"Oh, yes," said my sister, nodding at her husband; "it was just as you say."
With that Alderwood smiled, and nodded back again, saying,
"Prue is right. When we discovered your condition—that is, when we found you had been murdered, as you say, and that there was no one to look to the poor forty-acre except the sheriff and the mortgagee, it was agreed between your sister and myself that I should take the matter in hand; for we were loath the property should go into the possession of strangers. Besides, Prudence insisted upon being near you—"
"That is," said Prudence, "near to where we supposed the murderers must have concealed your body."
"Exactly so," said Alderwood. "For this reason I left my own farm in the hands of my young brother Robert, came down hither, bag and baggage, applied a little of my loose cash (for I believe I have been somewhat more prosperous than you) to stopping the mouth of your mortgagee, building fences, banking meadows, spreading marl, and so on; and the consequence is, that we are getting the forty-acre into good condition again, so that, in a few years, it will pay the debts, and perhaps begin to make the fortune of its owner."
I grasped my brother-in-law's hand. I was moved by his kindness; and remembering how, after quarrelling with him, as related in the first book of this history, I had refused a reconciliation, and rejected his offers of assistance, his friendship and generosity appeared still more worthy of my gratitude.
"Poh!" said he, interrupting my thanks and professions of regard, but looking well pleased that I should be disposed to make them, "I was persuaded you would come to some day—that is, I mean, come back."
"That is," said Prudence, "we always had a notion you were not really dead, and that we should see you again, some time, alive and happy."
"I trust," said I, "you will long see me so; for I am now a changed, I hope, a wiser man—disposed to make the best of the lot to which Heaven has assigned me, and to sigh no longer with envy at the supposed superior advantages of others. I think, brother Alderwood, I shall now be contented with my condition, humble and even toilsome as it may be. I have seen enough of the miseries of my fellows—those even whom I most envied—during the two years of my absence, to teach me that every man has his share of them; that there is nothing peculiarly wretched in my own lot, and that I can be happy or not, just as I may choose to make myself. For this reason, I shall now bid adieu to indolence and discontent, the vile mother and viler daughter together, and do as my father did before me, that is, cultivate these few acres which my folly has left me, with my own hands; nor will I rest from my labours until I have discharged every claim against it, your own, my dear Alderwood, first of all; though I am sensible I can never repay the debt of kindness I owe you." "And this is really your intention?" demanded Alderwood, looking prodigiously gratified. "Your possessions are now limited, indeed; yet you have enough, with a little industry and care, to render you independent for life. And if you will really apply yourself to the farm—"
"I will," said I. "If labour and perseverance can do it, I will attain the independence you speak of; I will remove every encumbrance on the forty-acre, and then trust to pass such a life as modest wishes and a contented temper can secure me."