"And how you have grown! And they tell me that you have risen to be a great lawyer? I knew it was in you to do it!" said the professor, holding the young man off and gazing at him with all a father's pride.
"By the blessing of Heaven, I have been successful, dear old friend," said Ishmael affectionately; "but how has it been with you, all these years?" he asked.
"How has it been with me? Ah, young Ishmael—I should say 'Mr.
Worth.'"
"Young Ishmael, professor."
"No, no; 'Mr. Worth.' I shall love you none the less by honoring you more. And with me you are henceforth 'Mr. Worth.'"
"As you please, professor. But I hope it has been well with you all these years?"
"Come in, Mr. Worth, and sit down and I will tell you."
The professor led the way into the humble dwelling. It was as neat as ever, with its sanded floor, flag-bottom chairs, and pine tables—all of the professor's manufacture—and its bright tinware and clean crockery ranged in order on its well scrubbed shelves.
But its look of solitude struck a chill upon Ishmael's spirits.
"Where are they all, professor?" he inquired.
"Gone, Mr. Worth," answered Morris solemnly, as he placed a chair for his guest.
"Gone! not dead!" exclaimed Ishmael, dropping into the offered seat.
"Not all dead, but all gone," answered the professor sadly, letting himself sink into a seat near Ishmael.
"Your wife?" inquired the young man.
"There—and there," answered the professor, pointing first down and then up; "her body is in the earth; her soul in heaven, I hope."
"And your daughters, professor?" inquired Ishmael, in a voice of sympathy.
"Both married, Mr. Worth. Ann Maria married Lewis Digges, old Commodore Burghe's boy that he set free before he died, and they have moved up to Washington to better themselves, and they're doing right well, as I hear. He drives a hack and she clear starches. They have three children, two girls and a boy. I have never seen one of them yet."
"And your other daughter?"
"Mary Ellen? She married Henry Parsons, a free man, by trade a blacksmith, and they live in St. Inigoes. They have one child, a boy. I haven't seen them either since they have been married."
"And you are quite alone?" said Ishmael, in a tender voice
"Quite alone, young Ishmael," answered the professor, who forgot on this occasion to call his sometime pupil Mr. Worth.
"And how is business, professor?"
"Business has fallen off considerably; indeed I may say it has fallen off altogether."
"I am very sorry to hear it. How is that, professor?"
"Why, you see, Mr. Worth, its falling off is the natural result of time and progress, of which I cannot complain, and at which I ought to rejoice. It was all very well for the neighborhood to patronize a Jack of all trades like me when there was nothing better to be had; but now you see there are lots of regular mechanics been gradually coming down and settling here—carpenters and stone-masons and painters and glaziers and plumbers and tinners and saddlers and shoemakers, and what not. Law, why you might have seen their signs as you rode through Baymouth."
"I did."
"Well, you see these mechanics, they have journeymen and apprentices with their trades at their fingers' ends, and they can do their work not only easier and quicker and better than I can, but even cheaper. So I cannot complain that they have taken the custom of the neighborhood from me."
"Professor, I really do admire the justice and forbearance of your nature."
"Well, young Ishmael, there was another thing. I was getting too old to tramp miles and miles through the country with a heavy pack on my back, as I used to do."
"Well, then, I hope you have saved a little money, at least, old friend, to make you comfortable in your old age," said Ishmael feelingly.
The poor, old odd-job man looked up with a humorous twinkle in his eye, as he replied:
"Why, law, young Ishmael, the idea of my saving money! When had I ever a chance to do it in the best o' days? Why, Ishmael, they say how ministers of the gospel and teachers of youth are the worst paid men in the community; but I think, judging by my own case, that professors are quite as poorly remunerated. It used to take everything I could rake and scrape to keep my family together; and so, young Ishmael, I haven't saved a dollar."
"Is that so?" asked Ishmael, in a voice of pain.
"True as gospel, young Ishmael—Mr. Worth."
"How then do you manage to live, Morris? I ask this from the kindest of feelings."
"Don't I know it, young—Mr. Worth. Well, sir, I do an odd job once in a while yet, for the colored people, and that keeps me from starving," said the professor, with a smile.
Ishmael fell into a deep thought for a while, and then lifting his head, said:
"Well, professor, you have been in your day and generation as useful a man to your fellow-creatures as any other in this world. You have contributed as much to the comfort and well-being of the community in which you live as any other member of it! And you should not and you shall not be left in your old age, either to suffer from want or to live on charity—"
"I may suffer for want, Mr. Worth, but I never will consent to live on charity!" said the odd-job man with dignity.
"That I am sure you never will, professor; though mind! I do not believe it to be any degradation to live by charity when one cannot live in any other way. For if all men are brethren should not the able brother help the disabled brother, and that without humbling him?"
"Yes; but I am not disabled, young—Mr. Worth. I am only disused."
"That is very true. And therefore I spoke as I did when I said just now that you should not suffer from want nor live by charity. Listen to me, professor. I have a proposition to make to you. Your daughters are all married and your work is done; you are alone and idle here. But you are not a mere animal to be tied down to one spot of earth by local attachment. You are a very intelligent man with a progressive mind. You will never stop improving, professor. You have improved very much in the last few years. I notice it in your conversation—"
"I am glad you think so, young—Mr. Worth! but I'm getting aged."
"What of that? You are 'traveling towards the light,' and after improving all your life here you will go on progressing through all eternity."
"Well, sir, that thought ought to be a great comfort to an old man."
"Yes. Now what I want to propose to you is this—I think you love me, professor?"
"Love you, young—Mr. Worth! Why the Lord in heaven bless your dear heart, I love you better than I do anything on the face of the earth, and that's a fact," said the professor, with his face all in a glow of feeling.
And all who knew him might have known that he spoke truth; for though he was not in the least degree deficient in affection for his daughters, yet his love of Ishmael amounted almost to idolatry.
"Dear old friend, I will prove to you some day how high a value I set upon your love. I think, professor, that loving me, as you do, you could live happily with me?"
"What did you say, young—Mr. Worth? I did not quite understand."
"I will be plain, professor. You have lived out your present life here; it is gone. Now, instead of vegetating on here any longer, come into another sphere, a more enlarged and active sphere, where your thoughts as well as your hands will find employment and your mind as well as your body have food."
"How