Oscar Part 14

"Come, Oscar, it is time to get up,--we have got to be at the depot in an hour."

Oscar jumped out of bed, and was dressed and ready for the breakfast table before the bell rang. After the morning meal was despatched,--for it was literally a work of despatch, judging from the celerity with which the heaping plates of hot biscuits and beef-steak disappeared from the long table,--Mr. Preston settled with the landlord, and proceeded with Oscar to the railroad depot.

"How much further have we got to go?" inquired Oscar, after they had taken their seat in the car.

"About one hundred and twenty miles," replied his uncle; "and thirty-five of it will be in a stage-coach--that is the worst of the whole journey."

"I shall like that part of it first-rate, I guess," said Oscar. "If they have good horses, I know I shall."

"You will find out how you like it, before night," added Mr. Preston, with a smile.

The cars were soon on their way, and Oscar's eyes and attention were fully engaged in taking note of the scenery from the windows. The appearance of the country did not differ much from that through which he pa.s.sed the day previous; and long before he reached the end of his eighty-miles' ride, his attention began to flag, and his eyes to grow weary. It was about eleven o'clock, when they arrived at the depot at which they were to leave the train. Here they had an opportunity to rest an hour, and to take dinner, before resuming their journey.

After dinner, the stage-coach made its appearance, and the pa.s.sengers began to stow themselves away within it, Oscar mounted the outside, and took a seat with the driver, with whom he was soon on intimate terms.

All things being ready, the horses started, at the familiar "Get up!"

and they were on their way toward Brookdale.

The horses did not prove quite so smart as Oscar hoped they would, and the coach was a heavy and hard-riding concern, compared with those he was accustomed to ride upon at home. But the road was good, though hilly, and the scenery, much of the way, was very pleasant. The driver, too, was quite talkative, and Oscar being the only outside pa.s.senger, enjoyed the full benefit of his communicativeness.

Occasionally they pa.s.sed through a village, with its rows of neat white houses, its tall church steeple, its bustling store, and its groups of children playing in the streets. Now and then they stopped a few moments, to leave a pa.s.senger, a package, or a mail-bag; for the strong leathern bags, with bra.s.s padlocks, which the driver had carefully packed away under his box, contained the United States' mails for the towns along his route.

As they advanced on their way, the villages became less frequent, the farm houses were more scattering, and the country grew more wild.

Sometimes the road extended for miles through thickly-wooded forests.

Occasionally they would come in sight of a river, and, perhaps, would hear the clatter and whizzing of a saw-mill, or get a glimpse of a raft of logs floating lazily down the stream. It was about six o'clock when the stage stopped at the post-office of a small settlement, and the driver told Oscar he was going to leave him there. His seat had grown tiresome, during the last few hours, and he was by no means sorry to leave it.

"Well, Jerry, here I am again," said Mr. Preston, addressing a boy who stood by. "How are all the folks at home?"

"They are well," replied the boy addressed.

"This way Oscar," said Mr. Preston, pointing to a horse and wagon on the opposite side of the street. "Oscar, this is your cousin Jerry,"

he continued, and the boys shook hands with each other, in acknowledgment of the introduction.

Oscar now learned that they were yet five miles from Brookdale, and that as the stage did not pa.s.s any nearer to his uncle's, Jerry had come over with a horse to take his father home. There being but one seat to the wagon, Mr. Preston and Oscar took possession of it, while Jerry seated himself on the floor behind them. While on the way to Brookdale, Oscar addressed several remarks to his cousin; but the latter seemed shy, and they did not get acquainted with each other very fast. They pa.s.sed but very few houses, and Oscar looked in vain for any signs of a village. At length, when he thought they could not be far from their journey's end, he inquired:

"Where is the village, uncle John? Shan't we see any of it, going to your house?"

"This is the village," replied Mr. Preston.

"This a village!" exclaimed Oscar; "why, I don't see any houses."

"This is all the village there is," replied his uncle; "there are hardly any two houses in sight of each other in the town."

They were now approaching an old, two-story farmhouse, in the doorway of which a woman and several children were standing, looking towards them. This proved to be the end of their journey. Having driven the wagon into the large barn which stood nearly opposite the house, Mr.

Preston left Jerry to put up the horse, and proceeded at once to the house with his nephew. Mrs. Preston had seen Oscar in Boston, and came out to meet him. She welcomed him very cordially, and inquired after all the other members of the family. She then introduced him to his three other cousins, Emily, Harriet, and Mary, all of whom were younger than Jerry, and quite as shy and silent as he, at the presence of a stranger.

Supper was now ready, and all the family, including James, the hired man, seated themselves at the table. Mr. Preston, during the meal, talked freely of what he had seen and done since he left home; but the children maintained their gravity and silence, though Oscar tried hard to break the ice of restraint with Jerry, who sat by his side. A strange face was an unusual thing among them, and they could not get over it in a moment.

After supper, Mrs. Preston and her oldest daughter cleared off the table and washed the dishes; James and Jerry went out to the barn; Mr.

Preston sat down to a table to examine some papers he had in his pocket-book; while Harriet and Mary remained, to keep Oscar company.

The latter now began to make advances towards his youngest cousin, who was the prettiest and most interesting of the children. A little coaxing brought her to his side.

"Do you know what my name is, Sissy?" he inquired.

"Yes; it's Oscar," she replied.

"Oscar what?" he inquired.

"Cousin Oscar," she answered, after a little hesitation.

"Yes, but that is n't all of it," replied Oscar; "don't you know the other part of it--Cousin Oscar----what?"

Mary looked thoughtful a moment, and then replied, in a confident tone, "Boston."

Oscar could not help laughing at this amusing mistake, and Mary, feeling hurt at the liberty he took, began to move away; but he held her by the hand, saying:

"No, don't go yet, Sissy--you got my name almost right, after all.

Cousin Oscar Preston, from Boston,--that was what you meant to say, was n't it?"

"Yes," replied Mary.

"Now tell me what your name is?" continued Oscar.

"Mary Preston," she replied.

"And how old are you?"

"I 'm going to be six next winter," she answered, with animation.

"Very well,--you 're a smart little girl," replied Oscar.

"How old be you?" inquired Mary, now turning the table upon her questioner.

"I 'm fourteen," said Oscar.

"You 're a smart little boy," added Mary, with a roguish twinkle in her eye, and she darted out of the room with a merry laugh.

After that, there was no more shyness between Mary and Oscar. With the older children, however, Oscar did not get acquainted quite so easily, particularly with the girls. He made but little progress with any of them that evening, until he retired with Jerry, with whom he was to sleep during his visit. After they had got into bed, Jerry's tongue was loosed, and before they went to sleep his reserve had almost entirely vanished.

CHAPTER XV.

BROOKDALE.

The next morning the air was extremely raw and chilly, and there were strong indications of rain. Oscar's uncle and aunt advised him so earnestly not to expose himself to the cold and damp wind, that he did not extend his rambles any further than to the barn that day. But if he did not go far, he made many new acquaintances. Having made sure of Jerry and Mary, he left his other two cousins to "surrender at discretion," and turned his attention in another direction. His first performance was to introduce himself to Billy, the horse, who was eating the breakfast James had just given him. After rubbing and talking to him awhile, he paid his respects to a pair of oxen and three or four cows, which he helped James and Jerry to drive into the pasture near the barn. He next visited the hogs, and then the hens. This completed the list of life stock on the farm. He then had a frolic with Jerry in the hay-loft, in the midst of which he suddenly stopped and inquired:

"Is n't it almost time for you to go to school, Jerry?"

"No," his cousin replied, with a laugh, "it wants just six months of it."