“I did, Sir Emanuel; and yet he was but a poor boy.”
“A poor boy!”
“Yes, only a poor boy, God bless him,” said Tom, and the tears stood in his eyes. “I was acquainted with one of our corporals, and often used to go to his lodgings—there was no barracks then—at Ipswich. I often saw a poor, very pale, but pretty lad sitting in the court-yard in a light hand-carriage. He sat there because his mother was a laundry woman, and could only take him out when she went with light lots of clean linen to different houses. To amuse himself he used to play on a lark-whistle and a little tin pipe. They were these very ones,” said Tom, and wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “I was quite astonished at the music he could draw out of such simple things, and delighted to listen to him, and he was delighted to have me to listen. Poor Freddy! if he had had his health, he would have been a great musician. Oh! he had such an ear! nothing caught it, but he could imitate it. He picked up tunes, as chickens pick up barley-corns, without thinking. And then he was so fond of reading. He had always some books lying by him in his waggon—and he took such a longing, oh! such a longing, to be out in the fields, to feel the fresh wind on his poor thin cheek, and to see the brooks running in the sunshine amongst the flags and flowers, and to hear the birds. It made my heart to ache. I knew he had not long to live; he was lamed by an accident, and the hurt had taken bad ways. The doctors said his days were numbered.
“What a shame! I thought, that the poor lad should so long for the fields, and the winds, and the look of the sky, and the songs and ways of birds, and had but a little time to enjoy ’em, and nobody to take him out. So I determined to take him, and I used to go and draw him into the meadows, and through the woods, whenever I could. And when my captain was away for some months, I devoted all my time to take poor Freddy out. Oh! it would have done you good to see what a joy it was to him. How he would lie and listen by the side of a wood, and then imitate all sorts of birds, and he would never be satisfied till he had taught me to do the same. But I was but a poor scholar. It is since he is gone that the power has come to me—by thinking of him, I reckon. I don’t know how else.
“Poor Freddy! he used sometimes to cut me to the quick, by taking my hand and saying, ‘Do you think, Tom, heaven is more beautiful than this? I don’t think it can. And do you think we shall feel such cool, sweet winds, and hear the birds, I wonder?’
“‘No doubt,’ said I, ‘no doubt; they have everything better and finer than we have: but, my dear Fred, you are not gone yet. I hope we shall have many a pleasant time together yet.’
“‘I hope we shall,’ he would say, and then lie and think, and then perhaps drop asleep: and if ever I see an angel, I know it will look like that child in his sleep. He did not live out the summer. That’s how I learnt to play such bird-tunes.” And Tom went quickly away towards the house. There was many a fair face wet with tears—and some manly ones, too.
“That is an extraordinary fellow,” said Sir Emanuel. “He is a real genius; and he has a heart in his bosom, too.”
There was a call to supper. But why need we follow into that large and well-lighted room, where an exquisite repast was laid out. After that, Sir Emanuel, who had had a fine telescope erected by his own man on the lawn, showed the young people some of the marvels of the heavens; and Mr. Clavering showed others the equal marvels revealed by a microscope of great powers; and Dr. Leroy exhibited, by means of a magic lantern, views of many celebrated cities and Alpine scenes, which he had visited in his travels. The Quaker party was a decided success. All appeared charmed with their entertainment. Even Mr. Clavering had an opportunity of taking his good-natured revenge on Mr. William Fairfax, for as he was making a sort of harangue, resting his hands on a chair-back, and saying, of some things and people that he was commenting upon, “By their fruits shall ye know them,” Mr. Clavering said quietly—“But if it should be winter time, and there be neither fruit nor leaves on the trees, how should we know them?” Mr. Fairfax suddenly saying, “Farewell!” turned round and went off, much to the amusement of a group of young people, and followed by Mr. Clavering’s pleasant, good-natured glance of triumph.
At the early hour of ten o’clock all were hurrying away from Fair Manor, in the happiest of moods, and Mrs. Heritage had not uttered a single syllable of a sermon.