England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
"What a beautiful, rosy cloud," thoughtfully observed my companion.
"Mr. Thornton," I said very earnestly, "I am afraid you are going to
think me very impertinent."
Mr. Thornton thus summoned from his cloud, looked as astonished as a man
of the world can look, but he promptly recovered, and of course protested
against anything of the sort.
"Oh! but I mean it," I resumed; "and yet I cannot help it, you know; that
is what makes it so provoking."
Mr. Thornton smiled, and felt convinced that I alarmed myself
unnecessarily.
"No, I assure you I do not; and, to prove it, here it is. What sort of a
man is Mr. Thornton?"
"A very learned man."
"Ah! but I mean in temper."
"Eccentric."
"And wilful," I suggested.
"He is very firm."
"I remember hearing formerly that he was very litigious; is it true!"
"Why yes," carelessly replied my cousin; "he generally has one or two
little law matters going on. He is tenacious of his rights, and never
allows them to be infringed. He would spend hundreds sooner than be
wronged of a shilling. How do you like this place?"
I had not heeded where he was taking me; looking up I perceived that we
had reached a wild-looking part of the grounds, and stood by a quiet and
solitary well. Between the sombre and massive trees that shed their
solemn gloom over it, I caught a distant glimpse of the narrow stream by
which Cornelius and I had sat that same day, and of which the glancing
waters were now reddened by the setting sun. The well was built against a
rise of ground; it was rude, ancient, defaced by time, and partly veiled
by moss, and dark creeping plants; the water came out clear and bright
from beneath the gloom of its low arch, to fall into a stone basin, then
flow away hidden among the high ferns that grew around, and betrayed in
its course, only by its low murmur.
"It is a wishing-well; will you try its virtues?" said my cousin,
pointing with a smile to the iron bowl, hanging from a rusty chain by the
low arch.
"Did you ever put them to the test, Sir?" I asked, wishfully.
"As a boy I did; and found the legend--a legend."
"Then I fear it is useless for me to try," I replied, sighing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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