Philip Winwood | Page 7

a
kind of vaguely disliking curiosity, such as one bestows on some
sinister-looking strange animal. Philip's look was, of course,
unconscious, but none the less clearly to be read for that. Ned
Faringfield, pausing on his way, stared at the unknown lad, with an
expression of insolent inquiry. Not daring to stay for questions, but
observing the valise, he seemed to become aware that the newcomer
was an already accepted guest of the house; and he thereupon surveyed

Philip a moment, inwardly measuring him as a possible comrade or
antagonist, but affecting a kind of disdain. A look from his father ended
Ned's inspection, and sent him hastily toward his imprisonment,
whither he went with no one's pity but Fanny's--for his mother had
become afraid of him, and little Tom took his likes and dislikes from
his sister Madge.
And so they went in to supper, disappearing from my sight behind the
corner of the parlour wing as they mounted the rear veranda: Mr. and
Mrs. Faringfield first, the mother leading Fanny by the wounded wrist;
the big dog next, wagging his tail for no particular reason; and then
Philip Winwood, with his cat in his basket, Madge at one side of him
and pretending an interest in the kitten while from beneath her lashes
she alertly watched the boy himself, little Tom on the other side
holding Philip's hand. I stood at the gateway, looking after; and with all
my young infatuation for Madge, I had no feeling but one of liking, for
this quiet, strange lad, with the pale, kind face. And I would to God I
might see those three still walking together, as when children, through
this life that has dealt so strangely with them all since that Summer
evening.
CHAPTER II.
_The Faringfields._
Having shown how Philip Winwood came among us, I ought to tell at
once, though of course I learned it from him afterwards, all that need be
known of his previous life. His father, after leaving Oxford and
studying medicine in Edinburgh, had married a lady of the latter city,
and emigrated to Philadelphia to practise as a physician. But whether
'twas that the Quaker metropolis was overstocked with doctors even
then, or for other reasons, there was little call for Doctor Winwood's
ministrations. Moreover, he was of so book-loving a disposition that if
he happened to have sat down to a favourite volume, and a request
came for his services, it irked him exceedingly to respond. This being
noticed and getting abroad, did not help him in his profession.

The birth of Philip adding to the doctor's expenses, it soon came about
that, in the land where he had hoped to make a new fortune, he parted
with the last of what fortune he had originally possessed. Then
occurred to him the ingenious thought of turning bookseller, a business
which, far from requiring that he should ever absent himself from his
precious volumes, demanded rather that he should always be among
them. But the stock that he laid in, turned out to comprise rather such
works as a gentleman of learning would choose for company, than such
as the people of Philadelphia preferred to read. Furthermore, when
some would-be purchaser appeared, it often happened that the book he
offered to buy was one for which the erudite dealer had acquired so
strong an affection that he would not let it change owners. Nor did his
wife much endeavour to turn him from this untradesmanlike course.
Besides being a gentle and affectionate woman, she had that admiration
for learning which, like excessive warmth of heart and certain other
traits, I have observed to be common between the Scotch (she was of
Edinburgh, as I have said) and the best of the Americans.
Such was Philip's father, and when he died of some trouble of the heart,
there was nothing for his widow to do but continue the business. She
did this with more success than the doctor had had, though many a time
it smote her heart to sell some book of those that her husband had loved,
and to the backs of which she had become attached for his sake and
through years of acquaintance. But the necessities of her little boy and
herself cried out, and so did the debt her husband had accumulated as
tangible result of his business career. By providing books of a less
scholarly, more popular character, such as novels, sermons, plays,
comic ballads, religious poems, and the like; as well as by working
with her needle, and sometimes copying legal and other documents,
Mrs. Winwood managed to keep the kettle boiling. And in the
bookselling and the copying, she soon came to have the aid of Philip.
The boy, too, loved books passionately, finding in them consolation