'Well, well,' said the clergyman.'Let it be as you desire.She is very young.'
'Old in adversity and trial, sir,' replied the schoolmaster.
'God help her.Let her rest, and forget them,' said the old gentleman.'But an old church is a dull and gloomy place for one so young as you, my child.'
'Oh no, sir,' returned Nell.'I have no such thoughts, indeed.'
'I would rather see her dancing on the green at nights,' said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon her head, and smiling sadly, 'than have her sitting in the shadow of our mouldering arches.You must look to this, and see that her heart does not grow heavy among these solemn ruins.Your request is granted, friend.'
After more kind words, they withdrew, and repaired to the child's house; where they were yet in conversation on their happy fortune, when another friend appeared.
This was a little old gentleman, who lived in the parsonage-house, and had resided there (so they learnt soon afterwards) ever since the death of the clergyman's wife, which had happened fifteen years before.He had been his college friend and always his close companion; in the first shock of his grief he had come to console and comfort him; and from that time they had never parted company.
The little old gentleman was the active spirit of the place, the adjuster of all differences, the promoter of all merry-makings, the dispenser of his friend's bounty, and of no small charity of his own besides; the universal mediator, comforter, and friend.None of the simple villagers had cared to ask his name, or, when they knew it, to store it in their memory.Perhaps from some vague rumour of his college honours which had been whispered abroad on his first arrival, perhaps because he was an unmarried, unencumbered gentleman, he had been called the bachelor.The name pleased him, or suited him as well as any other, and the Bachelor he had ever since remained.And the bachelor it was, it may be added, who with his own hands had laid in the stock of fuel which the wanderers had found in their new habitation.
The bachelor, then--to call him by his usual appellation--lifted the latch, showed his little round mild face for a moment at the door, and stepped into the room like one who was no stranger to it.
'You are Mr Marton, the new schoolmaster?' he said, greeting Nell's kind friend.
'I am, sir.'
'You come well recommended, and I am glad to see you.I should have been in the way yesterday, expecting you, but I rode across the country to carry a message from a sick mother to her daughter in service some miles off, and have but just now returned.This is our young church-keeper? You are not the less welcome, friend, for her sake, or for this old man's; nor the worse teacher for having learnt humanity.'
'She has been ill, sir, very lately,' said the schoolmaster, in answer to the look with which their visitor regarded Nell when he had kissed her cheek.
'Yes, yes.I know she has,' he rejoined.'There have been suffering and heartache here.'
'Indeed there have, sir.'
The little old gentleman glanced at the grandfather, and back again at the child, whose hand he took tenderly in his, and held.
'You will be happier here,' he said; 'we will try, at least, to make you so.You have made great improvements here already.Are they the work of your hands?'
'Yes, sir.'
'We may make some others--not better in themselves, but with better means perhaps,' said the bachelor.'Let us see now, let us see.'