The Three Brothers, Chapters XLIX-L [pp. 152-156]

LITERATCTRE, SCIE-~CE, ANYD ART.
and who would as soon have cut his throat as leave Renton-" you must
have patience for a little, and see how things turn out." Thus it
will be seen that if the return of her cousins brought any happiness
to Mary, it brought a great increase of anxiety as well. And there
was always the sense of Millicent's vicinity to weigh upon her mind.
She had been looking forward for years to the family reunion as the
end of tribulation and beginning of a better life; but up to this time
her anticipations had not been fulfilled. Anxieties had increased
upon her- one growing out of another. Instead of comfort and
certainty, and the support which she had always been taught to
believe were involved in the possession of " men in the house,"
Mary found that these tenants had rather an agitating than a calm.
ing effect upon herself and the community in general. That she
should have more trouble about the dinners was natural; but that
even their mother should require to be let softly down into the en joyment of their society, and that circumstances in general required
double consideration on account of their presence, was a new idea
to Mary. And then it turned out that Mrs. Renton had spoken
very truly when she said a man must have something to do. Both
the boys were in a state of restlessness and excitement, not dis posed to settle to any thing. There was capital shooting to be had,
and the partridges were every thing a sportsman could desire; but
somehow even Ben felt that partridges were not congenial to the
occasion. And as for Laurie, he was too indolent to make any such
exertion. "Wait till Frank comes," he said. "Frank has energy
for two. If we were on a Scotch moor, indeed, where you want
to move about to keep yourself warm; but it's too hot, my dear
fellow, for stumping about through the stubble. I'll take Mary out
after a bit for a row." And Ben's activities, too, culminated in the
same idea. Laurie lay in the bottom of the boat, sometimes puffing
gently at his cigar, doing simply nothing, while Ben pulled against
stream, and Mary steered him dexterously through the weeds; and
then the three floated slowly down again, saying little to each
other, lingering along the mid-current with scarcely any movement
of the languid oars. They were not very sociable in this strange
amusement; but still its starts of momentary violent exercise, its
dreamy charm of movement, the warm autumnal sun overhead, the
delicious gliding water that gurgled on the sides of the boat, and
all the familiarity and all the novelty of the scene, chimed in with
their feelings. Ben was pondering the future, which was still so
dark-his unfinished work at the other end of the world-what he
would do with Renton if it came to him-what he would do if it did
not come to him-all the range of possibilities which overhung his
way as the trees overhung the river. Laurie, for his part, wandered
in a field of much wider fancy, and did not take Renton at all into
account, nor the chances which a few days might bring to him.
What did it matter? he could live, and he had no more to think of no future which interested him particularly-no hope that would be
affected by the tenor of his father's will. Sometimes his eye would
be caught by a combination of foliage, or a sudden light on the water,
or the turn of Mary's arm as she plied her cords. "How did Mary
keep her steering up while we were all away?" he would say between
the puffs of his cigar, and made up his mind that she should sit to
him next day in that particular pose. Mary, for her own part, during
these expeditions, was too much occupied in watching her cousins to
have any thoughts of her own. What was Ben thinking of? Was it
The Willows his mind was fixed on as he opened his full chest and
sent the boat up against the stream with the force of an arrow out of
a bow? Was it the image of Millicent that made his eyes glow as
he folded his arms, and let the skiff idle on the current? And what
were Laurie's thoughts occupied about as he lay, lazy, in the bottom?
Mary gazed at them, and wondered, not knowing what to think, and
said to herself how much more difficult it was now to prognosticate
what would become of them than it would have been seven years
ago, at their first entering upon life. And thus the long day glided
to its end.
On the Saturday, Frank and his belongings arrived, and all was
altered. Frank, so far as personal appearance went, was the least
changed of all. His mustache had grown from the silky shadow it
used to be into a very decided martial ornament, and he was brown
with the Indian sun. Laurie had the presumption to insinuate that
he had grown, which touched the soldier to the quick; but though he
was the father of a family, the seven years had affected him less than
either of his brothers. To be sure, he was but seven-and-twenty,
and had lived a comparatively happy life. But it must be allowed
that the Sunday was hard to get through. The three brothers, who
were all very different men to begin with, had each got into his
groove, and each undervalued-let us not say had a contempt for the occupation of the other. What with India, and what with youth,
and what with the training of his profession, Frank had all the un reasoning conservatism which was natural to a well-born, unintellect ual soldier. And then he had a wife to back him, which strengthens
a man's self-opinion. "Depend upon it," he would say, "these Radi cals will land us all in perdition if they get their way." "Why should
I depend upon it, when my own opinion goes directly contrary?"
Ben, who had been in America, and all over the world, drawing in
revolutionary ideas, would answer him. As for Laurie, he would ask
them both, "What does it matter? one man is as good as another, if
not better," and smile in his pococurante way. The children were a
godsend to them all, and so was Alice with her youthfuil wisdom.
For Mary, by this time, with three men to keep in order, as it were,
and Mrs. Renton to hold safely in hand all the time, and all unsuita ble visitors to keep at a distance, and the dinner to order, was about
as much overwhelmed with cares, and as little capable of the graces
of society, as a woman could be. She had to spend with her aunt the
hour of that inevitable Sunday afternoon walk, and saw her flock pair
off and disappear among the trees with the sensations of an anxious
mother, who feels her nursery for the moment in comparative safety.
Ben, with Alice and little Mary, went one way, and Laurie and Frank
took another. When she had seen them off, Miary turned with a sat isfied mind to read to her godmother the Sunday periodical which
took the place of the newspaper on this day. It was very mild read ing, though it satisfied Mrs. Renton. It was her principle not to drive
on Sunday, and the morning was occupied by the Morning Service,
which Davison and she read together before she got up, and, that duty
being over, the Sunday periodical came in naturally to take the place
of the drive. It was very rarely that she felt able to go to church;
and of all days this day, which followed so closely the arrival of her
sons, was the one on which she could least be supposed capable of
such an exertion. So Mary read a story, and a sermon, and a mis sionary narrative, and was very tired of it, while the slow afternoon
lingered on and the others had their walk.
Ben and Alice, though they were in the position of brother and
sister, anti called each other by their Christian names, had met for
the first time on the day before, and naturally were not very much
acquainted with each other's way of thinking. The woods were their
great subject of discourse.
"Frank has talked of them wherever we were," said Alice. "I
am so glad to bring the children here! If we should have to go to
India again, it will be nice for them to remember. But I need not
speak like that," she added, after a moment's pause, with a sudden
rush of tears to her blue eyes; "for, if we have to go to India, we
must leave little Mary behind; she is too old to go back. And I sup pose, if I were prudent, baby too; but I could not bear that."
"Why should you go back to India?"
"Ah, we must, unless there is some money coming to us," said
Alice; "you know I had no fortune. I did not think that mattered
then; but, when one has children, one learns. Do you think there
will be some money for Frank in the will?"
"I am certain of it," said Ben.
"Enough to make us able to stay at home?" said Alice, clasping
her hands. "It is not that I care for money, nor Frank either."
"But it is quite natural you should care. And I promise you,"
said Ben, "if there is any thing I can set right, that you shall not go
back to India. Whichever of us is preferred, you may be sure of
that. I can answer for Laurie as for myself."
"Oh, I know Laurie!" cried Alice; "but I did not know you
-and then, perhaps Frank would not be willing. But anyhow, since
you say you are sure, I will keep up my heart."
And in the mean time, Frank and Laurie by the river-side were
having their eonfidences too. "If it should come to me," Frank was
saying, "I hope I shall do what is right by Ben, in any case; but it
will be a struggle for that little beggar's sake."
"I would let the little beggar take his chance," said Laurie;
"there is time enough. I don't think you need begin to consider
him yet."
"I should do my duty, of course," said Frank, "by Ben, who has
been badly used; but I don't deny it will cost me something, Laurie.
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