knows that, sir."
"But still remains the charge not yet refuted."
"Because you have given her no chance to refute it, sir. Be just! Put her on her defense, and my word for it, she will exonerate herself," said Ishmael earnestly.
Mr. Brudenell shook his head.
"There are some things, Ishmael, that on the very face of them admit of no defense," said Mr. Brudenell, with an emphasis that put an end to the conversation.
Punctually at seven o'clock Saturday the professor, accoutered for a journey, with knapsack on his back, presented himself at the servant's door at Brudenell Hall.
His arrival being announced, Ishmael came out to meet him.
"Well, here I am, Mr. Worth; though how I am to travel I don't know.
I have walked, by faith, so far!" he said.
"All right, professor. Mr. Brudenell will lend me an extra horse."
And father and son took leave of each other with earnest wishes for their mutual good.
CHAPTER XII.
THE JOURNEY.
Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view?
The fountains fall, the rivers flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low,
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!
The pleasant seat, the chapel tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower,
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each gave each a double charm,
As pearls upon a woman's arm.
—Dyer.
Ishmael and his aged retainer rode on, down the elm-shaded avenue and out upon the turnpike road. There seemed to be a special fitness in the relations between these two. Ishmael, you are aware, was a very handsome, stately, and gracious young man. And the professor was the tallest, gravest, and most respectable of servants. Ah, their relative positions were changed since twelve years before, when they used to travel that same road on foot, as "boss" and "boy."
Many men in Ishmael's position would have shrunk from all that would have reminded them of the poverty from which they had sprung; and would have avoided as much as possible all persons who were familiar with their early struggles.
But Ishmael did not so. While pressing forward to the duties and distinctions of the future, with burning aspiration and untiring energy, he held the places and persons of the past in most affectionate remembrance.
To a vain or haughty man in Ishmael's situation there could scarcely have occurred a more humiliating circumstance than the constant presence of the poor, old odd-jobber, whose "boy" he had once been.
But Ishmael was neither the one nor the other; he was intellectual and affectionate. His breadth of mind took in his past memories, his present position, and his future prospects, and saw them all in perfect harmony. And his depth of heart found room for the humblest friends of his wretched infancy, as well as for the higher loves of his manhood's prime.
Ishmael was at ease with the old odd-job man, and he would have been at ease with his imperial majesty, had circumstances brought him into the immediate circle of the Czar; because from the depths of his soul he was intensely conscious of the innate majesty of man.
Ishmael had no more need of a servant than a coach has of a fifth wheel. He took the professor into his service for no other purpose than to take care of the poor old man and make him happy, never foreseeing how really useful and important this gray-haired retainer would eventually become to him. He was planning only the professor's happiness, not his own convenience. But he found both.
As they rode along that pleasant September morning he was pleasing himself with thinking how that intelligent old man, starved all his life for mental food, would delight himself amid the intellectual wealth of his new life.
They were approaching the turn-stile at the cross-roads, memorable for the weary watchings of Lady Hurstmonceux.
As they reached the spot and took the road leading to Baymouth Ishmael looked back to the professor, who, as he felt in duty bound to do, rode in the rear of his master, and, as was natural, looked a little serious.
"Do you remember, professor, how often you and I have traveled afoot up and down this road in the exercise of our useful calling of odd- jobbing? Your great shoulders bowed under an enormous load of pots, pans, kettles, umbrellas, and everything that required your surgical skill; and my little back bent beneath the basket of tools?" inquired Ishmael, by way of diverting him.
"Ah, do I not, sir! But why recall those days? You have left them far behind, sir," said the professor, in grave consideration of his master's dignity.
"Because I like to recall them, professor. It quickens my gratitude to the Lord for all his marvelous mercies, and it deepens my love for my friends for their goodness to me then," said Ishmael fervently.
"The Lord knows I don't know who was good to you then! Of course, now, sir, there are multitudes of people who would be proud to be numbered among your friends. But then, of all the abandoned children that ever I saw, you were about the most friendless," said the professor, with much feeling.
"You, for one, were good to me, professor; and I do not forget it."
"Ah, the Lord knows it was but little I could do."
"What you did do was vital to me, professor. My life was but a little flame, in danger of dying out. You fed it with little chips, and kept it alive."
"And it burns great hickory logs now, and warms the world," said the professor, looking proudly and fondly upon the fine young man before him.
"It shall at least warm and shelter your age, professor. And whatever of prosperity the Lord accords me, you shall share."
As he said these words he turned an affectionate look on his retainer, and saw the tears rolling down the old man's cheeks.
"It was but a few, poor crumbs I cast upon the waters, that all this bread should come back to me after many days," he muttered in a broken voice.
"We were really very happy, professor, when we used to trudge the road together, plying our profession; but we are going to be much happier now, because our lives will be enlarged."
The professor smiled assent and they rode on.
They passed through Baymouth, where the professor directed his master's attention to the new signs of the mechanics who had taken his custom from him,
"But
