 CHAPTER XXIX Our story comes to an end. Home. What a host of old and deep and hearts during associations arise in every human breast at the sound of that old familiar word. How well we know it, how vividly it recalls certain scenes and faces, how pleasantly it falls on the ear and slips from the tongue. Yet how little do we appreciate home until we have left it and longed for it, perhaps for many years. Our hero, Ned Sinton, is home at last. He sits in his old place beside the fire with his feet on the fender. Opposite to him sits old Mr. Shirley with a bland smile on his kind wrinkled visage and two pairs of spectacles on his brow. Mr. Shirley, as we formerly stated, regularly loses one pair of spectacles and always searches for them in vain and consequence of his having pushed them too far up on his bald head. He therefore is frequently compelled to put on his second pair, and hence makes us spectacle to some extent of himself. Exactly between the uncle and the nephew on a low stool sits the cat. The cat par excellence, Mr. Shirley's cat, a creature which he has always been passionately fond of since it was a kitten, and to which, after Ned's departure for California, he had devoted himself so tenderly that he felt half ashamed of himself and would not like to have been asked how much he loved it. Yes, the cat sits there, looking neither at old Mr. Shirley nor at young Mr. Sinton, but bestowing its undivided attentions and affections on the fire which it enjoys extremely if we may judge from the placid manner in which it winks and purrs. Ned has been a weak at home, and he has just reached that point of experience at which the wild life of the diggings through which he has passed begins to seem like a vivid dream rather than reality. Breakfast had just been concluded, although the cloth had not yet been removed. Do you know, uncle, remarked Ned, settling his bulky frame more comfortably in the easy chair and twirling his watch-key? I find it more difficult every day to believe that the events of the last few months of my life have actually occurred. When I sit here in my old seat and look at you and the cat and the furniture—everything, in fact, just the same as when I left—I cannot realize that I have been nearly two years away. I understand your feelings, my dear boy, replied Mr. Shirley, taking off his spectacles, the lower pair, wiping them with his handkerchief, putting them on again, and looking over them at his nephew with an expression of unmitigated admiration. I can sympathize with you, Ned, for I have gone through the same experience more than once in the course of my life. It's a strange life, boy—a very strange life, this, as you'll come to know if you're spared to be as old as I am. Ned thought that his knowledge was already pretty extended in reference to life and even flattered himself that he had had some stranger views of it than his uncle, but he prudently did not give expression to his thoughts, and after a short pause Mr. Shirley resumed. Yes, lad, it's a very strange life, and the strangest part of it is that the longer we live the stranger it gets. I traveled once in Switzerland. The old gentleman paused as if to allow the statement to have its full weight on Ned's youthful mind, and it's a curious fact that when I had been some months there, home and all connected with it became like a dream to me, and Switzerland became a reality. But after I came back to England and had spent some time here, home again became the reality, and Switzerland appeared like a dream so that I sometimes said to myself, can it be possible that I have been there? Very odd, isn't it? It is, uncle, and I have very much the same feelings now. Very odd indeed, repeated Mr. Shirley. By the way, that reminds me that we have to talk about that farm of which I spoke to you on the day of your arrival. We might feel surprised that the above conversation could in any way have the remotest connection with that farm of which Mr. Shirley was so suddenly reminded did we not know that the subject was in fact never out of his mind. True, uncle, I had almost forgotten about it, but you know I've been so much engaged during the last few days in visiting my old friends and college companions that I know it, I know it, Ned, and I don't want to bother you with business matters sooner than I can help, but my dear uncle, how can you for a moment suppose that I could be bothered by—of course not, boy, interrupted Mr. Shirley. Well, now, let me ask you, Ned, how much gold have you brought back from the diggings? Ned fidgeted uncomfortably on his seat, the subject could no longer be avoided. I must confess, said he with hesitation, that I haven't brought much. Of course, you couldn't be expected to have done much in so short a time, but how much? Only five hundred pounds, replied Ned with a sigh, while a slight blush shone through the deep bronze of his countenance. Oh, said Mr. Shirley, pursing up his mouth while an arch twinkle lurked in the corners of each eye. Ah, but, uncle, you mustn't quiz me. I had more and might have brought it home, too, if I had chosen. Then why didn't you? Ned replied to this question by detailing how most of his money had been lost and how, at the last, he gave nearly all that remained to his friend Tom Collins. You did quite right, Ned. Quite right, said Mr. Shirley when his nephew had concluded. And now I'll tell you what I want you to do. You told me the other day, I think, that you wished to become a farmer. Yes, uncle, I do think that that life would suit me better than any other. I'm fond of the country and a quiet life, and I don't like cities. But then I know nothing about farming, and I doubt whether I should succeed without being educated to it to some extent at least. A very modest and proper feeling to entertain, said Mr. Shirley with a smile, particularly when it is considered that farming is an exceedingly difficult profession to acquire a knowledge of. But I have thought of that for you, Ned, and I think I see a way out of the difficulty. What way is that? I won't tell you just yet, boy, but answer me this. Are you willing to take any farm I suggest to you and henceforth to give up all notion of wandering over the face of the earth and devote yourself steadily to your new profession? I am, uncle, if you will point out to me how I am to pay the rent and stock the farm, and how I am to carry it on in the meantime without a knowledge of husbandry. I'll do that for you, all in good time. Meanwhile, will you put on your hat and run down to Moxton's office? You remember it? That I do, replied Ned with a smile. Well, go there and ask him for the papers I wrote about to him two days ago. Bring them here as quickly as you can. We shall then take the train and run down to Bricksley and look at the farm. But are you really an earnest ass, Ned, in some surprise? Never more so in my life, replied the old gentleman mildly. Now, be off. I want to read the paper. Ned rose and left the room, scarcely believing that his uncle did not jest. As he shut the door, old Mr. Shirley took up the paper, pulled down the upper pair of spectacles, an act which knocked the lower pair off his nose, where at he smiled more blandly than ever, and began to read. Meanwhile Edward Sinton put on his great coat, the identical one he used to wear before he went away, and his hat and his gloves, and walked out into the crowded streets of London, with feelings somewhat akin probably to those of a somnambulist. Having been so long accustomed to the free and easy costume of the minds, Ned felt about as uncomfortable and stiff as a warrior of old must have felt when armed cap up high. His stalwart frame was somewhat thinner and harder than when he last took the same walk. His fair mustache and whiskers were somewhat more decided and less like reeds of smoke, and his countenance was of a deep brown color. But in other respects Ned was the same dashing fellow that he used to be. Dashing by nature, we may remark, not by affectation. In half an hour he stood before Moxton's door. There it was as large as life and as green as ever. Ned really found it impossible to believe that it was so long since he last saw it. He felt as if it had been yesterday. The brass knocker and the brass plate were there too as dirty as ever. Perhaps a thought dirtier, and the dirty house still retreated a little behind its fellows and was still as much ashamed of itself seemingly as ever. Ned raised the knocker and smote the brass knob. The result was, as formerly, a disagreeable looking old woman who replied to the question, is Mr. Moxton in, with a sharp short, yes. The dingy little office with its insufficient allowance of daylight and its compensating mixture of yellow gas was inhabited by the same identical small disheveled clerk who, nearly two years before, was busily employed in writing his name interminably on scraps of paper, and who now, as then, answered to the question, can I see Mr. Moxton, by pointing to the door which opened into the inner apartment and resuming his occupation, the same occupation, writing his name on scraps of paper. Ned tapped, as of yore. Come in, cretistern voice, as of ditto. Ned entered, and there, sure enough, was the same tall, gaunt man with a sour cast of continence standing as formerly with his back to the fire. Ah, exclaimed Moxton, your young sentin', I suppose. Ned almost started at the perfect reproduction of events and questions and answers. He felt a species of reckless incredulity in reference to everything still over him, as he replied, Yes, I came at my uncle's request for some papers that, Ah, yes, they're already, interrupted the lawyer, advancing to the table. Tell your uncle that I shall be glad to hear from him again in reference to the subject of those papers, and take care of them, they are of value. Good morning. Good morning, replied our hero, retreating. Stay, said Moxton. Ned stopped and turned round. You've been in California since I last saw you, I understand. I have, replied Ned. Hmm, you haven't made your fortune, I fancy. No, not quite. It's a wild place, if all reports are true. Rather, replied Ned, smiling, there's a want of law there. Ha! and the lawyers remarked Moxton sarcastically. Indeed, there is, replied Ned, with some enthusiasm as he thought of the gold-hunting spirit that prevailed in the cities of California. There is great need out there of men of learning, men who can resist the temptation to collect gold and are capable of doing good to the colony in an intellectual and spiritual point of view. Clergymen, doctors, and lawyers are much wanted there. You'd find it worth your while to go, sir. Had Edward Sinton advised Mr. Moxton to go and rent an office on the moon, he could scarcely have surprised that staid gentleman more than he did by this suggestion. The lawyer gazed at him for one moment in amazement. Then he said, These papers are of value, young man. Be careful of them. Good morning, and sat down at his desk to write. Ned did not venture to reply, but instantly retired, and found himself in the street with not as formerly an indistinct but a distinct impression that he had heard the disheveled clerk chuckling vociferously as he passed through the office. That afternoon Ned and old Mr. Shirley alighted from the train at a small village not a hundred miles out of London and wended their way leisurely, for it was a warm sunny day for the season, towards a large quaint old farmhouse about two miles distant from the station. What a very pleasant-looking house that is on the hilltop, remarked Ned as he gave his arm to his uncle. Do you think so? Well, I'm glad of it because that's the farm I wish you to take. Indeed, exclaimed Ned in surprise, surely the farm connected with such a house must be a large one. So it is, replied the other. Ned laughed. My dear uncle said he, how can I manage such a place without means or knowledge? I said before, boy, that I would overcome both these difficulties for you. You did, dear uncle, and if you were a rich man I could understand how you might overcome the first, but you have often told me you had no money in the world except a rent of a small property. Right, Ned, I said so, and I say it again. I shan't leave you a six pence when I die, and I can't afford to give you one while I am alive. Then I must just leave the matter in your own hands, replied Ned, smiling, for I cannot comprehend your plans. They had now reached the gate of the park that surrounded the fine old building of Bricksley Hall. The house is one of those rambling picturesque old mansions, which, although not very large in reality, have a certain air of magnitude and even grandeur about them. The windows were modern and large, so that the rooms were well lighted, and the view in all directions was magnificent. Wherever the eye turned it met knolls and mounds and fields and picturesque groves, with here and there a substantial farmsteading or a little hamlet with its modest church fire pointing ever upwards to the bright sky. Cattle and sheep load and bleed it in the meadows, while gentle murmurs told that a rivulet flowed along its placid course at no great distance. The spot was simply enchanting, and Ned said so in the fullness of his heart emphatically. Tis a sweet spot, remarked his uncle, in a low sad tone, as he entered the open door of the dwelling and walked deliberately into the drawing-room. Now, Ned, sit down, here opposite that window where you can see the view, and I'll tell you how we shall manage. You tell me you have five hundred pounds. Yes, uncle. Well, your dear mother left you her fortune when she died. It amounts to the small sum of two hundred pounds. I never told you of it before, my boy, for reasons of my own. That makes seven hundred pounds. Will that suffice to stock and carry on so large a farm, inquired Ned? Not quite, replied Mr. Shirley, but the farm is partly stocked already, so it'll do. Now, I've made arrangements with the proprietor to let you have it for the first year or two rent-free. His last tenant's lease happens to have expired six months ago, and he is anxious to have it let immediately. Ned opened his eyes very wide at this. He says, continued the old gentleman, that if you can't manage to make the two ends meet in the course of a year or two, he will extend the gratis lease. Ned began to think his uncle had gone deranged. Why, what do you mean, said he? Who is this extraordinary proprietor? He's an eccentric old fellow, Ned, who lives in London. They call him Shirley, I believe. Yourself, Uncle? cried Ned, starting up. Dear reader, the conversation that followed was so abrupt, exclamatory, interjectional, and occasionally ungrammatical, as well as absurd, that it could not be reduced to writing. We therefore leave it to your imagination. After a time the uncle and nephew subsided and again became sane. But, said Ned, I shall have to get a steward. Is that what you call him? An overseer to manage affairs until I am able to do it myself. True, Ned, but I have provided one already. Indeed. But I might have guessed that. What shall I have to pay him? A good round sum, I suppose. No, replied Mr. Shirley. He is very moderate in his expectations. He only expects his food and lodging besides a little care and attention and love, particularly in his old age. He must be a cautious fellow to look so far forward, said Ned, laughing. What's his name? His name is Shirley. What? Yourself again? And why not, nephew? I have as much right to count myself fit to Superintendent Farm as you had a year ago to think yourself able to manage a gold mine. Nay, I have a better right, for I was a farmer, the greater part of my life before I went to reside in London. Now, boy, as I went to live in the great city, which I don't like, in order to give you a good education, I expect that you'll take me to the country which I do like to be your overseer. I was born and bred here, Ned. This was my father's property, and when I am gone it shall be yours. It is not much to boast of. You won't be able to spend an idle life of it here. For although a goodly place it must be carefully tended if you would make it pay. I don't need to tell you, replied Ned, that I have no desire to lead an idle life. But, uncle, I think your terms are very high. How so, boy? Love is a very high price to pay for service, replied Ned. Your kindness and your generosity in this matter make me very happy and very grateful, and perhaps might make me very obedient and extremely attentive, but I cannot give you love at any price. I must refuse you as an overseer, but if you will come to me as old uncle Shirley. Well, well, Ned, interrupted the old gentleman with a benign smile. We'll not dispute about that. Let us now go and take a run around the grounds. It is needless, dear reader, to prolong our story. Perchance we have taxed your patience too much already, but we cannot close without a word or two regarding the subsequent life of those whose fortunes we have followed so long. Ned sent an old Mr. Shirley applied themselves with diligence and enthusiasm to the cultivation of their farm and to the cultivation of the friendship and goodwill of their neighbors all round. In both efforts they were eminently successful. Ned made many interesting discoveries during his residence at Bricksley Hall, chief among which was a certain Louisa Leslie with whom he fell desperately in love, so desperately that his case was deemed hopeless. Louisa therefore took pity on him and became Mrs. Centon to the unutterable delight of old Mr. Shirley and the cat, both of whom benefited considerably by this addition to the household. About the time this event occurred, Ned received a letter from Tom Collins, desiring him to purchase a farm for him as near to his own as possible. Tom had been successful as a merchant and had made a large fortune, as was often the case in those days in the course of a year or two. At first indeed he had had a hard struggle and was more than once nearly driven by desperation to the gaming table, but Ned's advice and warnings came back upon him again and again, so he fought against the temptation manfully and came off victorious. Improved trade soon removed the temptation. Perhaps we should say that his heavenly father took that means to remove it, and at last, as we have said, he made a fortune as many had done in like circumstances before him. Ned bought a farm three miles from his own, and in the course of a few months Tom and he were once more walking together arm in arm, recalling other days and arguing. Lizette and Louisa drew together like two magnets the instant they met, but the best of it was Tom had brought home Larry O'Neill as his butler and Mrs. Kate O'Neill as his cook while Nellie became his wife's maid. Larry, it seems, had not taken kindly to farming in California, the more so that he pitched unluckily on an unproductive piece of land which speedily swallowed up his little fortune and refused to yield any return. Larry, therefore, like some men who thought themselves much wiser fellows, pronounced the country a wretched one in reference to agriculture and returned to San Francisco, where he found Tom Collins prospering and ready to employ himself and his family. As butler to an English squire Larry O'Neill was, according to his own statement, a contented mawn. May he long remain so. Nellie Morgan soon became out of sight the sweetest girl in the countryside, and Air Long, one of the best young fellows in the district, carried her off triumphantly and placed her at the head of affairs in his own cottage. We say he was one of the best young fellows, this husband of Nellie's, but he was by no means the handsomest. Many a handsome strapping youth there failed to obtain so good a wife as Nellie. Her husband was a steady, hard-working, thriving, good man, and quite good-looking enough for her, so Nellie said. As for Captain Bunting and Bill Jones, they stuck to each other to the last like two limpets and both of them stuck to the sea like fish. No sure-going felicities could tempt these hearty sons of Neptune to forsake their native element again. He had done it once, Bill Jones said, in one of the splendidest countries going, where gold was to be had for the picking up, and all sorts of eggs and rheumatises were nothing, but when things didn't somehow go all square, and the anchor got fouled with a gale of adverse circumstances sprangin' up a star. Why, what then? Go to sea again, of course, and stick to it. Them was his sentiments. As these were also Captain Bunting's sentiments, they naturally took to the same boat for life. But although Captain Bunting and Bill did not live on shore, they occasionally, at long intervals, condescended to revisit the terrestrial globe, and at such seasons of weakness made a point of running down to Bricksley Hall to see Ned and Tom. Then, indeed, the light of other days shone again in retrospect on our adventures with refulgent splendor. Then Larry sank the butler and came out as the minor, as one of the partners of the Vile Bank of California. Then Ned and Tom related marvellous adventures to the admiration of their respective wives, and the Captain smote his thigh with frequency and emphasis to the terror of the cat, and Bill Jones gave utterance to deeply pregnant sentences and told how that, on his last voyage to China, he had been up at Peekin, and had heard the Ah-Wow had dug up a nugget of gold three times the size of his own head, and had returned to his native land a millionaire, and had been made a Mandarin, and after that something else, and at last became Prime Minister of China. So Bill had been told, but he couldn't vouch for it, no how. All this and a great deal more was said and done on these great and rare occasions, and our quantum gold hunters fought their battles o'er again to the ineffable delight of old Mr. Shirley, who sat in his easy chair, engaged, and smiled, and stared, and laughed, and even wept, and chuckled, but never spoke. He was past that. In the course of time, Ned and Tom became extremely intimate with the pastor of their village, and were at last his right and left-hand men. This pastor was a man whose aim was to live as his master had lived before him, he went about doing good, and of all the happy years our two friends spent, the happiest were those in which they followed in the footsteps and strengthened the hands of this good man. Lisette and Louisa were helpmates to their husband in this respect, as in all others, and a blessing to the surrounding country. Ned's sentence golden dream was over now, in one sense, but by no means over in another. His sleeping and his waking dreams were still, as of old, tinged with the golden you, but they had not a metallic ring. The golden rule was the foundation on which his new visions were reared, and that which we are told is better than gold, yea, than much fine gold, was thenceforth eagerly sought for and coveted by him. As for other matters, he delighted chiefly in the sunshine of Louisa's smile, and in fields of golden grain. THE END END OF CHAPTER 29 END OF THE GOLDEN DREAM