The lamps were lighted in the cars, and on through the
valley of the Connecticut, the New Haven train was
speeding its way. In one corner of the car sat St. Leon,
closely wrapped in cloak and thoughts, the latter of which
occasionally suggested to him the possibility that his was
a Tomfool's errand; “but then,” thought he, “no one
will know it if I fail, and if I do not, it is worth the
trouble.”

When the train reached Hartford, a number of passengers
entered, all bound for New Haven. Among them
was a comical-looking, middle aged man, whom St. Leon
instantly recognized as a person whom he had known
when in college, in New Haven, and whom the students
familiarly called “Uncle Israel.” The recognition was
mutual, for Uncle Israel prided himself on never forgetting
a person he had once seen. In a few moments St.
Leon was overwhelming him with scores of questions, but
Uncle Israel was a genuine Yankee, and never felt happier
than when engaged in giving or guessing information.

[figure description] Page 203.[end figure description]

At length St. Leon asked, “Does Ada Linwood fulfill
the promise of beauty which she gave as a child?”

“Ada who?” said Uncle Israel.

“Linwood,” repeated St. Leon, arguing from the jog
in Uncle Israel's memory that all was not right.

“Do you mean the daughter of Harcourt Linwood, he
that was said to be so rich?”

“The same,” returned St. Leon. “Where are they?”

Uncle Israel settled himself with the air of a man who
has a long story on hand, and intends to tell it at his leisure.
Filling his mouth with an enormous quid of tobacco,
he commenced: “Better than four years ago Linwood
smashed up, smack and clean; lost everything he had,
and the rest had to be sold at vandue. But what was
worse than all, seein' he was a fine feller in the main, and
I guess didn't mean to fail, he took sick, and in about a
month died.”

“And what became of his widow and orphan?” asked
St. Leon, eagerly.

“Why, it wasn't nateral,” said Uncle Israel, “that they
should keep the same company they did before, and they's
too plaguy stuck up to keep any other; so they moved
out of town and supported themselves by takin' in sewin'
or ironin', I forgot which.”

“But where are they now?” asked St. Leon.

Uncle Israel looked at him for a moment, and then replied,
“The Lord knows, I suppose, but Israel don't.”

“Did they suffer at all?” asked St. Leon.

“Not as long as I stuck to them, but they sarved me
real mean,” answered Uncle Israel.

“In what way?”

“Why, you see,” said Uncle Israel, “I don't know why,
but somehow I never thought of matrimony till I got a

[figure description] Page 204.[end figure description]

glimpse of Ada at her father's vandue. To be sure, I'd
seen her before, but then she was mighty big feelin', and
I couldn't ha' touched her with a hoe-handle, but now
't was different. I bought their house. I was rich and
they was poor.”

Involuntarily St. Leon clenched his fist, as Uncle Israel
continued: “I seen to getting them a place in the country,
and then tended to 'em generally for more than six
months, when I one day hinted to Mrs. Linwood that I
would like to be her son-in-law. Christopher! how quick
her back was up, and she gave me to understand that I
was lookin' too high! 'Twas no go with Ada, and after
a while I proposed to the mother. Then you ought to
seen her! She didn't exactly turn me out o'door, but she
coolly told me I wasn't wanted there. But I stuck to
her, and kept kind o' offerin' myself, till at last they cut
stick and cleared out, and I couldn't find them, high nor
low. I hunted for more than a year, and at last found
them in Hartford. Thinkin' may be, they had come to, I
proposed again, and kept hangin' on till they gave me the
slip again; and now I don't know where they be, but I
guess they've changed their name.”

At this point, the cars stopped, until the upward train
should pass them, and St. Leon, rising, bade his companion
good evening, saying “he had changed his mind, and
should return to Hartford on the other train.”

p598-210

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