the professor at the breakfast table-第69章

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parent　and　child；　and　which　many　people　must　think　were　singularly

overrated　by　the　Teacher　of　Nazareth；　whose　whole　life；　as　I　said

before；　was　full　of　sentiment；　loving　this　or　that　young　man；

pardoning　this　or　that　sinner；　weeping　over　the　dead；　mourning　for

the　doomed　city；　blessing；　and　perhaps　kissing；　the　little　children；

so　that　the　Gospels　are　still　cried　over　almost　as　often　as　the　last

work　of　fiction！



But　one　fine　June　morning　there　rumbled　up　to　the　door　of　our

boarding…house　a　hack　containing　a　lady　inside　and　a　trunk　on　the

outside。　　It　was　our　friend　the　lady…patroness　of　Miss　Iris；　the

same　who　had　been　called　by　her　admiring　pastor　〃The　Model　of　all

the　Virtues。〃　　Once　a　week　she　had　written　a　letter；　in　a　rather

formal　hand；　but　full　of　good　advice；　to　her　young　charge。　　And　now

she　had　come　to　carry　her　away；　thinking　that　she　had　learned　all

she　was　likely　to　learn　under　her　present　course　of　teaching。　　The

Model；　however；　was　to　stay　awhile；a　week；　or　more；before　they

should　leave　together。



Iris　was　obedient；　as　she　was　bound　to　be。　　She　was　respectful；

grateful；　as　a　child　is　with　a　just；　but　not　tender　parent。　　Yet

something　was　wrong。　　She　had　one　of　her　trances；　and　became　statue…

like；　as　before；　only　the　day　after　the　Model's　arrival。　　She　was

wan　and　silent；　tasted　nothing　at　table；　smiled　as　if　by　a　forced

effort；　and　often　looked　vaguely　away　from　those　who　were　looking　at

her；　her　eyes　just　glazed　with　the　shining　moisture　of　a　tear　that

must　not　be　allowed　to　gather　and　fall。　　Was　it　grief　at　parting

from　the　place　where　her　strange　friendship　had　grown　up　with　the

Little　Gentleman？　　Yet　she　seemed　to　have　become　reconciled　to　his

loss；　and　rather　to　have　a　deep　feeling　of　gratitude　that　she　had

been　permitted　to　care　for　him　in　his　last　weary　days。



The　Sunday　after　the　Model's　arrival；　that　lady　had　an　attack　of

headache；　and　was　obliged　to　shut　herself　up　in　a　darkened　room

alone。　　Our　two　young　friends　took　the　opportunity　to　go　together　to

the　Church　of　the　Galileans。　　They　said　but　little　going；

〃collecting　their　thoughts〃　for　the　service；　I　devoutly　hope。　　My

kind　good　friend　the　pastor　preached　that　day　one　of　his　sermons

that　make　us　all　feel　like　brothers　and　sisters；　and　his　text　was

that　affectionate　one　from　John；　〃My　little　children；　let　us　not

love　in　word；　neither　in　tongue；　but　in　deed　and　in　truth。〃　　When

Iris　and　her　friend　came　out　of　church；　they　were　both　pale；　and

walked　a　space　without　speaking。



At　last　the　young　man　said；You　and　I　are　not　little　children；

Iris！



She　looked　in　his　face　an　instant；　as　if　startled；　for　there　was

something　strange　in　the　tone　of　his　voice。　　She　smiled　faintly；　but

spoke　never　a　word。



In　deed　and　in　truth；　Iris；



What　shall　a　poor　girl　say　or　do；　when　a　strong　man　falters　in　his

speech　before　her；　and　can　do　nothing　better　than　hold　out　his　hand

to　finish　his　broken　sentence？



The　poor　girl　said　nothing；　but　quietly　laid　her　ungloved　hand　in

his；the　little　soft　white　hand　which　had　ministered　so　tenderly

and　suffered　so　patiently。



The　blood　came　back　to　the　young　man's　cheeks；　as　he　lifted　it　to

his　lips；　even　as　they　walked　there　in　the　street；　touched　it　gently

with　them；　and　said；　〃It　is　mine！〃



Iris　did　not　contradict　him。



The　seasons　pass　by　so　rapidly；　that　I　am　startled　to　think　how　much

has　happened　since　these　events　I　was　describing。　　Those　two　young

people　would　insist　on　having　their　own　way　about　their　own　affairs；

notwithstanding　the　good　lady；　so　justly　called　the　Model；　insisted

that　the　age　of　twenty…five　years　was　as　early　as　any　discreet　young

lady　should　think　of　incurring　the　responsibilities；　etc。；　etc。

Long　before　Iris　had　reached　that　age；　she　was　the　wife　of　a　young

Maryland　engineer；　directing　some　of　the　vast　constructions　of　his

native　State；where　he　was　growing　rich　fast　enough　to　be　able　to

decline　that　famous　Russian　offer　which　would　have　made　him　a　kind

of　nabob　in　a　few　years。　　Iris　does　not　write　verse　often；　nowadays；

but　she　sometimes　draws。　　The　last　sketch　of　hers　I　have　seen　in　my

Southern　visits　was　of　two　children；　a　boy　and　girl；　the　youngest

holding　a　silver　goblet；　like　the　one　she　held　that　evening　when　I

I　was　so　struck　with　her　statue…like　beauty。　　If　in　the　later；

summer　months　you　find　the　grass　marked　with　footsteps　around　that

grave　on　Copp's　Hill　I　told　you　of；　and　flowers　scattered　over　it；

you　may　be　sure　that　Iris　is　here　on　her　annual　visit　to　the　home　of

her　childhood　and　that　excellent　lady　whose　only　fault　was；　that

Nature　had　written　out　her　list　of　virtues　an　ruled　paper；　and

forgotten　to　rub　out　the　lines。



One　thing　more　I　must　mention。　　Being　on　the　Common；　last　Sunday；　I

was　attracted　by　the　cheerful　spectacle　of　a　well…dressed　and

somewhat　youthful　papa　wheeling　a　very　elegant　little　carriage

containing　a　stout　baby。　　A　buxom　young　lady　watched　them　from　one

of　the　stone　seats；　with　an　interest　which　could　be　nothing　less

than　maternal。　　I　at　once　recognized　my　old　friend；　the　young　fellow

whom　we　called　John。　　He　was　delighted　to　see　me；　introduced　me　to

〃Madam；〃　and　would　have　the　lusty　infant　out　of　the　carriage；　and

hold　him　up　for　me　to　look　at。



Now；　then；he　said　to　the　two…year…old；show　the　gentleman　how　you

hit　from　the　shoulder。　　Whereupon　the　little　imp　pushed　his　fat　fist

straight　into　my　eye；　to　his　father's　intense　satisfaction。



Fust…rate　little　chap；said　the　papa。　Chip　of　the　old　block。

Regl'r　little　Johnny；　you　know。



I　was　so　much　pleased　to　find　the　young　fellow　settled　in　life；　and

pushing　about　one　of　〃them　little　articles〃　he　had　seemed　to　want　so

much；　that　I　took　my　〃punishment〃　at　the　hands　of　the　infant

pugilist　with　great　equanimity。　And　how　is　the　old　boarding…

house？I　asked。



A　1；he　answered。　Painted　and　papered　as　good　as　new。　　Gabs　in

all　the　rooms　up　to　the　skyparlors。　　Old　woman's　layin'　up　money；

they　say。　　Means　to　send　Ben　Franklin　to　college。　　Just　then　the

first　bell　rang　for　church；　and　my　friend；　who；　I　understand；　has

become　a　most　exemplary　member　of　society；　said　he　must　be　off　to

get　ready　for　meetin'；　and　told　the　young　one　to　〃shake　dada；〃　which

he　did　with　his　closed　fist；　in　a　somewhat　menacing　manner。　　And　so

the　young　man　John；　as　we　used　to　call　him；　took　the　pole　of　the

miniature　carriage；　and　pushed　the　small　pugilist　before　him

homewards；　followed；　in　a　somewhat　leisurely　way；　by　his　pleasant…

looking　lady…companion；　and　I　sent　a　sigh　and　a　smile　after　him。



That　evening；　as　soon　as　it　was　dark；　I　could　not　help　going　round

by　the　old　boarding…house。　　The　〃gahs〃　was　lighted；　but　the

curtains；　or　more　properly；　the　painted　shades；　were　not　down。　　And

so　I　stood　there　and　looked　in　along　the　table　where　the　boarders

sat　at　the　evening　meal；our　old　breakfast…table；　which　some　of　us

feel　as　if　we　knew　so　well。　　There　were　new　faces　at　it；　but　also

old　and　familiar　ones。　The　landlady；　in　a　wonderfully　smart　cap；

looking　young；　comparatively　speaking；　and　as　if　half　the　wrinkles

had　been　ironed　out　of　her　forehead。　Her　daughter；　in　rather

dressy　half…mourning；　with　a　vast　brooch　of　jet；　got　up；　apparently；

to　match　the　gentleman　next　her；　who　was　in　black　costume　and　sandy

hair；the　last　rising　straight　from　his　forehead；　like　the　marble

flame　one　sometimes　sees　at　the　top　of　a　funeral　urn。　The　Poor

Relation；　not　in　absolute　black；　but　in　a　stuff　with　specks　of

white；　as　much　as　to　say；　that；　if　there　were　any　more　Hirams　left

to　sigh　for　her；　there　were　pin…holes　in　the　night　of　her　despair；

through　which　a　ray　of　hope　might　find　its　way　to　an　adorer。

Master　Benjamin　Franklin；　grown　taller　of　late；　was　in　the　act　of

splitting　his　face　open　with　a　wedge　of　pie；　so　that　his　features

were　seen　to　disadvantage　for　the　moment。　The　good　old　gentleman

was　sitting　still　and　thoughtful。　　All　at　once　he　turned　his　f