“And t’other’ll make a man of himself,” said Mr. Underhill, as he saw Winthrop quit the stoop. “He’ll never run a plough up the side of a house.  But what kind of a man are you going to make of Will? —­ a great man?”

“Ah, I don’t know!” said Mr. Landholm with a sigh.  “That must be as Providence directs.”

“Hum —­ I should say that Providence directs you to keep ’em both to hum,” said Mr. Underhill; —­ “but that’s not my affair.  Well, I’m going. —­ I hear you are goin’ to be in Vantassel this winter?”

“Yes —­ I’m going to make laws for you,” Mr. Landholm answered laughing.

“Well —­” said Mr. Underhill taking his hat, —­ “I wish they’d put you up for President —­ I’d vote for you!”

“Thank you.  Why?”

“‘Cause I should expect you’d give me somethin’ nother and make a great man of me!”

With a laugh at his own wit, Mr. Underhill departed.

CHAPTER III.

But who shall so forecast the years,
And find in loss a gain to match? 
Or reach a hand through time to catch
The far-off interest of tears? 
TENNYSON.

The day came.

The farewell dinner was got ready —­ the best of the season it must be, for the honour of all parties and the love of one; but it mocked them.  Mrs. Landholm’s noble roast pig, and sweet chickens, and tea and fine bread; they were something to be remembered, not enjoyed, and to be remembered for ever, as part of one strong drop of life’s bittersweet mixture.  The travellers, for Mr. Landholm was to accompany his son, had already dressed themselves in their best; and the other eyes, when they could, gazed with almost wondering pride on the very fine and graceful figure of the young seeker of fortune.  But eyes could do little, and lips worse than little.  The pang of quitting the table, and the hurried and silent good-byes, were over at last; and the wagon was gone.

It seemed that the whole household was gone.  The little ones had run to some corner to cry; Winthrop was nowhere; and the mother of the family stood alone and still by the table in the kitchen where they had left her.

An old black woman, the sole house servant of the family, presently came in, and while taking up two or three of the plates, cast looks of affectionate pity at her mistress and friend.  She had been crying herself, but her sorrow had taken a quiet form.

“Don’t ye!” she said in a troubled voice, and laying her shrivelled hand timidly on Mrs. Landholm’s shoulder, —­ “don’t ye, Mis’ Landholm.  He’s in the Lord’s hand, —­ and just you let him be there.”

Mrs. Landholm threw her apron over her face and went out of the kitchen into her own room.  The old woman continued to go round the table, gathering the plates, but very evidently busy with something else; and indeed humming or talking to herself, in a voice far from steady,