Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fourteen.The Minister’s Friendship.When Mr Maxwell left Squire Holt’s house that first night of Katie’s visit to Miss Elizabeth, he did not return directly to the parsonage. He stood a moment at the gate considering which direction it would be wisest for him to take for the long walk which he felt he must have before he slept. For the minister to be seen walking at that hour of the night to no particular place, and for no particular purpose, would give matter for discussion among some of those who specially interested themselves in his comings and goings, and though the interest might be flattering, the discussion was to be avoided.So he hastened up the street in the direction of Jacob Holt’s, and turning into the field to the right, he took the path made as a short cut by such of the North Gore boys as were this winter attending the High-School. He would not be likely to meet any one there, nor on the North Gore road, to which it led, certainly not in the field-path. The snow had fallen heavily during the first part of the day, and now the wind had risen, and when he came higher up the hill, it was with difficulty that he got through the drifts that were growing deeper with every blast. He soon lost the path, indeed every trace of it had long disappeared, and if it had not been, that the broken line of the woods which skirted the field on the other side of the hill was visible even in the darkness, he might have lost himself altogether in his wanderings.As it was he made a long journey of the fields that lay between the two highways, and when he reached the North Gore road he found he had had enough of it; and a little breathless, but glowing with the pleasant warmth which the exercise had excited, and a good deal more cheerful in spirits than when he left Squire Holt’s gate, he turned toward home. His buffet with the wind and the great drifts had done him good. He would doubtless have a sounder sleep and a brighter waking because of it.But something had to be done before he slept, and for this, too, it is possible that the buffet with the snow and the wind was a preparation.That something had happened to disturb the friendly relations in which he had from the first stood with regard to Miss Elizabeth he had long felt, and he had never felt it more painfully than to-night. He could scarcely make clear to himself the nature of the change that had come to their intercourse, and he did not know the reason of it—or he had hitherto told himself that he did not. There was nothing in his life, nor in his plans and prospects, that had not been there before the friendliness of Miss Holt had been given him. There was nothing to which he looked forward in the future which could interfere to make her friendship less precious to him—nothing which could be a sufficient reason for its withdrawal on her part—nothing which could compensate him for its loss.And yet it was slipping from him, or rather that which had made it pleasant to him as no other friendship had ever been, and useful as no other friendship in Gershom could ever be, was missed by him, to his great loss and discomfort. Miss Holt was kind and frank and friendly still. He would have used those very words—indeed he had used them—in describing their relations to each other soon after their first acquaintance, but there was a difference which, though it did not touch the kindness and the friendliness, made itself felt still.Was the change in Miss Holt or in himself? or was it caused by circumstances which neither of them could help? This was the point which Mr Maxwell proposed to settle that night before he slept. He must see this clearly, he said to himself, and then he might also see a way to prevent the pain and loss which estrangement from his friend must cause.It would be useless to follow him through all the troubled thoughts and anxious questionings of the night. Out of them all came first a doubt, and then a certainty, painful and not unmixed with shame, that the friendship he feared to lose was more to him than was the love that put it in jeopardy. Nay, that he had for many a month been mistaking love for friendship, and friendship for love.There were more troubled thoughts and anxious questionings, and they ended in the conviction that he had made a great mistake for which there seemed no remedy. He must suffer, but he knew that with God’s help he would overcome. For a time he must submit to the loss of that society which had been so much to him since he came to Gershom. By and by, when he should be wiser and stronger, and when other changes should have come into his life, as they must come, his friendship with Miss Holt might be renewed and strengthened, and through all his thoughts and questionings it never came into his mind that the suffering might not be his alone.About three months before this time, when Mr Maxwell had been a resident of Gershom for a year and a half, circumstances occurred which made it advisable for him to pay a visit to the place which had been his home during the last years of his mother’s life, and during the years which followed her death while his course of study continued. It was a visit which he anticipated with lively pleasure, and much enjoyed. His home while there was, of course, in the house of his friend and his mother’s friend, Miss Martha Langden; and visiting her aunt at the same time, as had frequently happened in former years when he had been this lady’s guest, was her niece, Miss Essie. She was a very pretty girl, and a good girl as well, eight or ten years younger than Mr Maxwell, but not too young to be his wife, his mother and her aunt had decided long ago when Miss Essie was a child. These loving and rather romantic friends had set their hearts on a union in every way to their view so suitable, and they had been at less pains than was quite prudent to keep their hopes and their plans to themselves. Indeed, as presented by a fond mother to a studious and utterly inexperienced lad, such as young Maxwell was at twenty, the prospect of a wife so pretty and winning and well dowered could not but be agreeable enough, and though no formal engagement was entered into between them, they had corresponded frequently, and to an engagement it was taken for granted by all parties this correspondence was to lead when the right time came.The idea that the time of this visit might be the right time had not presented itself so clearly to Mr Maxwell as it had to his friend Miss Martha. Still it was natural enough and pleasant enough for him to fall into the old relations with the pretty and good Miss Essie. Not quite the old relations, however, for Miss Essie was a child no longer, but eighteen years of age, and a graduate of one of the most popular ladies’ seminaries of the State, and quite inclined to stand on her dignity and claim due consideration for her years and acquirements. She had been one of the model young ladies of the seminary, it seemed, and in various pretty ways, and with words sufficiently modest, she sought to make her admiring friends aware of the fact, and dwelt with untiring interest on the trials and triumphs of the time. But she by no means considered her education completed, she gravely assured Mr Maxwell. She had a plan of study drawn out by the distinguished principal of the seminary, which, after she should be quite rested from the work of the last years, she intended steadily to pursue, to the further development of her powers, and the acquisition of knowledge which should fit her for usefulness in any sphere which she might be called to occupy. She had much to say on these themes, her present self-improvement and her future work and influence in the world, and Mr Maxwell sometimes smiled in secret as he listened, but he liked to listen all the same. Her views were not very clear to herself, nor very practical, but she was very earnest in expressing them; and being perfectly sincere in her beliefs and honest in her intentions, she had also perfect confidence in the success of what she was pleased to call her “life’s work,” and never doubted that she should accomplish through her labours find see with her eyes, all the good which she planned.It was her earnestness and evident sincerity that charmed Mr Maxwell, and though all this looked to him sometimes like a child’s mimic assumption of responsibilities and duties, with a child’s power of imagining what is desired, and ignoring all else, yet he was more impatient of his own doubts than of her illusions.But dare he speak or think of them as illusions? He recalled his own early youth—the plans he had formed, the hopes he had cherished of all he was to dare and do for his Master’s sake, the battles he was to win, the souls he was to conquer, and he grew grave and self-reproachful at the remembrance. He was young yet as to his work and his office, and young in years, but in the presence of all his earnestness, this desire to do good and true work in the world, he could not but acknowledge that his own early zeal had cooled somewhat, that something had gone from him in life, and in his discontent with himself his admiration for the little enthusiast grew apace. And though he could not but smile now and then, still as she made her modest little allusions to her private diary and to certain “resolutions” written therein, and though he could not always respond with sufficient heartiness to satisfy himself when she showed him little letters on very thin paper that had come to her from “distant lands,” and confessed to anxious thoughts as to the claims which the “foreign field” and the “dark places of the earth” might have upon her, yet listening to her, and meeting Aunt Martha’s admiring glances, and hearing her more extended accounts of her self-devotion and self-denial, he could not but consider himself fortunate in his relations to them both, and desire almost as earnestly as Aunt Martha did that the young girl should consent to share his life’s work and make it hers. To this end all their intercourse tended, and the course of love, in their case, promised to be as smooth as could be desired for a time.But an interruption occurred as the end of Mr Maxwell’s visit drew near, which, however, seemed hardly to be an interruption as they took it, or rather, it should be said, as the young lady whom it was specially designed to influence seemed to take it.Up to this time Miss Martha had been permitted to do very much as she chose with her pretty niece. Miss Essie’s mother, a dear friend of Miss Martha’s, had died when her daughter was an infant, and the child’s home, even after the second marriage of her father, had been almost as often with her aunt as with him. Her aunt had chosen her teachers and her schools, and had introduced her to a social circle far more refined and intellectual than she could have found in the large manufacturing town where her father lived. She had formed the girl’s mind, and possessed her affections, and had come to look upon her as her own child rather than as the child of her hitherto somewhat indifferent father, who had another family growing up around him. It certainly never came into Miss Martha’s mind that the future she had been planning for her darling might be regarded by the father with unfavourable eyes. So that his decided refusal to permit his daughter to enter into an engagement of marriage with the young man was a surprise as well as a pain to her.The father was not unreasonable in his objections. Mr Maxwell might be all that his partial old friend declared him to be, worthy in all respects of his daughter. But that a child—he called her a child—should ignorantly make a blind promise that must affect her whole future life, he would not allow. A girl just out of school, who had seen nothing of the world, who could not possibly know her own mind on any matter of importance, must not be suffered to do herself this wrong. He smiled a little when Aunt Martha, hoping to move him, dwelt earnestly on her dear Essie’s views of life, her plans of usefulness, and her desire above all things to do some good in the world. It was all right, he said, just what he should expect from a girl brought up by a good woman like Aunt Martha. But all the same she was only a child, and she could not know whether she cared enough for Mr Maxwell to be happy in doing her life’s work in his company.Even when Miss Martha in her eagerness betrayed how long the thought of her niece’s engagement had been familiar to her, he only laughed, though he saw that he had a good right to be angry, and he stood firm to his first determination that for two years at least there should be no engagement. Essie must have more experience of life; she must visit her mother’s relations, and see more of the world. He intended she should spend the next winter with her aunt in New York, and he would not have her hampered by any engagement, out of which, if she should find that she had mistaken her own heart, trouble might spring. He was firm, and poor Miss Martha was heart-broken at the turn which affairs had taken.Not so her niece. She had no words with her father with regard to the matter, but she gave her aunt to understand that she considered a mere formal engagement a matter of little consequence where true and loving hearts were concerned. She must not disobey her father, but time would show that he had been mistaken and not she.“And after all, auntie, a year, or even two, does not make so much difference, and I rather like the idea of spending the winter with Aunt Esther in New York.”Aunt Martha sighed. She did not like the idea at all. She would miss her darling, and she had no great confidence in her Aunt Esther, and she dreaded some of the influences to which the child must be exposed, for she was little more than a child, Aunt Martha acknowledged, a wise and good child indeed, but one never could know what might come in the course of two years to change her views of life. And altogether, the dear old lady was not so hopeful as she felt she ought to be, knowing as she so well did, that our days and our ways are all ordered by a higher wisdom than our own.Miss Essie was not downhearted; on the contrary, her sweetness and resignation in the presence of her aunt’s sorrow and anxiety were beautiful to see. She acknowledged with a readiness that pleased her father greatly, that he was quite right in thinking her too young and inexperienced to take the decision of so serious a matter into her own hands; and when she added that the years which might be supposed to bring wisdom as well as experience would find her unchanged as to the purpose of her life, he only smiled and nodded his head a good many times, and let it pass.Mr Maxwell may be said to have been resigned and hopeful also. Indeed he had not expected to take the young lady to Gershom for a good while to come. He acknowledged that Mr Langden’s view of the case was just and reasonable, and looking at it from a Gershom point of view, he acknowledged to himself, though he did not think it necessary to say anything of it to any one else, that a few more years and a wider experience would be of advantage to a minister’s wife in relation to even the comparatively primitive community where his lot was cast. So he went away cheerfully enough, content to wait.It must be confessed that Miss Martha was the greatest sufferer of the three at this time. She too was obliged to allow that her niece was very young, and she did not doubt that the years would add to her many gifts and graces. Nor did she doubt her constancy, or she believed she did not, but she knew that a change had come to the means and circumstances of her brother of late. He had always been a prosperous man in a safe and quiet way, but of late he had become a rich man, and though no decided change had as yet been made in the manner of life of his family, she knew by various signs and tokens that Miss Essie at least was to have the benefit of those advantages which wealth can give. And though she told herself that she did not doubt that she would be brought safely through the temptations to which wealth might expose her, she sometimes thought of her picture with a troubled heart.A short absence was just what Mr Maxwell had needed to prove to himself how content he was to look upon Gershom as his home, and upon his church and congregation and upon the people of the place generally, as his friends. His visit had been so arranged as to include the New England Thanksgiving Day, which falls in the end of November, and the winter, which set in early this year, was beginning when he returned. Winter is the time of leisure in Canada among farmers, and in country places generally, for the long winter evenings give opportunity for doing many things never undertaken at other seasons. So Gershom folks were busy with special arrangements of one sort and another for pleasure and profit, and Mr Maxwell made himself busy with the rest. Winter was the time for special courses of lectures and sermons, for social gatherings among the people of the congregation, and for a good deal more of regular pastoral visiting than was ever undertaken by him at other seasons, and it was with satisfaction, even with thankfulness, that he found himself looking forward without dread to his work.A quiet and busy winter lay before him. Of course there must be the usual anxieties and vexations, he thought; and he also thought that he would have the kindly counsel and sympathy of Miss Elizabeth. But after his first visit to the squire’s house a difference made itself apparent in their intercourse. It was not that Miss Holt was less friendly or less ready with counsel or encouragement when it was needed. But there was something wanting, and what this might be he set himself to consider on that night after his walk in the snowy fields.He did not discover it, but he discovered something else which startled him—something which could neither be helped nor hindered—something which could only be borne silently and patiently. Through time and a loyal devotion to the work which his Master had given him to do, the pain should wear away.In one of the long letters which Mr Maxwell received about this time from Miss Langden, there came, to his surprise and momentary discomfiture, a little note to Miss Holt. He knew that Miss Essie was very fond of writing little notes to her friends and also to the friends of her friends, and when he came to think about it, the only wonder was that she had not written to Miss Holt before.For, of course, he had spoken to her of Miss Elizabeth, as he had spoken of others who were his special friends among his parishioners. Miss Martha had been set right as to her age and her place in the world of Gershom, and he had answered many questions with regard to her. He had answered questions about other people too—about John McNider, and the Flemings and Miss Betsey, and there might come a little letter to one of them some day. He laughed when he thought of this, but he did not laugh when he thought of giving the note to Miss Elizabeth.He need not have been troubled. It was a very innocent little letter, which Miss Elizabeth received without any expression of surprise and read in his presence.“It is not the first letter I have received from Miss Essie Langden. I heard from her while you were still away.”Miss Elizabeth’s colour changed a little as she said this.“She did not tell me,” said Mr Maxwell.“I was glad she wrote to me,” said Miss Elizabeth.There had not been much in the first letter, either. Miss Essie had thanked Miss Holt for her goodness to her friend “Will Maxwell,” as she called him. Then there was something about knowing and loving each other at some future time, and something more about a common work and a common purpose in life, and something about “the tie that binds,” and that was all.It might mean much or little according as it was read, and to Elizabeth it had meant much. It did not find her altogether untroubled. She had missed Mr Maxwell more than she had supposed possible, and had been obliged to confess to herself that the winter in Gershom would be a very different matter if he were not to be there. But then it would be a different matter to all the rest of the people, as well as to her, and so she had quieted herself till Miss Essie’s letter came. It startled her, but the pain it gave her made her glad of its coming. She was frank with herself, or she meant to be so. She had been receiving and enjoying more from Mr Maxwell’s friendship than could possibly be hers as time went on and circumstances changed, and then she might miss it more than would be reasonable or pleasant. So she was very glad that the letter had been written and awaited Mr Maxwell’s return, expecting to hear more, and preparing herself to be sympathetic and congratulatory.But she had heard no more, and she could not but be surprised. For though he might not for various reasons be ready to make known his engagement to all Gershom, she thought he owed it to their friendship to acknowledge it to her.“I have been longing to congratulate you, Mr Maxwell—though you have told me nothing,” said she as she folded the note and laid it down.“I have nothing to tell that would call for congratulation—in the way you mean,” said the minister. “But I would like to talk a little to you, Miss Elizabeth, if you will be so kind as to listen to me.”It was growing dark, and there was only the firelight in the room, and taking her knitting in her hands, Miss Elizabeth sat down to listen. He made rather a long story of it, telling of the friendship between his mother and Miss Essie’s aunt—of their hopes and plans for them, of their correspondence, and lastly of Mr Langden’s interference as to a positive engagement because of his daughter’s youth. Of course there was no chance for congratulation, he said.But Miss Elizabeth had hopes to express and good wishes, and one good thing came out of their talk: the coldness or distance, or whatever it might be called, that had come between the friends for a while, seemed to pass away, and they fell into their old ways again.Miss Elizabeth counselled and encouraged, and discussed church affairs and Gershom affairs very much as she had always done, and no doubt the minister was as much the better through it as he had been from the first. Miss Essie sent letters to Mr Maxwell, many and long, and now and then a note to Miss Elizabeth, but that young lady’s name was not very often mentioned between them.

When Mr Maxwell left Squire Holt’s house that first night of Katie’s visit to Miss Elizabeth, he did not return directly to the parsonage. He stood a moment at the gate considering which direction it would be wisest for him to take for the long walk which he felt he must have before he slept. For the minister to be seen walking at that hour of the night to no particular place, and for no particular purpose, would give matter for discussion among some of those who specially interested themselves in his comings and goings, and though the interest might be flattering, the discussion was to be avoided.

So he hastened up the street in the direction of Jacob Holt’s, and turning into the field to the right, he took the path made as a short cut by such of the North Gore boys as were this winter attending the High-School. He would not be likely to meet any one there, nor on the North Gore road, to which it led, certainly not in the field-path. The snow had fallen heavily during the first part of the day, and now the wind had risen, and when he came higher up the hill, it was with difficulty that he got through the drifts that were growing deeper with every blast. He soon lost the path, indeed every trace of it had long disappeared, and if it had not been, that the broken line of the woods which skirted the field on the other side of the hill was visible even in the darkness, he might have lost himself altogether in his wanderings.

As it was he made a long journey of the fields that lay between the two highways, and when he reached the North Gore road he found he had had enough of it; and a little breathless, but glowing with the pleasant warmth which the exercise had excited, and a good deal more cheerful in spirits than when he left Squire Holt’s gate, he turned toward home. His buffet with the wind and the great drifts had done him good. He would doubtless have a sounder sleep and a brighter waking because of it.

But something had to be done before he slept, and for this, too, it is possible that the buffet with the snow and the wind was a preparation.

That something had happened to disturb the friendly relations in which he had from the first stood with regard to Miss Elizabeth he had long felt, and he had never felt it more painfully than to-night. He could scarcely make clear to himself the nature of the change that had come to their intercourse, and he did not know the reason of it—or he had hitherto told himself that he did not. There was nothing in his life, nor in his plans and prospects, that had not been there before the friendliness of Miss Holt had been given him. There was nothing to which he looked forward in the future which could interfere to make her friendship less precious to him—nothing which could be a sufficient reason for its withdrawal on her part—nothing which could compensate him for its loss.

And yet it was slipping from him, or rather that which had made it pleasant to him as no other friendship had ever been, and useful as no other friendship in Gershom could ever be, was missed by him, to his great loss and discomfort. Miss Holt was kind and frank and friendly still. He would have used those very words—indeed he had used them—in describing their relations to each other soon after their first acquaintance, but there was a difference which, though it did not touch the kindness and the friendliness, made itself felt still.

Was the change in Miss Holt or in himself? or was it caused by circumstances which neither of them could help? This was the point which Mr Maxwell proposed to settle that night before he slept. He must see this clearly, he said to himself, and then he might also see a way to prevent the pain and loss which estrangement from his friend must cause.

It would be useless to follow him through all the troubled thoughts and anxious questionings of the night. Out of them all came first a doubt, and then a certainty, painful and not unmixed with shame, that the friendship he feared to lose was more to him than was the love that put it in jeopardy. Nay, that he had for many a month been mistaking love for friendship, and friendship for love.

There were more troubled thoughts and anxious questionings, and they ended in the conviction that he had made a great mistake for which there seemed no remedy. He must suffer, but he knew that with God’s help he would overcome. For a time he must submit to the loss of that society which had been so much to him since he came to Gershom. By and by, when he should be wiser and stronger, and when other changes should have come into his life, as they must come, his friendship with Miss Holt might be renewed and strengthened, and through all his thoughts and questionings it never came into his mind that the suffering might not be his alone.

About three months before this time, when Mr Maxwell had been a resident of Gershom for a year and a half, circumstances occurred which made it advisable for him to pay a visit to the place which had been his home during the last years of his mother’s life, and during the years which followed her death while his course of study continued. It was a visit which he anticipated with lively pleasure, and much enjoyed. His home while there was, of course, in the house of his friend and his mother’s friend, Miss Martha Langden; and visiting her aunt at the same time, as had frequently happened in former years when he had been this lady’s guest, was her niece, Miss Essie. She was a very pretty girl, and a good girl as well, eight or ten years younger than Mr Maxwell, but not too young to be his wife, his mother and her aunt had decided long ago when Miss Essie was a child. These loving and rather romantic friends had set their hearts on a union in every way to their view so suitable, and they had been at less pains than was quite prudent to keep their hopes and their plans to themselves. Indeed, as presented by a fond mother to a studious and utterly inexperienced lad, such as young Maxwell was at twenty, the prospect of a wife so pretty and winning and well dowered could not but be agreeable enough, and though no formal engagement was entered into between them, they had corresponded frequently, and to an engagement it was taken for granted by all parties this correspondence was to lead when the right time came.

The idea that the time of this visit might be the right time had not presented itself so clearly to Mr Maxwell as it had to his friend Miss Martha. Still it was natural enough and pleasant enough for him to fall into the old relations with the pretty and good Miss Essie. Not quite the old relations, however, for Miss Essie was a child no longer, but eighteen years of age, and a graduate of one of the most popular ladies’ seminaries of the State, and quite inclined to stand on her dignity and claim due consideration for her years and acquirements. She had been one of the model young ladies of the seminary, it seemed, and in various pretty ways, and with words sufficiently modest, she sought to make her admiring friends aware of the fact, and dwelt with untiring interest on the trials and triumphs of the time. But she by no means considered her education completed, she gravely assured Mr Maxwell. She had a plan of study drawn out by the distinguished principal of the seminary, which, after she should be quite rested from the work of the last years, she intended steadily to pursue, to the further development of her powers, and the acquisition of knowledge which should fit her for usefulness in any sphere which she might be called to occupy. She had much to say on these themes, her present self-improvement and her future work and influence in the world, and Mr Maxwell sometimes smiled in secret as he listened, but he liked to listen all the same. Her views were not very clear to herself, nor very practical, but she was very earnest in expressing them; and being perfectly sincere in her beliefs and honest in her intentions, she had also perfect confidence in the success of what she was pleased to call her “life’s work,” and never doubted that she should accomplish through her labours find see with her eyes, all the good which she planned.

It was her earnestness and evident sincerity that charmed Mr Maxwell, and though all this looked to him sometimes like a child’s mimic assumption of responsibilities and duties, with a child’s power of imagining what is desired, and ignoring all else, yet he was more impatient of his own doubts than of her illusions.

But dare he speak or think of them as illusions? He recalled his own early youth—the plans he had formed, the hopes he had cherished of all he was to dare and do for his Master’s sake, the battles he was to win, the souls he was to conquer, and he grew grave and self-reproachful at the remembrance. He was young yet as to his work and his office, and young in years, but in the presence of all his earnestness, this desire to do good and true work in the world, he could not but acknowledge that his own early zeal had cooled somewhat, that something had gone from him in life, and in his discontent with himself his admiration for the little enthusiast grew apace. And though he could not but smile now and then, still as she made her modest little allusions to her private diary and to certain “resolutions” written therein, and though he could not always respond with sufficient heartiness to satisfy himself when she showed him little letters on very thin paper that had come to her from “distant lands,” and confessed to anxious thoughts as to the claims which the “foreign field” and the “dark places of the earth” might have upon her, yet listening to her, and meeting Aunt Martha’s admiring glances, and hearing her more extended accounts of her self-devotion and self-denial, he could not but consider himself fortunate in his relations to them both, and desire almost as earnestly as Aunt Martha did that the young girl should consent to share his life’s work and make it hers. To this end all their intercourse tended, and the course of love, in their case, promised to be as smooth as could be desired for a time.

But an interruption occurred as the end of Mr Maxwell’s visit drew near, which, however, seemed hardly to be an interruption as they took it, or rather, it should be said, as the young lady whom it was specially designed to influence seemed to take it.

Up to this time Miss Martha had been permitted to do very much as she chose with her pretty niece. Miss Essie’s mother, a dear friend of Miss Martha’s, had died when her daughter was an infant, and the child’s home, even after the second marriage of her father, had been almost as often with her aunt as with him. Her aunt had chosen her teachers and her schools, and had introduced her to a social circle far more refined and intellectual than she could have found in the large manufacturing town where her father lived. She had formed the girl’s mind, and possessed her affections, and had come to look upon her as her own child rather than as the child of her hitherto somewhat indifferent father, who had another family growing up around him. It certainly never came into Miss Martha’s mind that the future she had been planning for her darling might be regarded by the father with unfavourable eyes. So that his decided refusal to permit his daughter to enter into an engagement of marriage with the young man was a surprise as well as a pain to her.

The father was not unreasonable in his objections. Mr Maxwell might be all that his partial old friend declared him to be, worthy in all respects of his daughter. But that a child—he called her a child—should ignorantly make a blind promise that must affect her whole future life, he would not allow. A girl just out of school, who had seen nothing of the world, who could not possibly know her own mind on any matter of importance, must not be suffered to do herself this wrong. He smiled a little when Aunt Martha, hoping to move him, dwelt earnestly on her dear Essie’s views of life, her plans of usefulness, and her desire above all things to do some good in the world. It was all right, he said, just what he should expect from a girl brought up by a good woman like Aunt Martha. But all the same she was only a child, and she could not know whether she cared enough for Mr Maxwell to be happy in doing her life’s work in his company.

Even when Miss Martha in her eagerness betrayed how long the thought of her niece’s engagement had been familiar to her, he only laughed, though he saw that he had a good right to be angry, and he stood firm to his first determination that for two years at least there should be no engagement. Essie must have more experience of life; she must visit her mother’s relations, and see more of the world. He intended she should spend the next winter with her aunt in New York, and he would not have her hampered by any engagement, out of which, if she should find that she had mistaken her own heart, trouble might spring. He was firm, and poor Miss Martha was heart-broken at the turn which affairs had taken.

Not so her niece. She had no words with her father with regard to the matter, but she gave her aunt to understand that she considered a mere formal engagement a matter of little consequence where true and loving hearts were concerned. She must not disobey her father, but time would show that he had been mistaken and not she.

“And after all, auntie, a year, or even two, does not make so much difference, and I rather like the idea of spending the winter with Aunt Esther in New York.”

Aunt Martha sighed. She did not like the idea at all. She would miss her darling, and she had no great confidence in her Aunt Esther, and she dreaded some of the influences to which the child must be exposed, for she was little more than a child, Aunt Martha acknowledged, a wise and good child indeed, but one never could know what might come in the course of two years to change her views of life. And altogether, the dear old lady was not so hopeful as she felt she ought to be, knowing as she so well did, that our days and our ways are all ordered by a higher wisdom than our own.

Miss Essie was not downhearted; on the contrary, her sweetness and resignation in the presence of her aunt’s sorrow and anxiety were beautiful to see. She acknowledged with a readiness that pleased her father greatly, that he was quite right in thinking her too young and inexperienced to take the decision of so serious a matter into her own hands; and when she added that the years which might be supposed to bring wisdom as well as experience would find her unchanged as to the purpose of her life, he only smiled and nodded his head a good many times, and let it pass.

Mr Maxwell may be said to have been resigned and hopeful also. Indeed he had not expected to take the young lady to Gershom for a good while to come. He acknowledged that Mr Langden’s view of the case was just and reasonable, and looking at it from a Gershom point of view, he acknowledged to himself, though he did not think it necessary to say anything of it to any one else, that a few more years and a wider experience would be of advantage to a minister’s wife in relation to even the comparatively primitive community where his lot was cast. So he went away cheerfully enough, content to wait.

It must be confessed that Miss Martha was the greatest sufferer of the three at this time. She too was obliged to allow that her niece was very young, and she did not doubt that the years would add to her many gifts and graces. Nor did she doubt her constancy, or she believed she did not, but she knew that a change had come to the means and circumstances of her brother of late. He had always been a prosperous man in a safe and quiet way, but of late he had become a rich man, and though no decided change had as yet been made in the manner of life of his family, she knew by various signs and tokens that Miss Essie at least was to have the benefit of those advantages which wealth can give. And though she told herself that she did not doubt that she would be brought safely through the temptations to which wealth might expose her, she sometimes thought of her picture with a troubled heart.

A short absence was just what Mr Maxwell had needed to prove to himself how content he was to look upon Gershom as his home, and upon his church and congregation and upon the people of the place generally, as his friends. His visit had been so arranged as to include the New England Thanksgiving Day, which falls in the end of November, and the winter, which set in early this year, was beginning when he returned. Winter is the time of leisure in Canada among farmers, and in country places generally, for the long winter evenings give opportunity for doing many things never undertaken at other seasons. So Gershom folks were busy with special arrangements of one sort and another for pleasure and profit, and Mr Maxwell made himself busy with the rest. Winter was the time for special courses of lectures and sermons, for social gatherings among the people of the congregation, and for a good deal more of regular pastoral visiting than was ever undertaken by him at other seasons, and it was with satisfaction, even with thankfulness, that he found himself looking forward without dread to his work.

A quiet and busy winter lay before him. Of course there must be the usual anxieties and vexations, he thought; and he also thought that he would have the kindly counsel and sympathy of Miss Elizabeth. But after his first visit to the squire’s house a difference made itself apparent in their intercourse. It was not that Miss Holt was less friendly or less ready with counsel or encouragement when it was needed. But there was something wanting, and what this might be he set himself to consider on that night after his walk in the snowy fields.

He did not discover it, but he discovered something else which startled him—something which could neither be helped nor hindered—something which could only be borne silently and patiently. Through time and a loyal devotion to the work which his Master had given him to do, the pain should wear away.

In one of the long letters which Mr Maxwell received about this time from Miss Langden, there came, to his surprise and momentary discomfiture, a little note to Miss Holt. He knew that Miss Essie was very fond of writing little notes to her friends and also to the friends of her friends, and when he came to think about it, the only wonder was that she had not written to Miss Holt before.

For, of course, he had spoken to her of Miss Elizabeth, as he had spoken of others who were his special friends among his parishioners. Miss Martha had been set right as to her age and her place in the world of Gershom, and he had answered many questions with regard to her. He had answered questions about other people too—about John McNider, and the Flemings and Miss Betsey, and there might come a little letter to one of them some day. He laughed when he thought of this, but he did not laugh when he thought of giving the note to Miss Elizabeth.

He need not have been troubled. It was a very innocent little letter, which Miss Elizabeth received without any expression of surprise and read in his presence.

“It is not the first letter I have received from Miss Essie Langden. I heard from her while you were still away.”

Miss Elizabeth’s colour changed a little as she said this.

“She did not tell me,” said Mr Maxwell.

“I was glad she wrote to me,” said Miss Elizabeth.

There had not been much in the first letter, either. Miss Essie had thanked Miss Holt for her goodness to her friend “Will Maxwell,” as she called him. Then there was something about knowing and loving each other at some future time, and something more about a common work and a common purpose in life, and something about “the tie that binds,” and that was all.

It might mean much or little according as it was read, and to Elizabeth it had meant much. It did not find her altogether untroubled. She had missed Mr Maxwell more than she had supposed possible, and had been obliged to confess to herself that the winter in Gershom would be a very different matter if he were not to be there. But then it would be a different matter to all the rest of the people, as well as to her, and so she had quieted herself till Miss Essie’s letter came. It startled her, but the pain it gave her made her glad of its coming. She was frank with herself, or she meant to be so. She had been receiving and enjoying more from Mr Maxwell’s friendship than could possibly be hers as time went on and circumstances changed, and then she might miss it more than would be reasonable or pleasant. So she was very glad that the letter had been written and awaited Mr Maxwell’s return, expecting to hear more, and preparing herself to be sympathetic and congratulatory.

But she had heard no more, and she could not but be surprised. For though he might not for various reasons be ready to make known his engagement to all Gershom, she thought he owed it to their friendship to acknowledge it to her.

“I have been longing to congratulate you, Mr Maxwell—though you have told me nothing,” said she as she folded the note and laid it down.

“I have nothing to tell that would call for congratulation—in the way you mean,” said the minister. “But I would like to talk a little to you, Miss Elizabeth, if you will be so kind as to listen to me.”

It was growing dark, and there was only the firelight in the room, and taking her knitting in her hands, Miss Elizabeth sat down to listen. He made rather a long story of it, telling of the friendship between his mother and Miss Essie’s aunt—of their hopes and plans for them, of their correspondence, and lastly of Mr Langden’s interference as to a positive engagement because of his daughter’s youth. Of course there was no chance for congratulation, he said.

But Miss Elizabeth had hopes to express and good wishes, and one good thing came out of their talk: the coldness or distance, or whatever it might be called, that had come between the friends for a while, seemed to pass away, and they fell into their old ways again.

Miss Elizabeth counselled and encouraged, and discussed church affairs and Gershom affairs very much as she had always done, and no doubt the minister was as much the better through it as he had been from the first. Miss Essie sent letters to Mr Maxwell, many and long, and now and then a note to Miss Elizabeth, but that young lady’s name was not very often mentioned between them.

Chapter Fifteen.Jacob’s Troubles.This was by no means so happy a winter in Gershom church and society as last winter had been. The various circumstances that had been thought causes for congratulation last year were to be rejoiced over still. Mr Maxwell was holding his own among them. His sermons were admired as much as ever. The various meetings were well attended; there was no perceptible falling off in the subscription-list, and many of the North Gore people were as regular in their attendance, and to all appearance as loyal to church interests as could be desired. Still it was not so pleasant or so prosperous a winter as the last had been.There was not much said about it, even by the privileged grumblers among them, for a while, and the people who made the best of things generally saw only what was to be expected. In the best laid plans there will be some points of doubtful excellence. In all new arrangements there will be grating and friction which cannot even with the best intentions be at first overcome. The only way was to have patience and be ready with “the oil of gentleness and the feather of forbearance,” so as to give a touch here or there as it was needed, and everything would be sure to move smoothly after a while.No special cause was assigned for this state of things. No one thought of connecting Jacob Holt’s name with it, but as the winter wore over a good many eyes were turned toward him, and a good many tongues were busy discussing his affairs, and chiefly his affairs as they had reference to Mr Fleming. No one whose opinion or judgment he cared about blamed him openly. It would have required some courage to do so. For Jacob was the rich man of the church, as he was of the town, and had much in his power in a community where voluntary offerings were depended upon as a means of covering all expenses. But the work commenced on the Varney place made matter for discussion among people who had not the motive for silence that existed among Jacob’s personal friends and brethren.That he meant to bring Mr Fleming to his own terms could not be doubted. The mortgage on the farm had only another year to run. The land above the Blackpool would be taken possession of, or if this should be hindered in any way, the land would be ruined by the building of the new dam at the Varney place. What would Jacob Holt care for the bringing of a lawsuit against him by a poor man like Mr Fleming after the dam should be built and operations commenced?True, it was the Gershom Manufacturing Company which was to decide as to the site of the mills, and which would be called upon to pay all damages. But how was that to help Mr Fleming? Within the memory of the oldest inhabitant no enterprise commenced or carried on in Gershom but had, at one point or mother in its course, felt the guiding or restraining touch of a Holt, and so it was not easy for lookers-on in general to put Jacob out of the question when the mind and will of the future manufacturing company was under discussion.It is not to be supposed that all this time Mr Maxwell had heard no other version of this trouble than that which the squire and Miss Elizabeth had given him. He had heard at least ten corresponding generally to theirs as to facts, but differing in spirit and colouring according to the view of the narrator. He had not as yet found it necessary to commit himself to any expression of opinion with regard to it. He listened gravely, and often with a troubled heart, doubting that evil to the people he had learned to love might grow out of it. But he listened always as though he were listening for the first time.The matter could not be brought before him as pastor of the church, as between Jacob Holt and Mr Fleming, for Mr Fleming was not a church member. He still kept aloof, as did others of the elderly people of his neighbourhood; and though Mr Maxwell had spoken with several of them as to their duty in the circumstances, he had never spoken to Mr Fleming. He was on the most friendly terms with the family, and had always been kindly received and respectfully treated by the old man, but as to personal matters Mr Fleming was as reserved with him as with the rest of the world. It would have seemed to Mr Maxwell an impertinence on his part to seek either directly or indirectly to force the confidence of a man like him. And indeed he felt that he might have little to say to the purpose should his confidence be spontaneously given. He thought it possible that it might do Mr Fleming good to freely and fully tell his troubles, real and imaginary, to a sympathising and judicious listener, but he was far from thinking himself the right man to hear him.He had a strong desire to help and comfort him. In church, when he saw, as he now and then did, the stern old face softening and brightening under some strong sweet word of his Lord, like the face of a little child, he had an unspeakable longing to do him good. In his study the remembrance of the look came often back to him, and almost unconsciously the thought of him, and his wants, and possible experiences, influenced his preparations for the Sabbath. His thoughts of him were always gentle and compassionate. That there is likely to be wrong on both sides, where anger, or coldness, or contempt comes between those who acknowledge the Lord of love and peace as their Master, Mr Maxwell well knew, but in thinking of the trouble between these two men, neither the sympathy nor the blame was equally awarded. When he prayed that both might be brought to a better mind through God’s grace given and His word spoken, he almost unconsciously assumed that this grace was to make the word a light, a guide, a consoler to one, and to the other a fire and a hammer to break the rock in pieces.It would not have been difficult at this time to bring back the old state of things when two distinct communities lived side by side in Gershom; and in the main the two communities would have stood in relation to each other very much as the North Gore folk and the villagers had stood in the old times. Not altogether, however. The North Gore folk, as a general thing, sided with Mr Fleming, or they would have done so if he had not been dumb and deaf to them and to all others on the subject of his troubles, but all the towns-people would not have been on the other side.For Jacob lacked some of the qualities that during the past years had made his father so popular in the town. He was not the man his father had been in any respect. “Jacob bored with a small auger,” Mr Green, the carpenter, used to say, and the miscellaneous company who were wont to assemble in his shop for the discussion of things in general did not differ from him in opinion. Jacob was small about small matters, they said, and lost friends and failed to make money, where his father would have made both friends and money safe. As a business man he had not of late proved himself worthy of the respect of his fellow-townsmen as his father had always done.Things had gone well with the Holts for a long time. They had had a share in most of the well-established business of the town. In helping others, as they had certainly done, to a living, they had helped themselves to wealth, and on many farms in the vicinity, and on some of the village homes, they had held claims. In many cases these claims had been paid in time; in others the property had passed from the hands of the original owners into the hands of the Holts, father and son. Very rarely in old Mr Holt’s active days had this happened in a way to excite the feeling of the community against the rich man; but of late it had been said that Jacob had done some hard things, and some of those who discussed his affairs were indignant because of the people who suffered, and some who did not like Jacob for reasons of their own joined in the cry; but it was to David Fleming and his affairs that attention was chiefly turned when any one wanted to say hard things of Jacob Holt.Jacob was having a hard time altogether. Not because men were saying hard things of him. Few of these hard sayings would be likely to reach his ears. Some of the men who growled and frowned behind his back, before his face were mild and deprecatory, and listened to his words and smiled at his jokes, and carried themselves in his company very much as they had done in years past.As for Mr Fleming’s affairs, it was coming to that with Jacob, that he would have done to him all the evil that he was accused of planning, if he could have had his way; but, nevertheless, not with a desire to harass and annoy the man who had always shunned him, and who now defied him, as people sometimes declared.It cannot be said that he had not felt and secretly resented what he called the folly of the unreasonable old man. But Mordecai might have sat stiff and stern at the gate all day long for him and every day of the year, if the refusal to rise with the rest and do him reverence had been all the trouble between them. He knew that Mr Fleming had bitter thoughts against him because of all that had befallen his son long ago, and though he believed himself to have been no more guilty toward him than others had been, he knew that they had all been guilty together, and he had therefore submitted quietly, if not patiently, to the constant rebuke which he felt, and which all Gershom felt, the old man’s stern silence to be. He could understand how the sight of him and his prosperity should be an aggravation to the sorrow of this man, who did not seem to be able to forget, and he had a sort of compassion for him in his loss—not merely of the handsome, kindly lad who had gone away so long ago, but of the man to which the much-loved Hugh might by this time have grown. His desire to resent the father’s manner to himself had never been more than a momentary feeling and if he could have conferred upon him some great benefit, and placed him under such obligation to him as should be seen and acknowledged by all Gershom, he would gladly have done so. Indeed he believed that in the terms agreed on by his father, with regard to Mr Fleming’s mortgage, such a benefit had been conferred, and as he thought about it his anger grew.For now Mr Fleming’s unreasonable obstinacy in refusing to dispose of his land seemed the only hindrance in the way of the new enterprise which promised so well. If he had had the power to make him yield, he would have exerted it to the uttermost, even if it would have ruined the old man, instead of placing him and the children dependent on him above the fear of want forever. But as yet he had no power, and before the year should be out, when the law would allow him to take possession of the land, the ruin which men were saying might fall on Mr Fleming, might, nay must, fall on himself.Ruin? Well, that was putting it strongly perhaps. But the delay would cause loss and trouble terrible to anticipate—not to him only, but to the whole town of Gershom—loss which years of common prosperity would hardly make up for. Jacob rarely spoke of David Fleming or his relations to him, but when he did so, this was the way he put it. The prosperity of Gershom and of the country round was hindered by his refusal to sell his land. But in his heart he knew that the prosperity of Gershom was a very secondary consideration with him at the moment.For Jacob was in trouble, had been in trouble a long time, though he was only just beginning to confess it to himself. To no one else would he confess it, till nothing else could be done. He ought never to have come to any such determination. He was not strong enough to bear the weight of such trouble alone, and he was not wise enough to see the right means of getting through it.There were times when he owned this to himself. He had not nerve for great ventures. It made him sick to think of one or two transactions, out of which he might have come triumphant as others had done, only that his courage had failed to carry him through to the end. He needed more courage, and less conscientiousness, he liked to add in his thoughts, and perhaps he was not altogether without warrant in doing so. At any rate, something had come between him and success where other men had succeeded.Mr Green and his friends were right in their opinion that he was not such a man as his father. Even in conducting his Gershom business, which had almost come to be mere routine with him, they could see that he sometimes made mistakes. His persistent way of standing out against, or apart from, any movement that was to benefit the whole community, unless it was made in his way or to his evident advantage, was very unlike his father. It is true, that in his father’s day there had been fewer men in Gershom to share either responsibility or power. But the squire had known when to yield, and by judicious yielding it frequently happened that he was allowed to hold all the faster to his own plans.Jacob had to yield his own will also now and then, but at such times he could not help seeing that his fellow-townsmen looked upon him as having been beaten, and that they rather enjoyed it. Even when he succeeded in getting his own way in some matters, it often happened that his success was more in appearance than in reality. Still, if he had kept to his legitimate business, he might have done well in it, and kept the confidence of the community as being a man “who knew what he was about,” and certainly he would have had an easier mind.It was a little before this time that the discovery of the existence of mineral wealth, and the speculation in mining property which has since made a curious chapter in the history of this part of Canada, were beginning to occupy the attention of moneyed men, and Jacob had made his venture with the rest. But he had not come out of the affairs so well as some others had done. A history of their operations as to buying and selling would not interest. The result, as far as Jacob Holt was concerned, was disastrous enough, for in one way and another he had involved himself to an extent that to people generally would have appeared incredible. But people generally knew little about it. Those who did know were those who had been engaged with him, who had either made much money or lost much in the course of their transactions, and a prudent silence seemed to be considered best. Of course it could not but be known in the country to some extent who were the gainers and who the losers, but no one guessed that the Holts would be “In” for any considerable amount. But in the giving up of much valuable property at a great loss, in order to preserve his credit, Jacob was made to feel his position bitterly.Squire Holt had bought and held for many years large tracts of wild lands in various parts of the country, content to sink the purchase-money and to pay the taxes for the present, in the certain knowledge that as new settlers came in, and the country was opened up by the making of roads and the building of bridges, the value of the lands would be greatly increased. Many of these tracts Jacob was at this time obliged to sacrifice. He rather ruefully congratulated himself on the fact that the transfer of such property to other names might be done quietly, so that his difficulties need not be fully known or discussed in the community, but it was a terrible blow to him, and the necessity of keeping the knowledge of it from his father made it all the harder.For the squire had given his voice against all operations in mining matters. He was conscious that he was no longer equal to a contest with younger men in a new field of action, and his advice to his son, whose powers he had measured, had been “to let well alone,” and leave to those who had less to lose, the chance of being winners in the new game. It would have been well if his words had been heeded, Jacob owned to himself; and partly for his own sake and partly for the sake of his father, he said little about his losses. He was willing to have him and others believe that railroad matters were not prospering as he would have liked, which indeed was true. “The Hawkshead and Dunn Valley” railroad, which he had been chiefly instrumental in starting, and the stock of which he held largely, had promised well for a time, and would doubtless pay well in the end; but in the meantime, the big men of Fosbrooke, who had been allowed to say less than they wished to say as to the location of the road, were agitating the subject of another road to connect more directly with the Grand Trunk, and with other lines on the south side of the border, and “Hawkshead and Dunn Valley” stock had gone down.So Jacob candidly acknowledged that “the banks were crowding a little,” whenever he found it necessary to ask for the use of a fellow-townsman’s name to his paper. He found it necessary a good many times these days, and he was not very often refused. For there were few of the old settlers whom he or his father had not obliged in the same way at one time or the other, as he took occasion to tell the sons of some of them now and then. And besides this, giving one’s name was a mere form, very convenient in the way of business, which in those days was supposed to be done more rapidly than had been the way in old times.That any of the signers, “joint and several,” ever imagined that they might, in the course of untoward events, be called upon to make good the promise to pay that stood over their names, is not likely. Nor did Jacob himself ever contemplate so painful a possibility. Serious as he saw his difficulties to be, he saw a way out of them—or he would have done so, he said to himself bitterly, if the will of an unreasonable old man had not stood in his way.In the establishment and success of the new Company, so long the subject of discussion in the town, lay his best chance of freeing himself from his present embarrassment. If he might have had his way as to the site, so that the building might have been commenced, there would have been no trouble about the Company. A few good names with his own, and a moderate amount of capital, with the dam and the buildings commenced, there would have been no trouble about the rest. He felt that he would then have been master of the situation. Every cottage needed for the Mill hands and their families must be built on his land; and the chances were that by judicious management as to building, every one of them might become his tenant; and he had already in view certain arrangements by which most of the materials for building, and many of the supplies for the work-people, should be made to pass through his hands. By these means, and by the combination of other favourable circumstances, which he foresaw, he did not doubt that he could not only escape from present embarrassments, but recover much of what he had been obliged to sacrifice.It is possible that he was quite mistaken in all this, but he believed it all, and no wonder that his indignation grew and strengthened as he thought of Mr Fleming.

This was by no means so happy a winter in Gershom church and society as last winter had been. The various circumstances that had been thought causes for congratulation last year were to be rejoiced over still. Mr Maxwell was holding his own among them. His sermons were admired as much as ever. The various meetings were well attended; there was no perceptible falling off in the subscription-list, and many of the North Gore people were as regular in their attendance, and to all appearance as loyal to church interests as could be desired. Still it was not so pleasant or so prosperous a winter as the last had been.

There was not much said about it, even by the privileged grumblers among them, for a while, and the people who made the best of things generally saw only what was to be expected. In the best laid plans there will be some points of doubtful excellence. In all new arrangements there will be grating and friction which cannot even with the best intentions be at first overcome. The only way was to have patience and be ready with “the oil of gentleness and the feather of forbearance,” so as to give a touch here or there as it was needed, and everything would be sure to move smoothly after a while.

No special cause was assigned for this state of things. No one thought of connecting Jacob Holt’s name with it, but as the winter wore over a good many eyes were turned toward him, and a good many tongues were busy discussing his affairs, and chiefly his affairs as they had reference to Mr Fleming. No one whose opinion or judgment he cared about blamed him openly. It would have required some courage to do so. For Jacob was the rich man of the church, as he was of the town, and had much in his power in a community where voluntary offerings were depended upon as a means of covering all expenses. But the work commenced on the Varney place made matter for discussion among people who had not the motive for silence that existed among Jacob’s personal friends and brethren.

That he meant to bring Mr Fleming to his own terms could not be doubted. The mortgage on the farm had only another year to run. The land above the Blackpool would be taken possession of, or if this should be hindered in any way, the land would be ruined by the building of the new dam at the Varney place. What would Jacob Holt care for the bringing of a lawsuit against him by a poor man like Mr Fleming after the dam should be built and operations commenced?

True, it was the Gershom Manufacturing Company which was to decide as to the site of the mills, and which would be called upon to pay all damages. But how was that to help Mr Fleming? Within the memory of the oldest inhabitant no enterprise commenced or carried on in Gershom but had, at one point or mother in its course, felt the guiding or restraining touch of a Holt, and so it was not easy for lookers-on in general to put Jacob out of the question when the mind and will of the future manufacturing company was under discussion.

It is not to be supposed that all this time Mr Maxwell had heard no other version of this trouble than that which the squire and Miss Elizabeth had given him. He had heard at least ten corresponding generally to theirs as to facts, but differing in spirit and colouring according to the view of the narrator. He had not as yet found it necessary to commit himself to any expression of opinion with regard to it. He listened gravely, and often with a troubled heart, doubting that evil to the people he had learned to love might grow out of it. But he listened always as though he were listening for the first time.

The matter could not be brought before him as pastor of the church, as between Jacob Holt and Mr Fleming, for Mr Fleming was not a church member. He still kept aloof, as did others of the elderly people of his neighbourhood; and though Mr Maxwell had spoken with several of them as to their duty in the circumstances, he had never spoken to Mr Fleming. He was on the most friendly terms with the family, and had always been kindly received and respectfully treated by the old man, but as to personal matters Mr Fleming was as reserved with him as with the rest of the world. It would have seemed to Mr Maxwell an impertinence on his part to seek either directly or indirectly to force the confidence of a man like him. And indeed he felt that he might have little to say to the purpose should his confidence be spontaneously given. He thought it possible that it might do Mr Fleming good to freely and fully tell his troubles, real and imaginary, to a sympathising and judicious listener, but he was far from thinking himself the right man to hear him.

He had a strong desire to help and comfort him. In church, when he saw, as he now and then did, the stern old face softening and brightening under some strong sweet word of his Lord, like the face of a little child, he had an unspeakable longing to do him good. In his study the remembrance of the look came often back to him, and almost unconsciously the thought of him, and his wants, and possible experiences, influenced his preparations for the Sabbath. His thoughts of him were always gentle and compassionate. That there is likely to be wrong on both sides, where anger, or coldness, or contempt comes between those who acknowledge the Lord of love and peace as their Master, Mr Maxwell well knew, but in thinking of the trouble between these two men, neither the sympathy nor the blame was equally awarded. When he prayed that both might be brought to a better mind through God’s grace given and His word spoken, he almost unconsciously assumed that this grace was to make the word a light, a guide, a consoler to one, and to the other a fire and a hammer to break the rock in pieces.

It would not have been difficult at this time to bring back the old state of things when two distinct communities lived side by side in Gershom; and in the main the two communities would have stood in relation to each other very much as the North Gore folk and the villagers had stood in the old times. Not altogether, however. The North Gore folk, as a general thing, sided with Mr Fleming, or they would have done so if he had not been dumb and deaf to them and to all others on the subject of his troubles, but all the towns-people would not have been on the other side.

For Jacob lacked some of the qualities that during the past years had made his father so popular in the town. He was not the man his father had been in any respect. “Jacob bored with a small auger,” Mr Green, the carpenter, used to say, and the miscellaneous company who were wont to assemble in his shop for the discussion of things in general did not differ from him in opinion. Jacob was small about small matters, they said, and lost friends and failed to make money, where his father would have made both friends and money safe. As a business man he had not of late proved himself worthy of the respect of his fellow-townsmen as his father had always done.

Things had gone well with the Holts for a long time. They had had a share in most of the well-established business of the town. In helping others, as they had certainly done, to a living, they had helped themselves to wealth, and on many farms in the vicinity, and on some of the village homes, they had held claims. In many cases these claims had been paid in time; in others the property had passed from the hands of the original owners into the hands of the Holts, father and son. Very rarely in old Mr Holt’s active days had this happened in a way to excite the feeling of the community against the rich man; but of late it had been said that Jacob had done some hard things, and some of those who discussed his affairs were indignant because of the people who suffered, and some who did not like Jacob for reasons of their own joined in the cry; but it was to David Fleming and his affairs that attention was chiefly turned when any one wanted to say hard things of Jacob Holt.

Jacob was having a hard time altogether. Not because men were saying hard things of him. Few of these hard sayings would be likely to reach his ears. Some of the men who growled and frowned behind his back, before his face were mild and deprecatory, and listened to his words and smiled at his jokes, and carried themselves in his company very much as they had done in years past.

As for Mr Fleming’s affairs, it was coming to that with Jacob, that he would have done to him all the evil that he was accused of planning, if he could have had his way; but, nevertheless, not with a desire to harass and annoy the man who had always shunned him, and who now defied him, as people sometimes declared.

It cannot be said that he had not felt and secretly resented what he called the folly of the unreasonable old man. But Mordecai might have sat stiff and stern at the gate all day long for him and every day of the year, if the refusal to rise with the rest and do him reverence had been all the trouble between them. He knew that Mr Fleming had bitter thoughts against him because of all that had befallen his son long ago, and though he believed himself to have been no more guilty toward him than others had been, he knew that they had all been guilty together, and he had therefore submitted quietly, if not patiently, to the constant rebuke which he felt, and which all Gershom felt, the old man’s stern silence to be. He could understand how the sight of him and his prosperity should be an aggravation to the sorrow of this man, who did not seem to be able to forget, and he had a sort of compassion for him in his loss—not merely of the handsome, kindly lad who had gone away so long ago, but of the man to which the much-loved Hugh might by this time have grown. His desire to resent the father’s manner to himself had never been more than a momentary feeling and if he could have conferred upon him some great benefit, and placed him under such obligation to him as should be seen and acknowledged by all Gershom, he would gladly have done so. Indeed he believed that in the terms agreed on by his father, with regard to Mr Fleming’s mortgage, such a benefit had been conferred, and as he thought about it his anger grew.

For now Mr Fleming’s unreasonable obstinacy in refusing to dispose of his land seemed the only hindrance in the way of the new enterprise which promised so well. If he had had the power to make him yield, he would have exerted it to the uttermost, even if it would have ruined the old man, instead of placing him and the children dependent on him above the fear of want forever. But as yet he had no power, and before the year should be out, when the law would allow him to take possession of the land, the ruin which men were saying might fall on Mr Fleming, might, nay must, fall on himself.

Ruin? Well, that was putting it strongly perhaps. But the delay would cause loss and trouble terrible to anticipate—not to him only, but to the whole town of Gershom—loss which years of common prosperity would hardly make up for. Jacob rarely spoke of David Fleming or his relations to him, but when he did so, this was the way he put it. The prosperity of Gershom and of the country round was hindered by his refusal to sell his land. But in his heart he knew that the prosperity of Gershom was a very secondary consideration with him at the moment.

For Jacob was in trouble, had been in trouble a long time, though he was only just beginning to confess it to himself. To no one else would he confess it, till nothing else could be done. He ought never to have come to any such determination. He was not strong enough to bear the weight of such trouble alone, and he was not wise enough to see the right means of getting through it.

There were times when he owned this to himself. He had not nerve for great ventures. It made him sick to think of one or two transactions, out of which he might have come triumphant as others had done, only that his courage had failed to carry him through to the end. He needed more courage, and less conscientiousness, he liked to add in his thoughts, and perhaps he was not altogether without warrant in doing so. At any rate, something had come between him and success where other men had succeeded.

Mr Green and his friends were right in their opinion that he was not such a man as his father. Even in conducting his Gershom business, which had almost come to be mere routine with him, they could see that he sometimes made mistakes. His persistent way of standing out against, or apart from, any movement that was to benefit the whole community, unless it was made in his way or to his evident advantage, was very unlike his father. It is true, that in his father’s day there had been fewer men in Gershom to share either responsibility or power. But the squire had known when to yield, and by judicious yielding it frequently happened that he was allowed to hold all the faster to his own plans.

Jacob had to yield his own will also now and then, but at such times he could not help seeing that his fellow-townsmen looked upon him as having been beaten, and that they rather enjoyed it. Even when he succeeded in getting his own way in some matters, it often happened that his success was more in appearance than in reality. Still, if he had kept to his legitimate business, he might have done well in it, and kept the confidence of the community as being a man “who knew what he was about,” and certainly he would have had an easier mind.

It was a little before this time that the discovery of the existence of mineral wealth, and the speculation in mining property which has since made a curious chapter in the history of this part of Canada, were beginning to occupy the attention of moneyed men, and Jacob had made his venture with the rest. But he had not come out of the affairs so well as some others had done. A history of their operations as to buying and selling would not interest. The result, as far as Jacob Holt was concerned, was disastrous enough, for in one way and another he had involved himself to an extent that to people generally would have appeared incredible. But people generally knew little about it. Those who did know were those who had been engaged with him, who had either made much money or lost much in the course of their transactions, and a prudent silence seemed to be considered best. Of course it could not but be known in the country to some extent who were the gainers and who the losers, but no one guessed that the Holts would be “In” for any considerable amount. But in the giving up of much valuable property at a great loss, in order to preserve his credit, Jacob was made to feel his position bitterly.

Squire Holt had bought and held for many years large tracts of wild lands in various parts of the country, content to sink the purchase-money and to pay the taxes for the present, in the certain knowledge that as new settlers came in, and the country was opened up by the making of roads and the building of bridges, the value of the lands would be greatly increased. Many of these tracts Jacob was at this time obliged to sacrifice. He rather ruefully congratulated himself on the fact that the transfer of such property to other names might be done quietly, so that his difficulties need not be fully known or discussed in the community, but it was a terrible blow to him, and the necessity of keeping the knowledge of it from his father made it all the harder.

For the squire had given his voice against all operations in mining matters. He was conscious that he was no longer equal to a contest with younger men in a new field of action, and his advice to his son, whose powers he had measured, had been “to let well alone,” and leave to those who had less to lose, the chance of being winners in the new game. It would have been well if his words had been heeded, Jacob owned to himself; and partly for his own sake and partly for the sake of his father, he said little about his losses. He was willing to have him and others believe that railroad matters were not prospering as he would have liked, which indeed was true. “The Hawkshead and Dunn Valley” railroad, which he had been chiefly instrumental in starting, and the stock of which he held largely, had promised well for a time, and would doubtless pay well in the end; but in the meantime, the big men of Fosbrooke, who had been allowed to say less than they wished to say as to the location of the road, were agitating the subject of another road to connect more directly with the Grand Trunk, and with other lines on the south side of the border, and “Hawkshead and Dunn Valley” stock had gone down.

So Jacob candidly acknowledged that “the banks were crowding a little,” whenever he found it necessary to ask for the use of a fellow-townsman’s name to his paper. He found it necessary a good many times these days, and he was not very often refused. For there were few of the old settlers whom he or his father had not obliged in the same way at one time or the other, as he took occasion to tell the sons of some of them now and then. And besides this, giving one’s name was a mere form, very convenient in the way of business, which in those days was supposed to be done more rapidly than had been the way in old times.

That any of the signers, “joint and several,” ever imagined that they might, in the course of untoward events, be called upon to make good the promise to pay that stood over their names, is not likely. Nor did Jacob himself ever contemplate so painful a possibility. Serious as he saw his difficulties to be, he saw a way out of them—or he would have done so, he said to himself bitterly, if the will of an unreasonable old man had not stood in his way.

In the establishment and success of the new Company, so long the subject of discussion in the town, lay his best chance of freeing himself from his present embarrassment. If he might have had his way as to the site, so that the building might have been commenced, there would have been no trouble about the Company. A few good names with his own, and a moderate amount of capital, with the dam and the buildings commenced, there would have been no trouble about the rest. He felt that he would then have been master of the situation. Every cottage needed for the Mill hands and their families must be built on his land; and the chances were that by judicious management as to building, every one of them might become his tenant; and he had already in view certain arrangements by which most of the materials for building, and many of the supplies for the work-people, should be made to pass through his hands. By these means, and by the combination of other favourable circumstances, which he foresaw, he did not doubt that he could not only escape from present embarrassments, but recover much of what he had been obliged to sacrifice.

It is possible that he was quite mistaken in all this, but he believed it all, and no wonder that his indignation grew and strengthened as he thought of Mr Fleming.

Chapter Sixteen.Jacob’s Experience.Jacob spoke wonderfully little of all this, considering how much it was in his mind. He sometimes spoke to his wife, but even to her he said nothing of the losses that had fallen upon him, or of the fears that were weighing him down; but he did allow the bitterness which was gathering in his heart toward old Mr Fleming to overflow, once in a while, in her hearing. He knew it was not a wise thing to do, for she could only listen and add a word or two, which did no good, but harm. She dropped bitter words to other people too, nay, poured them forth to Elizabeth, and to Clifton when he came home, and to Miss Betsey, even, when a rare opportunity occurred.It did not matter much as far as they were concerned, for they knew the value of her words, and did not repeat them; but she uttered them to other people as well, and they were repeated, as all village talk is repeated, and commented upon, and exaggerated, and no one did more toward the stirring up of strife, and the making of two parties in Gershom, than did Mrs Jacob. She did her husband no good, but she did him less harm than she might have done had she been a woman of a higher and stronger nature. He did not have perfect confidence in her sense and judgment, and was apt to hesitate rather than yield to her suggestions even when he would have liked to do so. But her intense interest and sympathy were very grateful to him, and all the more that he neither asked nor expected sympathy from any one else.He often longed to ask it; there were several men in Gershom with whom he would have liked to discuss his grievances, but he hardly dared to enter upon the subject, lest in confessing how great a matter a six months’ delay was to him, he should betray how serious his losses had been. He did not intend to make his wife aware of his embarrassments, but she could not fail to see that all his anxiety could not spring from doubts as to the company or indignation toward Mr Fleming. She could not bring herself to speak of his losses while he remained silent, but she was all the more bitter in speaking of the old man’s obstinacy.“And there are people who call him a sincere and exemplary Christian! The hard, selfish, sour old man!”“Well,” said Jacob, after a pause of consideration, “I guess he is a Christian—as Christians go. There are few Christians who live up to their light in all respects, I’m afraid.”“That’s so; but then there is a difference between failings and shortcomings, or even open yieldings to sudden temptations, and this keeping up of anger and uncharitableness, as he has been doing, year in and year out, since ever I can remember, almost.”“We cannot judge him; he has had great troubles, and he is an old man,” said Jacob, rising. Any allusion to Mr Fleming’s disapproval of him fretted him more than it used to do, and once or twice lately he had allowed himself to say more than he would have liked to reach the ears of his neighbours, and so he rose to go.“He has never done me any hurt that I know of, and I don’t suppose he’ll do enough to speak of now. It will come all round right I guess, and then if I can do him a good turn I will.”If he had stayed a minute longer, his wife would have told him that he at least was showing a Christian spirit in thus saying, but being left alone, it came into her mind that no better revenge could be taken upon the hard old man than that his enemy should heap kindness upon him.“Not that such a thought was in Jacob’s heart,” she said to herself, “but I guess he’s got some new notion in his head. I never can tell just what he means by what he says; it will be queer if he doesn’t get his own way first or last.”It was no great stretch of charity on Jacob’s part to allow that the people who believed in the Christianity of Mr Fleming might be right, notwithstanding the old man’s unreasonable antipathy to himself. He had never doubted it, and his wife’s words had startled him.“If he is not a Christian, I am afraid some of the rest of us had better be looking to our little deeds. I guess he has as fair a chance as the most of us.”He did not get rid of his thoughts when he sat down in his office and began the work of the afternoon. The remembrance of some things that he would gladly never have remembered came back to him even while he was busy with his writing, and he said to himself that if the controversy between him and Mr Fleming were to be decided according to his character, it would go hard with him, and for a moment it seemed as if the sins of his youth were to be remembered against him, and that his punishment was coming upon him after all those years. But he pulled himself up when he got thus far, saying he was growing foolish and as nervous as a woman, and then he rose and took his hat and went down to the mill.He met his father on the way, and the old man turned back with him down the street again. There was always something the squire wanted to say to his son about business, and Jacob owed more than he acknowledged—and he acknowledged that he owed much—to the keen insight of his father. He seemed to be able to see all sides of a matter at once, and though Jacob liked to manage his affairs himself, and believed that he did so, yet there had been occasions when a few words from his father had modified his plans, and changed the character of important transactions to his profit. At the first glimpse he got of him to-day, a great longing came over him to tell him all his trouble and get the help of his judgment and advice.It was possibly only a passing feeling which he might have acted on in any circumstances. But his father’s first querulous words made it evident that he could not act upon it to-day. It is doubtful whether any of Jacob’s friends or acquaintances, whether even his wife or his sister, would have believed in the sudden, sharp pain that smote through Jacob’s heart at the moment. He himself half believed that it was disappointment because he could not get the benefit of his father’s experience and counsel at this juncture of affairs, but it was more than that. He really loved his father and honoured him. He had been proud of his abilities and his success, and of the respect in which he was held by the community, both as a man of business and as a man. He had tried since his manhood to atone to him for the sins of his youth, and had striven as far as he knew how to be a dutiful son, and on the whole he had satisfied his father, though doubtless a son with a larger heart and higher capabilities would have satisfied him better. But they loved one another, and the squire respected his son in a way, and they had been much more to each other than people generally, knowing the two men, would have supposed possible.When Jacob saw his father so feeble and broken that afternoon, and heard his querulous lament over this thing and that which had gone wrong in the mill, the thought came home to him that he was failing fast, and that the end could not be very far away, and the pain that smote him was real and sharp. A sense of loss such as had never touched him, though he had long known that his days were numbered, made him sick for the moment, and left a weight of despondency on him that he could not shake off. He spoke soothingly to him, and walked with him over the mill, telling him of changes that might be made, and asking him questions till he grew cheerful again, and more like his usual self; then taking possession of Silas Bean’s sleigh that was “hitched” at the mill-door, he proposed to drive him home, because the March sun had melted the new-fallen snow, leaving the street both slippery and wet, as he took care to explain, so that he need not suspect that he was more careful than usual about him.When Elizabeth, a little startled, came to meet them at the door, he repeated all this to her in cheerful tones, but when his father went in, the look of care came back to his face as he said that he had been afraid to let him try the long walk up the hill.“I was just thinking of going down to meet him,” said Elizabeth. “It was very kind of you to bring him home.”“Kind!” repeated Jacob, and then he pulled his hat over his eyes and went away.Elizabeth looked after him a moment in surprise. Even Elizabeth, who thought more kindly of him than any one, except perhaps his father, did not imagine how much the sight of the old man’s increasing weakness had moved him.Jacob went to a prayer-meeting that night, and, as his custom was, sat on a back seat near the door. The rich man of the village was not a power in the church when one looked beyond material things—the regular subscription-list, the giving of money, the exercise of hospitality—and except in regularity of attendance, he was certainly not a power in the prayer-meeting. But regularity of attendance is something, and on nights when winter storms, or bitter cold, or domestic contingencies of any sort, kept the “regular stand-bys” at home, he could and did fill the place of one or other of them by “taking a part.” But he had no “gift” in that way, and knew it, and kept himself in the background. His neighbours knew it too, and some of them said sharp things, and some of them said slighting things of him because of this. But “the diversity of gifts” was pretty generally acknowledged, and people generally were not hard on him because of silence.To-night there was no call on him. The school-room was well filled, as there was a prospect of the winter roads breaking up early, so that people from a distance could not come for a while. Besides, it was not the usual prayer-meeting, but the preparatory lecture before the communion, and Mr Maxwell had the meeting altogether in his own hands; and perhaps there were others there as well as Jacob, who took the good of the thought that there was no special responsibility resting upon them for the night.If it had been the regular meeting, it is possible that Jacob might have sat in his corner as usual, supposing himself to be attending to the words of Deacon Scott and old Mr Wainwright, and all the rest of them, and through habit and the associations of time and place, he might have fallen into old trains of thought which did not always exclude a glance over the business of the day, or a glance toward the business of to-morrow; and so the unwonted stir of fears and feeling which had moved him in the afternoon might have been set at rest, and the cloud of care and pain dissolved for the time. But Mr Maxwell had the word, and still moved and troubled, Jacob could not but listen with the rest.It was not the minister’s usual way to give one of his elaborate written discourses on such an occasion as the present. There might be a difference of opinion among the people now and then, as to whether he gave them something better, or something not so good. But to-night the greater part of them did not remember to make any comparisons of that kind, but found themselves wondering whether anything had happened to the minister, so earnest and solemn was he both in word and manner to-night.The words he spoke from were these, “If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.” I could not give the discourse, even if it would be wise to do so. It was such an one as his hearers could not but listen to.As he went on to tell them some of the wondrous things implied in being “risen with Christ,” the Head, crowned and glorious of the Church, “His body,” of which they were “the members,” and to insist on the seeking the “things above” as the result and sole evidence of this life from the dead, none listened more intently than did Jacob. And perhaps because of the unusual experience of the afternoon, he did not listen, as he was rather apt to do on common occasions, for the rest of the congregation, this for Deacon Scott, that for Mr Wainwright, the other for some one else, for whom it seemed a suitable portion; he listened for himself, with his father all the while in his mind. And when it came to the “result and evidence,” he had not, for the moment, a word to say for himself.As for his father—well, his father had never made a public profession of faith in Christ. He had “kept aloof,” as the village people said, whatever had been his reasons. But it came into Jacob’s mind—moved and stirred out of its usual dull acceptance of things as they seemed—that to eyes looking deeper than the surface, his father’s life might count for more as “evidence” than his own profession could do. And as the minister put it, would even his father’s life count for much as “evidence” of his being “risen with Christ?” Whose life would?“Mine would amount to just nothing!” was Jacob’s decision as he left the house, when the meeting was over, and having got thus far it might naturally be supposed that he would not rest until he got farther. He had got thus far many a time before, but the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches had done their part in the past to put the thought away, and they did the same again.But not so readily this time. For Jacob was unsettled and anxious, longing for the help and counsel which his father could never give more—longing also, but not always, for the help which he knew his younger brother was capable of giving him if he would; and he asked himself often, whether it paid even for this world, to wear one’s self out for the making of money which one might lose, as he had done, and which all must leave, as his father was about to do.But the day’s work had to be done, and the day’s cares met, and Jacob found himself after a little moving on in the old paths, not altogether satisfied with himself or his life, but pretty well convinced that though it might be well to take higher ground as to some things, both in his business and his religion, now was not the time for the change. And besides, he also believed in “the diversity of gifts,” as they were pleased to term it in Gershom. If he could not lead a meeting, or speak a word in season in private, as some of the brethren could do, he tried to use his influence on the right side in all moral and religious questions; and though he knew that there were several among the brethren who, if they could have seen their way clear, would perhaps have called in question the character of certain business transactions with which his name had got mixed up, he set over against the unpleasant fact the other fact, that no three of these men gave so much to sustain the cause of religion in the place as he did.It might be considered doubtful whether the church itself would have been built, if he had not taken hold of it as he did. That had helped the coming in of the North Gore people, and that with other things had brought Mr Maxwell to them as their minister. Gershom would have been a different place, as to the state of morality and religion, if it had not been for the Holts—and when Jacob said the Holts in this connection, he meant himself, as far as the last ten years were concerned.Of course he did not say, even to himself, that any amount of giving or doing could make a man safe, either for this world or the next; but he did say that doing and giving to the good cause must count for something as evidence of one’s state. And though he was not satisfied that he was all that he ought to be, he thought that, taking all things into account, he was as good as most of his neighbours, and with this for the present he contented himself.A visit from his brother Clifton gave him about this time something to think about, and something to do as well. Clifton had heard, though their father had not, of Jacob’s mining speculations, and he had heard of several transactions of so serious a nature that he could not but be curious, not to say anxious, as to results. It cannot be said that he got either information or satisfaction from his inquiries. Jacob, never communicative, was altogether silent to his brother as to the extent of his loans, and as to the property he had been obliged to sacrifice to satisfy pressing claims.To tell the truth, Clifton was disposed to take matters easily. The Holts must expect their turn of reverses, as well as other people, and they were better able to meet them, he imagined, than most people. If Elizabeth at this time had pressed upon him the propriety of his making himself aware of the exact state of their affairs, he might have inquired to better purpose. As it was, he returned to his more congenial pursuits in Montreal, not quite satisfied, but with no very grave misgivings as to the state of their affairs.His visit was not without result, however. Though Jacob had only given him the vaguest kind of talk as to mining matters, and had blamed his unfortunate railroad ventures for such pressure as to money as could not be concealed, he had much to say about the new mills, which at some future time must be a source of wealth to the Holts, and to the town. He did not succeed in making his brother believe all that he promised from them should they be built and in running order within the year, but he did succeed in getting more of his sympathy than ever he had got before, as to his loss through the obstinacy of old Mr Fleming. As Jacob put it, it did seem a pity that so much should be lost to the Holts, and the town through him, when so much might be gained to Mr Fleming and his family, by yielding the point at once. Of course it must come to Jacob’s having the land in the end, he acknowledged, and he had never acknowledged so much before.“As it seems to be personal spite that keeps him to his resolution—for of course a shrewd man like him must see the advantage that the building of the mills so near his land must be—you should get some one else to treat with him.”But that had been tried. The Gershom Manufacturing Company had as little prospect of success as a company as Jacob had had as an individual, and Clifton could only suggest that everybody concerned should wait patiently for another year for the chance of getting rich by the mills, which was easy for him to say, but hard for Jacob to hear. The hint which renewed his hope, and gave him another chance, was thrown to him over his brother’s shoulder when he rose to go away.“What about this Mr Langden, whose name I hear mentioned by Mr Maxwell and others as a rich man? Why don’t you suggest to him that he might do a good thing for himself by putting some of his money into the new mills? It would be a better investment than this mining business which our neighbours on the other side of the line seem so eager about. If he were to offer the money down to Mr Fleming, ten to one he would not refuse to sell. You need not appear in the business.”Jacob shook his head.“You might try it, anyway. It would not be a bad speculation for him. It is up to-day and down to-morrow with some of these men over there, and he might so manage it, that anything he put into mills in Canada might be made secure to him in case of a smash on the other side. It might be done, I suspect. If I were you I would make a move in that direction.”And then with a smile and a nod for good-bye, he went away, never suspecting that he left his brother in a very different state of mind from that in which he had found him. Jacob was not, as a general thing, quick at taking up new ideas or in acting upon them, but this ought not to have been a new idea to him, he said almost angrily to himself after his brother was gone. Why had he not thought of Mr Langden and his money before?Some correspondence had passed between them with regard to certain mining operations in which Mr Langden had, or hoped to have, an interest. At the time Jacob had been much occupied with similar transactions, and had hoped, through Mr Langden’s means, to advance their mutual interests. But things had gone wrong with him beyond hope of help, and later he had with a clear conscience advised him to have nothing to do with any venture in mining stock within the area of which he had any personal knowledge, and then the correspondence had ceased. Now he greatly regretted that he had not thought of proposing the other investment to him.After much consideration of the subject, and some rather indirect discussion with Mr Maxwell as to Mr Langden’s means, opinions, and prejudices, he came to the conclusion that he could make the whole matter clearer to him and more satisfactory to both if they were to meet face to face, and so his plans were made for a visit to him. But spring had come before this was brought about. He went south in May, and was away from Gershom several weeks. When he returned nothing transpired as to his success. Even to Clifton, who had come to Gershom to accompany his father and sister to C. Springs, where the squire was to spend a month or two, he only spoke of his intercourse with the rich man as one of the pleasant circumstances attending his trip, and Clifton took it for granted that there was not much to tell.Nor was there; but the rich man had spoken of a possible visit to Canada during the summer, and he had promised that if this took place he should come to Gershom and discuss the matter of the mills on the spot, and though Jacob said little about it, he permitted himself to hope much from the visit.

Jacob spoke wonderfully little of all this, considering how much it was in his mind. He sometimes spoke to his wife, but even to her he said nothing of the losses that had fallen upon him, or of the fears that were weighing him down; but he did allow the bitterness which was gathering in his heart toward old Mr Fleming to overflow, once in a while, in her hearing. He knew it was not a wise thing to do, for she could only listen and add a word or two, which did no good, but harm. She dropped bitter words to other people too, nay, poured them forth to Elizabeth, and to Clifton when he came home, and to Miss Betsey, even, when a rare opportunity occurred.

It did not matter much as far as they were concerned, for they knew the value of her words, and did not repeat them; but she uttered them to other people as well, and they were repeated, as all village talk is repeated, and commented upon, and exaggerated, and no one did more toward the stirring up of strife, and the making of two parties in Gershom, than did Mrs Jacob. She did her husband no good, but she did him less harm than she might have done had she been a woman of a higher and stronger nature. He did not have perfect confidence in her sense and judgment, and was apt to hesitate rather than yield to her suggestions even when he would have liked to do so. But her intense interest and sympathy were very grateful to him, and all the more that he neither asked nor expected sympathy from any one else.

He often longed to ask it; there were several men in Gershom with whom he would have liked to discuss his grievances, but he hardly dared to enter upon the subject, lest in confessing how great a matter a six months’ delay was to him, he should betray how serious his losses had been. He did not intend to make his wife aware of his embarrassments, but she could not fail to see that all his anxiety could not spring from doubts as to the company or indignation toward Mr Fleming. She could not bring herself to speak of his losses while he remained silent, but she was all the more bitter in speaking of the old man’s obstinacy.

“And there are people who call him a sincere and exemplary Christian! The hard, selfish, sour old man!”

“Well,” said Jacob, after a pause of consideration, “I guess he is a Christian—as Christians go. There are few Christians who live up to their light in all respects, I’m afraid.”

“That’s so; but then there is a difference between failings and shortcomings, or even open yieldings to sudden temptations, and this keeping up of anger and uncharitableness, as he has been doing, year in and year out, since ever I can remember, almost.”

“We cannot judge him; he has had great troubles, and he is an old man,” said Jacob, rising. Any allusion to Mr Fleming’s disapproval of him fretted him more than it used to do, and once or twice lately he had allowed himself to say more than he would have liked to reach the ears of his neighbours, and so he rose to go.

“He has never done me any hurt that I know of, and I don’t suppose he’ll do enough to speak of now. It will come all round right I guess, and then if I can do him a good turn I will.”

If he had stayed a minute longer, his wife would have told him that he at least was showing a Christian spirit in thus saying, but being left alone, it came into her mind that no better revenge could be taken upon the hard old man than that his enemy should heap kindness upon him.

“Not that such a thought was in Jacob’s heart,” she said to herself, “but I guess he’s got some new notion in his head. I never can tell just what he means by what he says; it will be queer if he doesn’t get his own way first or last.”

It was no great stretch of charity on Jacob’s part to allow that the people who believed in the Christianity of Mr Fleming might be right, notwithstanding the old man’s unreasonable antipathy to himself. He had never doubted it, and his wife’s words had startled him.

“If he is not a Christian, I am afraid some of the rest of us had better be looking to our little deeds. I guess he has as fair a chance as the most of us.”

He did not get rid of his thoughts when he sat down in his office and began the work of the afternoon. The remembrance of some things that he would gladly never have remembered came back to him even while he was busy with his writing, and he said to himself that if the controversy between him and Mr Fleming were to be decided according to his character, it would go hard with him, and for a moment it seemed as if the sins of his youth were to be remembered against him, and that his punishment was coming upon him after all those years. But he pulled himself up when he got thus far, saying he was growing foolish and as nervous as a woman, and then he rose and took his hat and went down to the mill.

He met his father on the way, and the old man turned back with him down the street again. There was always something the squire wanted to say to his son about business, and Jacob owed more than he acknowledged—and he acknowledged that he owed much—to the keen insight of his father. He seemed to be able to see all sides of a matter at once, and though Jacob liked to manage his affairs himself, and believed that he did so, yet there had been occasions when a few words from his father had modified his plans, and changed the character of important transactions to his profit. At the first glimpse he got of him to-day, a great longing came over him to tell him all his trouble and get the help of his judgment and advice.

It was possibly only a passing feeling which he might have acted on in any circumstances. But his father’s first querulous words made it evident that he could not act upon it to-day. It is doubtful whether any of Jacob’s friends or acquaintances, whether even his wife or his sister, would have believed in the sudden, sharp pain that smote through Jacob’s heart at the moment. He himself half believed that it was disappointment because he could not get the benefit of his father’s experience and counsel at this juncture of affairs, but it was more than that. He really loved his father and honoured him. He had been proud of his abilities and his success, and of the respect in which he was held by the community, both as a man of business and as a man. He had tried since his manhood to atone to him for the sins of his youth, and had striven as far as he knew how to be a dutiful son, and on the whole he had satisfied his father, though doubtless a son with a larger heart and higher capabilities would have satisfied him better. But they loved one another, and the squire respected his son in a way, and they had been much more to each other than people generally, knowing the two men, would have supposed possible.

When Jacob saw his father so feeble and broken that afternoon, and heard his querulous lament over this thing and that which had gone wrong in the mill, the thought came home to him that he was failing fast, and that the end could not be very far away, and the pain that smote him was real and sharp. A sense of loss such as had never touched him, though he had long known that his days were numbered, made him sick for the moment, and left a weight of despondency on him that he could not shake off. He spoke soothingly to him, and walked with him over the mill, telling him of changes that might be made, and asking him questions till he grew cheerful again, and more like his usual self; then taking possession of Silas Bean’s sleigh that was “hitched” at the mill-door, he proposed to drive him home, because the March sun had melted the new-fallen snow, leaving the street both slippery and wet, as he took care to explain, so that he need not suspect that he was more careful than usual about him.

When Elizabeth, a little startled, came to meet them at the door, he repeated all this to her in cheerful tones, but when his father went in, the look of care came back to his face as he said that he had been afraid to let him try the long walk up the hill.

“I was just thinking of going down to meet him,” said Elizabeth. “It was very kind of you to bring him home.”

“Kind!” repeated Jacob, and then he pulled his hat over his eyes and went away.

Elizabeth looked after him a moment in surprise. Even Elizabeth, who thought more kindly of him than any one, except perhaps his father, did not imagine how much the sight of the old man’s increasing weakness had moved him.

Jacob went to a prayer-meeting that night, and, as his custom was, sat on a back seat near the door. The rich man of the village was not a power in the church when one looked beyond material things—the regular subscription-list, the giving of money, the exercise of hospitality—and except in regularity of attendance, he was certainly not a power in the prayer-meeting. But regularity of attendance is something, and on nights when winter storms, or bitter cold, or domestic contingencies of any sort, kept the “regular stand-bys” at home, he could and did fill the place of one or other of them by “taking a part.” But he had no “gift” in that way, and knew it, and kept himself in the background. His neighbours knew it too, and some of them said sharp things, and some of them said slighting things of him because of this. But “the diversity of gifts” was pretty generally acknowledged, and people generally were not hard on him because of silence.

To-night there was no call on him. The school-room was well filled, as there was a prospect of the winter roads breaking up early, so that people from a distance could not come for a while. Besides, it was not the usual prayer-meeting, but the preparatory lecture before the communion, and Mr Maxwell had the meeting altogether in his own hands; and perhaps there were others there as well as Jacob, who took the good of the thought that there was no special responsibility resting upon them for the night.

If it had been the regular meeting, it is possible that Jacob might have sat in his corner as usual, supposing himself to be attending to the words of Deacon Scott and old Mr Wainwright, and all the rest of them, and through habit and the associations of time and place, he might have fallen into old trains of thought which did not always exclude a glance over the business of the day, or a glance toward the business of to-morrow; and so the unwonted stir of fears and feeling which had moved him in the afternoon might have been set at rest, and the cloud of care and pain dissolved for the time. But Mr Maxwell had the word, and still moved and troubled, Jacob could not but listen with the rest.

It was not the minister’s usual way to give one of his elaborate written discourses on such an occasion as the present. There might be a difference of opinion among the people now and then, as to whether he gave them something better, or something not so good. But to-night the greater part of them did not remember to make any comparisons of that kind, but found themselves wondering whether anything had happened to the minister, so earnest and solemn was he both in word and manner to-night.

The words he spoke from were these, “If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.” I could not give the discourse, even if it would be wise to do so. It was such an one as his hearers could not but listen to.

As he went on to tell them some of the wondrous things implied in being “risen with Christ,” the Head, crowned and glorious of the Church, “His body,” of which they were “the members,” and to insist on the seeking the “things above” as the result and sole evidence of this life from the dead, none listened more intently than did Jacob. And perhaps because of the unusual experience of the afternoon, he did not listen, as he was rather apt to do on common occasions, for the rest of the congregation, this for Deacon Scott, that for Mr Wainwright, the other for some one else, for whom it seemed a suitable portion; he listened for himself, with his father all the while in his mind. And when it came to the “result and evidence,” he had not, for the moment, a word to say for himself.

As for his father—well, his father had never made a public profession of faith in Christ. He had “kept aloof,” as the village people said, whatever had been his reasons. But it came into Jacob’s mind—moved and stirred out of its usual dull acceptance of things as they seemed—that to eyes looking deeper than the surface, his father’s life might count for more as “evidence” than his own profession could do. And as the minister put it, would even his father’s life count for much as “evidence” of his being “risen with Christ?” Whose life would?

“Mine would amount to just nothing!” was Jacob’s decision as he left the house, when the meeting was over, and having got thus far it might naturally be supposed that he would not rest until he got farther. He had got thus far many a time before, but the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches had done their part in the past to put the thought away, and they did the same again.

But not so readily this time. For Jacob was unsettled and anxious, longing for the help and counsel which his father could never give more—longing also, but not always, for the help which he knew his younger brother was capable of giving him if he would; and he asked himself often, whether it paid even for this world, to wear one’s self out for the making of money which one might lose, as he had done, and which all must leave, as his father was about to do.

But the day’s work had to be done, and the day’s cares met, and Jacob found himself after a little moving on in the old paths, not altogether satisfied with himself or his life, but pretty well convinced that though it might be well to take higher ground as to some things, both in his business and his religion, now was not the time for the change. And besides, he also believed in “the diversity of gifts,” as they were pleased to term it in Gershom. If he could not lead a meeting, or speak a word in season in private, as some of the brethren could do, he tried to use his influence on the right side in all moral and religious questions; and though he knew that there were several among the brethren who, if they could have seen their way clear, would perhaps have called in question the character of certain business transactions with which his name had got mixed up, he set over against the unpleasant fact the other fact, that no three of these men gave so much to sustain the cause of religion in the place as he did.

It might be considered doubtful whether the church itself would have been built, if he had not taken hold of it as he did. That had helped the coming in of the North Gore people, and that with other things had brought Mr Maxwell to them as their minister. Gershom would have been a different place, as to the state of morality and religion, if it had not been for the Holts—and when Jacob said the Holts in this connection, he meant himself, as far as the last ten years were concerned.

Of course he did not say, even to himself, that any amount of giving or doing could make a man safe, either for this world or the next; but he did say that doing and giving to the good cause must count for something as evidence of one’s state. And though he was not satisfied that he was all that he ought to be, he thought that, taking all things into account, he was as good as most of his neighbours, and with this for the present he contented himself.

A visit from his brother Clifton gave him about this time something to think about, and something to do as well. Clifton had heard, though their father had not, of Jacob’s mining speculations, and he had heard of several transactions of so serious a nature that he could not but be curious, not to say anxious, as to results. It cannot be said that he got either information or satisfaction from his inquiries. Jacob, never communicative, was altogether silent to his brother as to the extent of his loans, and as to the property he had been obliged to sacrifice to satisfy pressing claims.

To tell the truth, Clifton was disposed to take matters easily. The Holts must expect their turn of reverses, as well as other people, and they were better able to meet them, he imagined, than most people. If Elizabeth at this time had pressed upon him the propriety of his making himself aware of the exact state of their affairs, he might have inquired to better purpose. As it was, he returned to his more congenial pursuits in Montreal, not quite satisfied, but with no very grave misgivings as to the state of their affairs.

His visit was not without result, however. Though Jacob had only given him the vaguest kind of talk as to mining matters, and had blamed his unfortunate railroad ventures for such pressure as to money as could not be concealed, he had much to say about the new mills, which at some future time must be a source of wealth to the Holts, and to the town. He did not succeed in making his brother believe all that he promised from them should they be built and in running order within the year, but he did succeed in getting more of his sympathy than ever he had got before, as to his loss through the obstinacy of old Mr Fleming. As Jacob put it, it did seem a pity that so much should be lost to the Holts, and the town through him, when so much might be gained to Mr Fleming and his family, by yielding the point at once. Of course it must come to Jacob’s having the land in the end, he acknowledged, and he had never acknowledged so much before.

“As it seems to be personal spite that keeps him to his resolution—for of course a shrewd man like him must see the advantage that the building of the mills so near his land must be—you should get some one else to treat with him.”

But that had been tried. The Gershom Manufacturing Company had as little prospect of success as a company as Jacob had had as an individual, and Clifton could only suggest that everybody concerned should wait patiently for another year for the chance of getting rich by the mills, which was easy for him to say, but hard for Jacob to hear. The hint which renewed his hope, and gave him another chance, was thrown to him over his brother’s shoulder when he rose to go away.

“What about this Mr Langden, whose name I hear mentioned by Mr Maxwell and others as a rich man? Why don’t you suggest to him that he might do a good thing for himself by putting some of his money into the new mills? It would be a better investment than this mining business which our neighbours on the other side of the line seem so eager about. If he were to offer the money down to Mr Fleming, ten to one he would not refuse to sell. You need not appear in the business.”

Jacob shook his head.

“You might try it, anyway. It would not be a bad speculation for him. It is up to-day and down to-morrow with some of these men over there, and he might so manage it, that anything he put into mills in Canada might be made secure to him in case of a smash on the other side. It might be done, I suspect. If I were you I would make a move in that direction.”

And then with a smile and a nod for good-bye, he went away, never suspecting that he left his brother in a very different state of mind from that in which he had found him. Jacob was not, as a general thing, quick at taking up new ideas or in acting upon them, but this ought not to have been a new idea to him, he said almost angrily to himself after his brother was gone. Why had he not thought of Mr Langden and his money before?

Some correspondence had passed between them with regard to certain mining operations in which Mr Langden had, or hoped to have, an interest. At the time Jacob had been much occupied with similar transactions, and had hoped, through Mr Langden’s means, to advance their mutual interests. But things had gone wrong with him beyond hope of help, and later he had with a clear conscience advised him to have nothing to do with any venture in mining stock within the area of which he had any personal knowledge, and then the correspondence had ceased. Now he greatly regretted that he had not thought of proposing the other investment to him.

After much consideration of the subject, and some rather indirect discussion with Mr Maxwell as to Mr Langden’s means, opinions, and prejudices, he came to the conclusion that he could make the whole matter clearer to him and more satisfactory to both if they were to meet face to face, and so his plans were made for a visit to him. But spring had come before this was brought about. He went south in May, and was away from Gershom several weeks. When he returned nothing transpired as to his success. Even to Clifton, who had come to Gershom to accompany his father and sister to C. Springs, where the squire was to spend a month or two, he only spoke of his intercourse with the rich man as one of the pleasant circumstances attending his trip, and Clifton took it for granted that there was not much to tell.

Nor was there; but the rich man had spoken of a possible visit to Canada during the summer, and he had promised that if this took place he should come to Gershom and discuss the matter of the mills on the spot, and though Jacob said little about it, he permitted himself to hope much from the visit.

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