Philip Winwood | Page 4

don't very well see how I can go back," said the boy slowly.
"Oh, then you will visit some one else, or stay at the tavern?" Madge
went on.
"I don't know any one else here," was the reply, "and I can't stay at the
tavern."
"Why, then, what will you do?"
"I don't know--yet," the lad answered, looking the picture of loneliness.
"Where do you live?" I put in.
"I did live in Philadelphia, but I left there the other day by the
stage-coach, and arrived just now in New York by the boat."
"And why can't you go back there?" I continued.
"Why, because,--I had just money enough left to pay my way to New
York; and even if I should walk back, I've no place there to go back to,
and no one at all--now--" He broke off here, his voice faltering; and his

blue eyes filled with moisture. But he made a swallow, and checked the
tears, and sat gently stroking the head of his kitten.
For a little time none of us spoke, while I stood staring somewhat
abashed at the lad's evident emotion. Madge studied his countenance
intently, and doubtless used her imagination to suppose little Tom--her
younger and favourite brother--in this stranger's place. Whatever it was
that impelled her, she suddenly said to him, "Wait here," and turning,
ran back across the street, and disappeared through the garden gate.
Instead of following her, the dog went up to the new boy's cat and
sniffed at its nose, causing it to whisk back its head and gaze
spellbound. To show his peaceful mind, the dog wagged his tail, and by
degrees so won the kitten's confidence that it presently put forth its face
again and exchanged sniffs.
"I should think you'd have a dog, instead of a cat," said I, considering
the stranger's sex.
He answered nothing to this, but looked quite affectionately at his pet. I
set it down as odd that so manly a lad should so openly show liking for
a cat. The conduct of the animal in its making acquaintance with the
dog; the good-humoured assurance of the one, and the cautious coyness
of the other; amused us till presently Madge's voice was heard; and
then we saw her coming from the garden, speaking to her father, who
walked bareheaded beside her. Behind, at a little distance, came
Madge's mother and little Tom. All four stopped at the gateway, and
looked curiously toward us.
"Come over here, boy," called Madge, and heeded not the reproof her
mother instantly gave her in an undertone for her forwardness. For any
one of his children but Madge, reproof would have come from her
father also; in all save where she was concerned, he was a singularly
correct and dignified man, to the point of stiffness and austerity. His
wife, a pretty, vain, inoffensive woman, was always chiding her
children for their smaller faults, and never seeing the traits that might
lead to graver ones.

Mr. and Mrs. Faringfield awaited the effect of Madge's invitation, or
rather command, adding nothing to it. The boy's colour showed his
diffidence, under the scrutiny of so many coldly inquiring eyes; but
after a moment he rose, and I, with greater quickness, seized his bag by
the handle and started across the street with it. He called out a surprised
and grateful "Thank you," and followed me. I was speedily glad I had
not undertaken to carry the bag as far as he had done; 'twas all I could
do to bear it.
"How is this, lad?" said Mr. Faringfield, when the boy, with hat off,
stood before him. The tone was stern enough, a stranger would have
thought, though it was indeed a kindly one for Madge's father. "You
have come from Philadelphia to visit Mr. Aitken? Is he your relation?"
"No, sir; he was a friend of my father's before my father came to
America," replied the lad, in a low, respectful voice.
"Yet your father did not know he was gone back to England? How is
that?"
"My father is dead, sir; he died six years ago."
"Oh, I see," replied Mr. Faringfield, a little taken down from his
severity. "And the letter my little girl tells me of?"
"If you please, my mother wrote it, sir," said the boy, looking at the
letter in his hand, his voice trembling a little. He seemed to think, from
the manner of the Faringfields, that he was obliged to give a full
account of himself, and so went on. "She didn't know what else to do
about me, sir, as there was no one in Philadelphia--that is, I mean, she
remembered what a friend Mr. Aitken was to my father--they were both
of Oxford, sir; Magdalen college. And so