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The majority of the bills were drawn in favor of one Richard Chillingsworth, Esquire. "And he is," said Parson Jones, "one of the richest men in the province of New York. You shall go to him with the news of what we have found." "When shall I go?" said Tom Chist. "You shall go upon the very first boat we can catch," said the parson.
Tom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so he cut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with him from Henlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very highly of his appearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as he smoked. "Well, my lad," he said, "and what is this great thing you have to tell me that is so mightily wonderful?
His name was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my partner in business, and thou art his son." Then he ran out into the entryway, shouting and calling for his wife and daughter to come. So Tom Chist or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be called did stay to supper, after all. This is the story, and I hope you may like it.
So far, the tale is not an uncommon one; but the worst, and what makes the ugliest stain in our annals, is to come. "She was alone one summer at Chillingsworth where she had taken temporary refuge from her husband and she amused herself some say, fell in love with a young man of the yeomanry, a tenant of the next estate. His name was Root.
"I felt it was so the moment you began the story. But tell me this, was there nothing found with you with a mark or a name upon it?" "There was a kerchief," said Tom, "marked with a T and a C." "Theodosia Chillingsworth!" cried out the merchant. "I knew it! I knew it! Heavens! to think of anything so wonderful happening as this! Boy! boy! dost thou know who thou art? Thou art my own brother's son.
Tom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so he cut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with him from Henlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very highly of his appearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as he smoked. "Well, my lad," he said, "and what is this great thing you have to tell me that is so mightily wonderful?
His name was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my partner in business, and thou art his son." Then he ran out into the entryway, shouting and calling for his wife and daughter to come. So Tom Chist or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be called did stay to supper, after all. This is the story, and I hope you may like it.
Tom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so he cut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with him from Henlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very highly of his appearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as he smoked. "Well, my lad," he said; "and what is this great thing you have to tell me that is so mightily wonderful?
If such writers go wrong, it is not for the mere brains to tell them so. Upon Orth's return to Chillingsworth, he called at once upon the child, and found her happy among his gifts. She put her arms about his neck, and covered his serene unlined face with soft kisses. This completed the conquest. Orth from that moment adored her as a child, irrespective of the psychological problem.
He did not know that he was destined to stay there as long as he should live. "And now," said Mr. Chillingsworth, "tell me about yourself." "I have nothing to tell, Your Honor," said Tom, "except that I was washed up out of the sea." "Washed up out of the sea!" exclaimed Mr. Chillingsworth. "Why, how was that? Come, begin at the beginning, and tell me all."
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