She says, "poor fellow!" as she holds my wrist, "his pulse is too quick." In the name of Cupid, what does she _expect_? She says, as she pats my forehead with her little plump fingers, "'Sh--'sh! Keep cool." Lava and brimstone! does she take me for an iceberg?
Oh, Cupid! of all your devices, this feminine doctoring for a bachelor, is the _ne plus ultra_ of witchcraft. If I don't have a prolonged "run of fever," my name isn't Tom Haliday!
"And so you sail to-morrow, Will? I shall miss you."
"Yes; I'm bound to see the world. I've been beating my wings in desperation against the wires of my cage these three years. I know every stick, and stone, and stump in this odious village by heart, as well as I do those stereotyped sermons of Parson Grey's. They say he calls me 'a scapegrace'--pity I should have the name without the game," said he, bitterly. "I haven't room here to run the length of my chain. I'll show him what I can do in a wider field of action."
"But how did you bring your father over?"
"Oh, he's very glad to be rid of me; quite disgusted because I've no fancy for seeing corn and oats grow. The truth is, every father knows at once too much and too little about his own son; the old gentleman never understood me; he soured my temper, which is originally none of the best, roused all the worst feelings in my nature, and is constantly driving me _from_ instead of _to_ the point he would have me reach."
"Well, there you have me; that's the only humanized portion of my heart--the only soft spot in it. She came to my bed-side last night, after she thought I was asleep, gently kissed my forehead, and then knelt by my bed-side. Harry, I've been wandering round the fields all the morning, to try to get rid of that prayer. Old Parson Grey might preach at me till the millennium, and he wouldn't move me any more than that stone. It makes all the difference in the world when you know a person _feels_ what they are praying about. I'm wild and reckless and wicked, I suppose; but I shall never be an infidel while I can remember my mother. You should see the way she bears my father's impetuous temper; that's _grace_, not _nature_, Harry; but don't let us talk about it--I only wish my parting with her was well over. Good-bye; God bless you, Harry; you'll hear from me, if the fishes don't make a supper of me;" and Will left his friend and entered the cottage.