Part 10 (1/2)
It appears that William Hinkley submitted to all this scrutiny with exemplary fort.i.tude, but gave no satisfactory answers to any of the questions asked him. He had no complaints, he denied any suffering; and expressed himself annoyed at the inquisition into his thoughts and feelings. This annoyance had been expressed, however, with the subdued tones and language of one habitually gentle and modest. Whenever he was approached on the subject, as the good old lady a.s.sured her guest, he shook off his questioners with no little haste, and took to the woods for the rest of the day. ”That day,” said she, ”you needn't look for William Hinkley to his dinner.”
Stevens had been struck with the deportment of this youth, which had seemed to him haughty and repulsive; and, as he fancied, characterized by some sentiment of hostility for himself. He was surprised therefore to learn from the old lady that the lad was remarkable for his gentleness.
”How long has he been in this way, Mrs. Hinkley?” he asked with some curiosity.
”Well now, Brother Stevens, I can't tell you. It's been growing on him for some time. I reckon it's a matter of more than four months since I first seen it; but it's only been a few weeks that I have spoken to him.
Brother Cross spoke to him only Monday of last week. My old man don't seem to see so much of it; but I know there's a great change in him now from what there used to be. A mother's eye sees a great way farther into the hearts of her children, Brother Stevens, than any other persons; and I can see plainly that William is no more the same boy--no! nor nothing like it--that he once was. Why, once, he was all life, and good humor; could dance and sing with the merriest among them; and was always so good and kind, and loved to do whatever would please a body; and was always with somebody, or other, making merry, and planning the prettiest sports. Now, he don't sing, nor dance, nor play; when you see him, you 'most always see him alone. He goes by himself into the woods, and he'll be going over the hills all day, n.o.body with him, and never seeming to care about his food, and what's more strange, never looking at the books that he used to be so fond of.”
”He has been fond of books, then--had he many?”
”Oh, yes, a whole drawer of them, and he used to get them besides from the schoolmaster, Mr. Calvert, a very good man that lives about half a mile from the village, and has a world of books. But now he neither gets books from other people nor reads what he's got. I'm dubious, Brother Stevens, that he's read too much for his own good. Something's not right here, I'm a thinking.”
The good old lady touched her head with her finger and in this manner indicated her conjecture as to the seat of her son's disease. Stevens answered her encouragingly.
”I scarcely think, Mrs. Hinkley, that it can be anything so bad. The young man is at that age when a change naturally takes place in the mind and habits. He wants to go into the world, I suspect. He's probably tired of doing nothing. What is to be his business? It's high time that such a youth should have made a choice.”
”That's true, Brother Stevens, but he's been the apple to our eyes, and we haven't been willing that he should take up any business that would--carry him away from us. He's done a little farming about the country, but that took him away, and latterly he's kept pretty much at home, going over his books and studying, now one and now another, just as Mr. Calvert gave them to him.”
”What studies did he pursue?”
”Well, I can't tell you. He was a good time at Latin, and then he wants to be a lawyer;--”
”A lawyer!”
”Yes, he had a great notion to be a lawyer and was at his books pretty hard for a good year, constant, day by day, until, as I said before, about four months ago, when I saw that he was growing thin, and that he had put down the books altogether, and had the change come over him just as I told you. You see how thin he is now. You'd scarce believe him to be the same person if you'd seen him then. Why his cheeks were as full and as red as roses, and his eye was always s.h.i.+ning and laughing, and he had the liveliest step, and between him and Ned Hinkley, his cousin, what with flute and fiddle, they kept the house in a constant uproar, and we were all so happy. Now, it isn't once a month that we hear the sound of the fiddle in the house. He never sings, and he never dances, and he never plays, and what little he lets us see of him, is always so sad and so spiritless that I feel heartsick whenever I look upon him.
Oh! Brother Stevens, if you could only find out what's the matter, and tell us what to do, it would be the most blessed kindness, and I'd never forget it, or forget you, to my dying day.”
”Whatever I can do, Mrs. Hinkley, shall surely be done. I will see and speak with your son.”
”Oh! do--that's a dear good sir. I'm sure if you only talk to him and advise him it will do him good.”
”Without being so sure, ma'am, I will certainly try to please you.
Though I think you see the matter with too serious eyes. Such changes are natural enough to young people, and to old ones too. But what may be your son's age.”
”Nineteen last April.”
”Quite a man for his years, Mrs. Hinkley.”
”Isn't he?”
”He will do you credit yet.”
”Ah! if I could believe so. But you'll speak to him, Brother Stevens?
You'll try and bring all to rights?”
”Rely upon me to do what I can;--to do my best.”