“I am very happy as I am grandfather,” said the child.
“Tush, tush!” returned the old man, “thou dost not know—how should’st thou!” Then he muttered again between his teeth, “The time must come, I am very sure it must. It will be all the better for coming late;” and then he sighed and fell into his former musing state, and still holding the child between his knees appeared to be insensible to everything around him. By this time it wanted but a few minutes of midnight and I rose to go, which recalled him to himself.
“One moment, sir,” he said. “Now Kit—near midnight, boy, and you still here! Get home, get home, and be true to your time in the morning, for there’s work to do. Good night! There, bid him good night Nell and let him be gone!”
“Good night Kit” said the child, her eyes lighting up with merriment and kindness.
“Good night Miss Nell” returned the boy.
“And thank this gentleman,” interposed the old man, “but for whose care I might have lost my little girl tonight.”
“No, no, master,” said Kit, “that won’t do, that won’t.”
“What do you mean?” cried the old man.
“I’d have found her master,” said Kit, “I’d have found her. I’d bet that I’d find her if she was above ground, I would, as quick as anybody master. Ha ha ha!”
Once more opening his mouth and shutting his eyes, and laughing like a stentor, Kit gradually backed to the door, and roared himself out.
Free of the room the boy was not slow in taking his departure; when he had gone and the child was occupied in clearing the table, the old man said:
“I haven’t seemed to thank you sir enough for what you have done tonight, but I do thank you humbly and heartily, and so does she, and her thanks are better worth than mine. I should be sorry that you went away and thought I was unmindful of your goodness, or careless of her—I am not indeed.”
I was sure of that, I said, from what I had seen. “But,” I added, “may I ask you a question?”
“Ay sir,” replied the old man, “what is it?”
“This delicate child,” said I, “with so much beauty and intelligence—has she nobody to care for her but you, has she no other companion or adviser?”
“No,” he returned looking anxiously in my face, “no, and she wants no other.”
“But are you not fearful” said I, “that you may misunderstand a charge so tender? I am sure you mean well, but are you quite certain that you know how to execute such a trust as this? I am an old man, like you, and I am actuated by an old man’s concern in all that is young and promising. Do you not think that what I have seen of you and this little creature tonight must have an interest not wholly free from pain?”
“Sir” rejoined the old man after a moment’s silence, “I have no right to feel hurt at what you say. It is true that in many respects I am the child, and she the grown person—that you have seen already. But waking or sleeping, by night or day, in sickness or health, she is the one object of my care, and if you knew of how much care, you would look on me with different eyes, you would indeed. Ah! it’s a weary life for an old man—a weary, weary, life—but there is a great end to gain and that I keep before me.”
Seeing that he was in a state of excitement and impatience, I turned to put on an outer coat which I had thrown off on entering the room, purposing to say no more. I was surprised to see the child standing patiently by with a cloak upon her arm, and in her hand a hat and stick.
“Those are not mine, my dear,” said I.
“No,” returned the child quietly, “they are grandfather’s.”
“But he is not going out tonight.”
“Oh yes he is” said the child, with a smile.
“And what becomes of you, my pretty one?”
“Me! I stay here of course. I always do.”
I looked in astonishment towards the old man, but he was, or feigned to be, busied in the arrangement of his dress. From him I looked back to the slight gentle figure of the child. Alone! In that gloomy place all the long, dreary night!
She evinced no consciousness of my surprise, but cheerfully helped the old man with his cloak, and when he was ready took a candle to light us out. Finding that we did not follow as she expected, she looked back with a smile and waited for us. The old man showed by his face that he plainly understood the cause of my hesitation, but he merely signed to me with an inclination of the head to pass out of the room before him, and remained silent. I had no resource but to comply.
When we reached the door, the child setting down the candle, turned to say good night and raised her face to kiss me. Then she ran to the old man, who folded her in his arms and bade God bless her.
“Sleep soundly Nell,” he said in a low voice, “and angels guard thy bed. Do not forget thy prayers, my sweet.”
“No indeed” answered the child fervently, “they make me feel so happy!”
“That’s well; I know they do; they should” said the old man. “Bless thee a hundred times. Early in the morning I shall be home.”
“You’ll not ring twice” returned the child. “The bell wakes me, even in the middle of a dream.”
With this, they separated.
