Part 3 (1/2)
Old Hagar gave a shrill wail and set her candle down.
”Now don't tell me dat!” she cried. ”Mas'r Oliver dead? Well, well, honey, we dunno nuffin on dis yer Rock? De whole ob creation might c.u.m to an' end, an' we nebber hear on't. An' you's all alone now, chile?”
”Yes,” said Noll, feeling at that moment as if there wore never truer words spoken.
”An' you's come down to lib wid yer Uncle d.i.c.k?”
”Yes.”
”Well, bress de Lord fur dat!” said Hagar, joyfully; ”couldn't a better ting happened to dat yer man, nohow. Jes' what he wants,--a boy like yerself, wid yer own father's face. An' did Mas'r d.i.c.k know ye's comin'?”
”Yes, he knew,” said Noll; ”he--he told me I'd be welcome. Do you think I am?”
”Why, yes, honey! What made ye ask dat? Yer Uncle d.i.c.k is a strange man, an' ye mustn't mind if he don't say much to ye, an'--but come right in de libr'y, chile, fur he's waitin' fur ye. Come right along; I's lit de lamp in dar;” and taking up her candle, she led the way.
”Don't yer mind dis ole hall,” said Hagar, by way of apology as they entered a long, bare, chilly corridor; ”n.o.body comes here but me, an'
I don't mind. It's only my road frum de libr'y to de kitchen. _He_ nebber comes out here.”
From this hall they pa.s.sed into the dining-room, where stood a supper-table very plainly spread.
”Mas'r d.i.c.k didn't eat nuffin to-night,” said Hagar, glancing around as she clattered on. At one end of the dining-room they came to a door which the old housekeeper softly opened.
”Go right in, honey,” she said to Noll, in a whisper; ”he's dar,” and then turned away.
Richard Trafford sat by one of the great bookcases, reading. The lamplight fell full upon his worn and sorrowful face. He did not hear the door open, did not hear Noll's light step, and was first conscious of the boy's presence when two arms were suddenly clasped about his neck, and a voice, trembling with a mixture of joy and sadness, cried, ”Oh, Uncle Richard!”
CHAPTER V.
THE FIRST EVENING.
Richard Trafford, a little startled, unclasped the boy's hands without a word, and held him off by one arm. Full in the light he held him, gazing in his face long and keenly. Then he said, ”So this is Noll!”
Oh, how coldly the words fell upon the boy's heart! How the stern voice and the keen gray eyes chilled him! Not a word of welcome, after all,--only those four chilling words. The boy's disappointment was so great, his heart so lonely and homesick, that he stood with downcast eyes, before his uncle, to hide the tears that glittered in them, and could not answer a word. Trafford released his nephew's arm with a sigh. The boy was the very counterpart of his father, of Brother Noll, he thought,--the same fair, high forehead and curling locks, the same deep blue eyes, the same eager, impetuous manner. This resemblance touched him somewhat; he noted, also, that the boy's lips quivered a little, and so said, in a kindlier tone,--
”You're very welcome to Culm, Noll. Are you tired with the journey?”
”No--yes--some, I mean,” stammered poor Noll, winking hard to keep the tears back.
”And you'd like some supper, I dare say,” continued his uncle.
”Yes, by and by,” the nephew managed to answer.
A silence fell upon them here,--long and deep,--in which the eternal murmur of the sea stole in. Trafford's eyes did not move from the boy's face; and at last he said, taking his hand,--
”You're wonderfully like your father, Noll,--in more ways than one, I hope. Can a lad like you ever be contented in this old house?”
”I--I hope so, Uncle Richard,” Noll replied, mocking these words, however, by a very despairing tone.
Trafford smiled grimly. ”He's weary of it already,” he thought; ”and who can wonder? Noll and I couldn't have endured it at his age, I suppose.” Then he added aloud, ”If you tire of it, Noll, you shall have liberty to return to Hastings whenever you choose. You're not to stay against your will, remember. You may find it lonely and dull, perhaps; if so, I leave you to go or stay, as you choose.”