Lewie by Cousin Cicely

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Agnes felt the importance of exerting in this ungodly family a strictly
religious influence; but, except with her own little pupils, she did not
attempt, at first, to do so in any other way than by her own quiet,
consistent example. Mr. Fairland was much surprised when Agnes requested
permission to take the children to church with her he readily granted
it, however, as he invariably did the wishes of Agnes; and from that
time, Mr. Fairland's pew had at least four or five occupants, on the
morning and evening of the Sabbath day. Though not required by her
engagement to do so, Agnes kept the children with her on Sunday, reading
to them, singing with them, or telling them beautiful Bible stories; and
those pleasant Sabbaths spent with her they never forgot, nor did they
ever lay aside the habits they acquired under her care.

"What a pleasant day Sunday is!" exclaimed little Rosa; "I never knew it
was such a pleasant day before."

"It's cousin Agnes makes it so pleasant," said blue-eyed Jessie.

"It is because you spend it as God directs, that it is a pleasant day to
you, dear children," said Agnes; "and I wish you to remember that it
will always be a happy day, if you spend it in His service, 'from the
beginning unto the end thereof.'"

Even if I were sufficiently acquainted with them to detail all the
plans of Agnes for the education and improvement in manners and habits
of her rude and ignorant little pupils, I should not do so here. They
required peculiar training and an unfailing stock of patience, and it
was long before any very perceptible change was wrought in their almost
confirmed habits of carelessness, or any improvement in their rude and
unformed manners; but at length a material change was apparent, and even
the Misses Fairland could not keep their eyes closed to the visible
improvement of the children. They were all much more gentle and quiet;
and even poor Tiney softened much, under Agnes' gentle influence, and
the light of intelligence began to beam in her heretofore dull eye. For
the first time in her life, she was gaining useful ideas; and the
consciousness that she was learning something as well as her sisters,
seemed to make her happier and more kindly in her feelings.

It was not long before the door would open gently, as the sound of their
evening hymn was heard, and Mr. Fairland, who was extravagantly fond of
sweet and simple music, would steal into the room, and seat himself in
the corner. And when he heard the voices of his children singing the
praises of God, and saw his poor Tiney, hitherto so neglected, joining
with eager interest in the singing, the tears would glisten in his eye,
and roll unbidden down his cheek. Then he began to find his way to the
school-room on Sunday evenings, and Agnes always took the opportunity on
such occasions, to question the children on the elements of religious
truth, that their young voices might be the means of instructing their
father, who was more ignorant even than they, on these all-important
subjects. At these times he never said one word, but when he left the
room, it was often wiping the tears first, from one cheek and then from
the other, and the heavy tread of his feet could be heard far into the
night, as he walked the whole length of the two large parlors, with his
hands behind him, and his head bent down. Before Agnes had been six
months in the family, the good people sitting in the church at Wilston,
one Sunday, opened their eyes with astonishment, to see Mr. Fairland
walk into church and take his seat in a pew; and still more were they
amazed, to see him do the same thing in the afternoon. It was a surprise
to Agnes too; for though she had not failed to notice an unusual
solemnity about Mr. Fairland, yet no word on the subject of his duty in
this matter had ever passed between them.

Thus in the strict and conscientious performance of her daily duties,
passed the summer with Agnes, with one delightful break, of a
fortnight's vacation, spent with the dear loving friends at Brook Farm,
where she saw much of her dear brother Lewie, who rode over every
evening and passed the night, returning to his college duties early in
the morning. The quick eye of a sister's love soon detected that all was
not right with Lewie. He was as affectionate as ever, and if possible
handsomer; but the faults of his childhood had grown with his growth and
strengthened with his strength; his temper seemed more hasty and
impetuous than ever, and there was a dashing recklessness about him
which gave his sister many a heart-ache; and she had painful, though
undefined fears for the future, for her rash and hot-headed brother.

Her kind friends at Brook Farm, who fancied from some things they drew
from Agnes, that her home at the Fairlands' was not in all respects a
happy one, urged her most earnestly not to return there, but without
success. Agnes was convinced that there the path of duty lay, at least
for the present, and nothing could make her swerve from it.

"Remember then, my sweet niece," said her uncle, as he kissed her at
parting, "this is your home, whenever, for any reason, you will make us
so happy as to return to it."

The winter passed by very quietly to Agnes, in her accustomed round of
duties; indeed she was happier than she had yet found herself under Mr.
Fairland's roof, in consequence of the absence of the two young ladies,
who having by some means or other succeeded in securing an invitation
out of some acquaintances in the city, to make them a short visit,
inflicted themselves upon them for the whole winter, and did not return
to Wilston till the spring was far advanced. Their hosts, in order to
rid themselves of such persevering and long-abiding guests, began to
make their preparations long before the usual time for closing their
house and going to the country, and the Misses Fairland, invulnerable as
they proved all winter to anything like a _hint_, were obliged to take
this intended removal of their friends as a "notice to quit," which they
accordingly did.

One bright spot to Agnes this winter, was a visit of a week from Lewie,
who took his vacation at the time of the holidays to run up and see his
sister.

He had his guitar with him, and his voice, which had gained much in
depth and richness, was indescribably sweet. It seemed as if Mr.
Fairland never would tire of hearing the brother and sister sing
together. His mills and everything else were forgotten, while he sat
silently in his great chair with his eyes closed, listening hour after
hour to the blended harmony of their charming voices.

That happy week was soon over, and the brother and sister parted. The
next time Agnes heard the sound of her brother's guitar, under what
different circumstances did its tones strike upon her ear!

XV.

The Strangers in the Rookery.

"If thou sleep alone in Urrard,
Perchance in midnight gloom
Thou'lt hear behind the wainscot
Sounds in that haunted room,
It is a thought of horror,
I would not sleep alone
In the haunted room of Urrard,
Where evil deeds are done."

--UNKNOWN.

"What do you think, Calista? What _do_ you think?" exclaimed Miss
Evelina Fairland, one day soon after their return from the city,
bursting in, in a great state of excitement. "Two of the _handsomest_
men have come to the village, one of them is a Mr. Harrington; isn't it
a lovely name? and he has purchased "_the Rookery_" do you believe! some
say that he is a young man, others that he is a widower. They have come
down to hunt and fish, and he was mightily taken with "the Rookery,"
and in spite of ghosts and goblins he has actually bought it;" and here
Miss Evelina paused to take breath.

"The Rookery" was a large old mansion which had once been a very
handsome dwelling. It stood quite alone on a rising ground a little out
of the village, and was surrounded with an extensive lawn, which on one
side sloped down the lake, over which were scattered magnificent elms;
and there was only one thing that prevented "the Rookery" from being the
most delightful residence in the country. This was the well-attested
fact that the house was haunted; and though at different times, those
who were above being influenced by these idle fears, had fitted up the
place and endeavored to live there, yet there could be no comfort in so
large a house without servants, and not one could be found to remain in
it more than one night. Servants were brought from a distance, but they
soon heard in the village the story of the lady who died so mysteriously
in that house twenty years before, and how she _walked_ every night,
and then of course they heard sounds, and saw sights; and they too,
forthwith took their departure.

So the old house was quite falling into decay when these two brave men
came down and took possession of it; and fitting up comfortably two or
three of the most tenantable rooms, they there kept bachelors' hall,
unterrified and undisturbed, at least by _spirits_. A few days after the
announcement of the arrival of the strangers in the village, a widow
lady of the name of Danby came to make a visit to the Fairland's. She
had with her a little girl, her only child, a wilful, spoiled little
thing, who took her own course in everything, utterly regardless of the
wishes or commands of others. In the afternoon, as Agnes was preparing
to start with her little pupils for their accustomed walk, Mrs. Danby
said:

"Bella wishes to accompany you, Miss Elwyn, but you must take good care
of her."

"I will do my best, Mrs. Danby," said Agnes, "but one thing I shall
insist upon, and that is, that Bella shall obey me as my own little
scholars do."

Miss Bella was not at all pleased with the idea of obeying any one, and
so she was continually showing off her independent airs as they walked,
hiding behind trees, describing eccentric circles around the rest of the
party, or darting off in tangents. At length she became so troublesome,
that Agnes determined to shorten their walk, and turned to retrace their
steps; at this Miss Bella was highly indignant, and declared "that she
would not go back, she would go on, down there by the water."

They were at this time near an open space, which reached to the water,
at the end of which was a dock, for the convenience of those who wished
to go out upon the lake in boats. Agnes endeavored to detain the wilful
child, but she suddenly pulled away from her, and started like the wind
for the dock. Agnes called, and the children screamed, in vain; faster
and faster ran the little witch, still looking behind every moment to
see if she was pursued, till at length she tripped over a log, and fell
far out into the water. Agnes clasped her hands in speechless terror,
while the cries of the children were loud and agonizing. Just then a
boat in which were two gentlemen rounded a point of land near them, and
made rapidly for the struggling child, who in another moment was lifted
into the boat, and handed up to the arms of Agnes.

Agnes was too much agitated to take particular notice of these
strangers, but taking off her shawl she wrapped the dripping child in
it, while one of her preservers carried her into a cottage near by,
Agnes and the still weeping children following. When the child was
placed in the kind woman's bed, and little Rosa was sent home to ask
Susan for some clothes to put on her, with special directions not to
alarm Mrs. Danby, Agnes returned to the sitting-room of the cottage, to
thank the strangers who had so opportunely come to their assistance,
when what was her astonishment to find that one of them was her old
friend, Tom Wharton.

"And you knew I was in town, Mr. Wharton, and have been here three or
four days without coming to see me," said she.

"Oh! you know I don't do things just like other people," answered Tom;
"and to tell the truth, though I have no fear of ghosts and hobgoblins,
I have not yet had the courage to face two famous man-hunters, who I
hear reside under the same roof with you, Agnes. But it is time I should
introduce you to my friend Mr. Harrington, the present proprietor of
"the Rookery," together with all the spirits, black and white, red and
grey, who are the inhabitants thereof."

Agnes was glad to meet Mr. Harrington, of whom she had often heard her
uncle speak in terms of great admiration, as an accomplished gentleman
and a Christian; and one who used the large property he had inherited in
deeds of benevolence and usefulness. They had been for some time in
conversation about the friends at Brook Farm, from whom the two
gentlemen had lately parted, when little Rosa returned.

Rosa found that her older sisters and Mrs. Danby had gone out for a
walk; so it was a very easy matter to get some dry clothes for Bella,
and bring her safe home before her mother heard of the accident. What
was the surprise of the Misses Fairland, as, in coming down the street,
they saw Agnes returning, accompanied by one of the handsome strangers
whose acquaintance they had been "dying" to make; while the other
followed, carrying little Bella Danby in his arms. A few words sufficed
to tell the story of the accident, and to introduce the strangers, who,
with the utmost cordiality, were urged to come in; an invitation which
was unhesitatingly accepted by Mr. Harrington, and rather reluctantly by
Mr. Tom Wharton. Mrs. Danby, pale and agitated, took her little darling
in her arms, and hurried to her own room, there to administer certain
restoratives, and, much against the young lady's will, to place her
again in bed.

Mr. Harrington, having now gained the _entree_ to Mr. Fairland's house,
seemed inclined to be a frequent visitor, much to the gratification of
the ladies Calista and Evelina, who laid siege to him right and left. If
my reader possessed the key to Mr. Harrington's real object in coming to
Wilston, perhaps he would be as much amused as the gentleman himself at
the efforts, so exceedingly apparent, to gain for one of them possession
of his hand and fortune; for that Mr. Harrington was wealthy, they were
well assured. They each kept out a _hook_, too, for Mr. Tom Wharton, in
case the other was successful in taking the more valuable prey; but the
bait was by no means tempting to Mr. Tom, who darted off, leaving his
friend, unsupported and alone, to resist the attacks of these practised,
but hitherto unsuccessful anglers.

"Well, Harrington," said Mr. Tom Wharton to his friend one day, "since
your object in bringing me down here with you is accomplished, I must
now leave you to your fate. What that may be, in the midst of attacks
from spirits by night, and from more substantial persecutors by day, I
cannot divine; but if there is anything left of you, I shall hope to
see you in the city before long, and to hear the account you have to
give of yourself."

"I thank you for your services thus far, my dear friend," said Mr.
Harrington; "still, I think it would be the part of disinterested
friendship to stay and help me a little longer."

"I can't--I can't stand it, Harrington. _You_ may be able to bear it
better; but I'm not used to this sort of thing, and I don't know how to
get along with it at all. Your case is a hard one, I acknowledge, my
friend; but having some business of my own to attend to, I must leave
you to fight out your own battles." And Mr. Tom Wharton, resolutely
closed his ears to his friend's appeals, and took his departure.

A beautiful little boat which Mr. Harrington had ordered from the city
having arrived, he called, one afternoon, at Mr. Fairland's, to ask the
ladies if they would take a sail with him upon the lake. Most eagerly
the Misses Fairland consented, and were leaving the room to prepare to
go, when Mr. Harrington turned to Agnes, who happened to be in the
room, and said:

"May I not hope for the pleasure of Miss Elwyn's company too?" Upon
which Miss Evelina, with a childishly-confidential air, raised herself
on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear:

"It is not _at all_ necessary to ask her: we never feel obliged to, I
assure you. She is only _governess to the children_."

But Mr. Harrington renewed his invitation, which Agnes had respectfully
declined, when Mr. Fairland entered the room, and Mr. Harrington
appealed to him.

"Go? Certainly Agnes must go; she has never been on the lake in a
sail-boat, and I have often heard her say she would delight to go. Come,
Agnes! put on your things without a word, and go along."

Thus urged, Agnes consented to go, though she felt a little
uncomfortable at the silent displeasure of the Misses Fairland. There
was a pleasant breeze, and the little boat flew like a bird over the
dancing waves. Agnes, a devoted admirer of nature, was in an ecstasy
which she could not conceal, as one beautiful view succeeded another
during their sail up the lake; but the other ladies were so much
occupied in trying the effect of _art_, that they had no eye for the
beauties of _nature_. The breeze soon died away, leaving them far from
home, and Mr. Harrington was obliged to take to his oars; and long
before the village was in sight, the gentle moon had begun her walk
through "golden gates," throwing across the water a brilliant column of
light, sparkling and dancing in glorious beauty on the gentle ripples of
the lake.

"Now is the time for music," said Mr. Harrington; "for truly

'Music sounds the sweetest
Over the rippling waves.'"

But for once the Misses Fairland were obliged to relinquish the
opportunity of charming by their united voices; the only music in which
they were practised, and which they thought worth listening to, being of
the flourishing, trilling, running, quavering, shrieking kind; and this
they could not attempt without their "notes" and the "instrument." Mr.
Harrington then proposed to Agnes to sing some sweet old-fashioned airs;
and laying down his oars, he took a seat beside her, and joined his rich
tenor to the strangely-melodious tones of her voice; and as the harmony
floated over the water, it seemed almost like the music of heaven. This
was a state of things by no means agreeable to the two neglected ladies
in the other end of the boat, and Miss Calista began to be afraid of the
night air, and Miss Evelina was taken with a hacking cough; so that Mr.
Harrington was obliged to resume his oars, and row them rapidly to the
village.

Mr. Harrington consented to moor his boat, and accompany the ladies up
to the house to tea. Anxious to try the effect of their own
accomplishments, the Misses Fairland, soon after tea, led the
conversation to the subject of music, and were easily persuaded to
attempt, with the "notes" and "instrument," some of their favorite
songs. And now began a flourishing and screaming unparalleled in the
annals of music. Miss Calista screamed, "I love only thee!" and then
Miss Evelina shrieked, "I love only thee!" and then Miss Calista trilled
it--and Miss Evelina howled it--and Miss Calista quavered it--and Miss
Evelina ran it--and then one of them started on it, and the other ran
and caught up with her--and then one burred for some time on
thee-e-e-e-e, while the other ran up and down, still asserting as
rapidly as possible, and insisting boldly, and stoutly asseverating, "I
love only thee!"--and then, with a combined shriek, they made known the
fact once more and finally, and then the ears of their hearers were
allowed to rest.

"Now, girls, if you have done with that clatter," said Mr. Fairland, "I
want Agnes to sing for _me_ one of those sweet old Scotch songs; it will
be quite refreshing after all this screeching."

"Oh!" said Miss Calista, rising from the instrument, and casting up her
eyes at Mr. Harrington, "my dear old papa has the _oddest,
old-fashioned_ taste!"

But as soon as Agnes began to sing, it seemed as if Mr. Harrington's
taste was quite as "odd" and "old-fashioned" as that of the "dear old
papa" himself; for he was guilty of the impropriety of not hearing what
Miss Evelina was saying to him, and soon rose and took his stand by the
piano, where he showed very plainly that he had no ear for any other
sound than that of Agnes' voice.

Agnes went to bed with some very pleasant thoughts that night; for,
though tongues may be silent, _eyes_ can tell their story very soon; and
it _is_ a pleasant thing to find one's self an object of interest to
some noble heart; and particularly grateful was it to Agnes, in her
present lonely, toiling life. And she needed all the inward peace and
comfort she possessed, to enable her to bear the increased ill-nature of
Mrs. Fairland and her daughters; for the "mamma" was no less displeased
than the young ladies themselves at the prospect of the failure of one
of their cherished plans.

And now, when Mr. Harrington called, there was generally some excuse
contrived for sending Agnes from the room, and for keeping her busy in
some other part of the house; and though Agnes was indignant at this
evident desire to get her out of the way, by putting upon her labor
which they had no right to require of her, yet, at the time, and in Mr.
Harrington's presence, she would not contest the point, but quietly left
the room. This never happened, however, when Mr. Fairland was present,
as the good man, if he had fully seen through all the plans of his wife
and daughters, could not have discomfited them more surely than he
always contrived to do.

In the meantime, the ladies Calista and Evelina never for a moment
relaxed their efforts, or ceased to practise their arts, upon the
wealthy and agreeable stranger.

"How _charming_ your place must her Mr. Harrington!" said Miss Evelina
one evening; "I do delight in these old haunted mansions; there is
something so delightfully romantic about them."

"And have you really heard any of these strange noises at night?" asked
Miss Calista.

"Noises?--enough of them," he answered; "I have sometimes been so
disturbed, that I could not sleep at all."

"And what _did_ you do?" asked the young ladies in a breath, their eyes
dilating with horror.

"Why, in the first place," said Mr. Harrington, "I bought a _terrier_,
and in the next a large _rat-trap_; and by means of both, I succeed in
laying several of the spirits every night, and have strong hopes that,
before long, perfect quiet will be restored to the haunted mansion."

Then calling Jessie, who was in the room, to his side, Mr. Harrington
took her in his lap, and said:

"You remind me very much of a little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl I
have in the city."

"Why, have you a little girl?" Mr. Harrington, asked the young ladies.

"Yes, two of them," he answered.

"Oh, how I _doat_ on children!" exclaimed Miss Calista.

"Cousin Agnes, what is the meaning of _doat_?" screamed Master Frank,
running up to Agnes, who just then entered the room.

"What is it to _doat_ on any one?"

"It is to love them very dearly;" answered Agnes quietly.

"Ho! C'listy says she _doats_ on children--she doats on us, don't she
Rosa?" and Master Frank laughed such a laugh of derision, that Mr.
Harrington was obliged to say something very funny to little Jessie, who
was still sitting on his knee, in order to have an excuse for laughing
too.

Miss Calista fairly trembled with concealed rage, and soon succeeded in
having Master Frank sent off to bed. Indeed, Frank was the cause of so
much mortification to Miss Calista, that she would gladly have banished
him too from the parlor, but he was lawless, and no one in the house
could do anything with him but Agnes.

Mr. Harrington was very fond of children, and often had long
conversations with little Frank, whose bold, independent manners seemed
to please him much. One evening when he was talking to him, Frank said:

"Mr. Harrington I'm saving up my money to buy a boat just like yours."

"You are, hey, Frank? and how much have you got towards it?" asked Mr.
Harrington.

"Oh! I've got two sixpences, and a shilling, and three pennies;" said
Frank. "I keep all my money in a china-box, one of C'listy's boxes she
used to keep her red paint in; _this_, you know!" touching each cheek
with his finger.

This was too much for Miss Calista; she rushed from the room, and vented
her indignation in a burst of angry tears, and the next time she met
Master Frank, she gave him a slap upon his cheek, which made it a deeper
crimson than the application of her own paint would have done. All these
slights and mortifications were revenged upon poor Agnes, who would
gladly have left a place where she was so thoroughly uncomfortable; but
the thought of the children, to whom she had become attached, and who
seemed now to be rewarding her pains and trouble by their rapid
improvement, deterred her from taking a step which should separate her
from them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed rapidly failing under the
power of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how could she leave
her?

XVI.

Death and the Fugitive.

"She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer,
Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear,
Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave."

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