The Dead Alive | Page 2

America. There is also to be found in certain States of the Union, by
way of wholesome contrast, scenery as flat, as monotonous, and as
uninteresting to the traveler, as any that the earth can show. The part of
the country in which M. Meadowcroft's farm was situated fell within
this latter category. I looked round me when I stepped out of the
railway-carriage on the platform at Morwick Station; and I said to
myself, "If to be cured means, in my case, to be dull, I have accurately
picked out the very place for the purpose."
I look back at those words by the light of later events; and I pronounce
them, as you will soon pronounce them, to be the words of an
essentially rash man, whose hasty judgment never stopped to consider
what surprises time and chance together might have in store for him.
Mr. Meadowcroft's eldest son, Ambrose, was waiting at the station to
drive me to the farm.
There was no forewarning, in the appearance of Ambrose Meadowcroft,
of the strange and terrible events that were to follow my arrival at
Morwick. A healthy, handsome young fellow, one of thousands of
other healthy, handsome young fellows, said, "How d'ye do, Mr.
Lefrank? Glad to see you, sir. Jump into the buggy; the man will look
after your portmanteau." With equally conventional politeness I
answered, "Thank you. How are you all at home?" So we started on the
way to the farm.
Our conversation on the drive began with the subjects of agriculture
and breeding. I displayed my total ignorance of crops and cattle before
we had traveled ten yards on our journey. Ambrose Meadowcroft cast
about for another topic, and failed to find it. Upon this I cast about on
my side, and asked, at a venture, if I had chosen a convenient time for
my visit The young farmer's stolid brown face instantly brightened. I
had evidently hit, hap-hazard, on an interesting subject.

"You couldn't have chosen a better time," he said. "Our house has never
been so cheerful as it is now."
"Have you any visitors staying with you?"
"It's not exactly a visitor. It's a new member of the family who has
come to live with us."
"A new member of the family! May I ask who it is?"
Ambrose Meadowcroft considered before he replied; touched his horse
with the whip; looked at me with a certain sheepish hesitation; and
suddenly burst out with the truth, in the plainest possible words:
"It's just the nicest girl, sir, you ever saw in your life."
"Ay, ay! A friend of your sister's, I suppose?"
"A friend? Bless your heart! it's our little American cousin, Naomi
Colebrook."
I vaguely remembered that a younger sister of Mr. Meadowcroft's had
married an American merchant in the remote past, and had died many
years since, leaving an only child. I was now further informed that the
father also was dead. In his last moments he had committed his helpless
daughter to the compassionate care of his wife's relations at Morwick.
"He was always a speculating man," Ambrose went on. "Tried one
thing after another, and failed in all. Died, sir, leaving barely enough to
bury him. My father was a little doubtful, before she came here, how
his American niece would turn out. We are English, you know; and,
though we do live in the United States, we stick fast to our English
ways and habits. We don't much like American women in general, I can
tell you; but when Naomi made her appearance she conquered us all.
Such a girl! Took her place as one of the family directly. Learned to
make herself useful in the dairy in a week's time. I tell you this--she
hasn't been with us quite two months yet, and we wonder already how
we ever got on without her!"

Once started on the subject of Naomi Colebrook, Ambrose held to that
one topic and talked on it without intermission. It required no great gift
of penetration to discover the impression which the American cousin
had produced in this case. The young fellow's enthusiasm
communicated itself, in a certain tepid degree, to me. I really felt a mild
flutter of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Naomi, when we drew
up, toward the close of evening, at the gates of Morwick Farm.
CHAPTER II.
THE NEW FACES.
IMMEDIATELY on my arrival, I was presented to Mr. Meadowcroft,
the father.
The old man had become a confirmed invalid, confined by chronic
rheumatism to his chair. He received me kindly, and a little wearily as
well. His only unmarried daughter (he had long since been left a
widower) was in the room, in attendance on her father. She was a
melancholy, middle-aged woman, without visible attractions of