifles and inanities.
And so the visits and the—studies—continued, twice, three times a week; if he were late, the old gentleman would fidget like a maiden waiting for her lover.
And now the greenhouse was completed, furnished with all the appurtenances that such an establishment requires. Some little changes, too, had been made in the cottage in consideration of the choice spirits who were to occupy it; in short, nothing more could be asked for it in the way of taste and convenience. The deed and the key had been sent as promised, and the Christmas gift had been searched out and found to be no myth, but a joyful reality; two delighted people had pronounced it "cosy," "lovely," "home-like." They were still in wonder and perplexity as to the donor. Mr. Winthrop lay awake nights, going as far back among the families of the city as his memory would travel, to find the name "Hathaway," but could get no clue. He turned over in his mind the names of all his acquaintances whom he knew to be abroad, and surmised it to be this one, and then that one, to whom he was indebted for this princely gift, but could never settle permanently upon any one. As much at home as Mr. Thornton had become in a short time in the household, Mr. Winthrop had never mentioned the matter to him; with true Puritan reticence, he kept his personal affairs, if possible, within his own family. So, as the time drew near for removal, the former could scarcely conceal a smile when Mr. Winthrop, with a touch of his old stateliness in his manner, said that he must make a disclosure that, perhaps, should have been made long ago; that he never liked to sail under false colors, and, while he would not hint that wealth was the sole standard Mr. Thornton set up for his friendships, still he wished him to know that he himself was a poor man, that his home had been taken from him, in fact, he was to leave it in a few days forever, for a small property that "was given to us by some unknown friend, and for which we hourly thank God," he said with moist eyes.
"But that is not all," he went on, as if determined to further mortify his remaining pride. "We are to be known hereafter as those who earn their daily bread by the toil of their own hands. I have been among the fools who thought it a disgrace to do so, but I have been rebuked for my foolish pride of birth, and now I lay it down forever; but I wish every one who seeks friendship with us to know the truth."
Mr. Thornton heard this speech with kindling eyes, and simply said, as he gave him a warm hand clasp, "Then, sir, you may have fewer friends, but truer.
"'The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.'
"May I be so happy as to be one such friend?"
"What a thing it would be, eh? To be the father of such a son!" Mr. Winthrop said within himself, as he watched the young man spring lightly down the steps and walk away; and there were tears in the old eyes as he remembered a handsome profligate son who had found an early grave.
A few days before Christmas found the Winthrops established in their new home, happy, grateful souls as ever opened eyes on Christmas morning. The delightful old-fashioned house reminded one of a hen and chickens, so many small rooms joined on here and there clustering about it. Inside, it seemed to open in all directions, so that when you stood in the center you had a peep into every room. And each room, fitted up by Lily's artistic taste with articles that had long been heirlooms in the family, had an individuality of its own. The living room, warm and bright in rich colors, the dining room, with antique sideboard and a few old pieces of silver shining on it, the tiny green carpeted library, glimpses into one fair and white, the guest chamber, and another in rose tints, such as girls love, then the old-time room, which Mr. Winthrop declared was to be his the moment he saw it.