Johntook his place at the supper-table as usual; but neither Mrs. Oakley nor Ben, though they spoke freely to each other, had a word to say to him. If John had been conscious of deserving such neglect, he would have felt disturbed; but as he felt that all the blame for what had occurred rested with Ben and his mother, he ate with his usual appetite, and did not appear in the least troubled by their silence, nor by the scornful looks which from time to time Mrs. Oakley directed towards him. After supper he went up into his little room, and prepared his lesson in Virgil for the next day. He was at the head of his class, and was resolved to let no troubles at home interfere with his faithful preparation of his lessons.
Ben did not attend school. In fact, he was not very partial to study, and though Squire Oakley had offered to bear his expenses at the academy, and afterwards at college, Ben had persuaded his mother that his health was not firm enough to undertake along course of study. While, therefore, John was occupied daily for several hours at the academy, Ben had lived like a gentleman of leisure, spending considerable time at the billiard rooms in the village, and in lounging on the hotel piazza. He managed to get through considerable money, but his mother had always kept him well supplied.
Although he did not wish to go to college himself, he did not fancy the idea of John's going, since this would increase the superiority of the latter over him. He knew very well that a liberal education would give John a certain position and influence which he was not likely to attain, and he determined to prevent his obtaining it. When, therefore, John had gone to school the next morning, Ben attacked his mother on the subject.
"Are you going to send John to college, mother?" he asked.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I don't want him to go."
"Why not?"
"He'll put on no end of airs if he goes, and turn up his nose at me, because I don't happen to know so much about Latin and Greek, and such rigmarole."
"I wish you would make up your mind to go to college, Ben," said his mother, earnestly, for she was very ambitious for her son.
"It's of no use, mother. I'm seventeen, and it would take three years to get ready, and hard study at that."
"You have studied Latin already."
"I don't remember anything about it. I should have to begin all over again."
"Well," said Mrs. Oakley, reluctantly giving up the idea, "you might study law without going to college."
"I don't think I should like to be a lawyer. It's too hard work."
"You needn't be, but you could go to the Law School, and study long enough to get a degree. You would make some aristocratic acquaintances, and it would be an honorable profession to belong to."
"Well," said Ben, "I don't know but I'll enter the Law School in a year, or two. There is no hurry. I suppose you'll give me enough money so that I won't have to earn my living? I say, mother, how much property did old Oakley leave?"
Considering the obligations under which Mrs. Oakley was placed to her late husband it might have been supposed that she would reprove Ben for the disrespectful manner in which he spoke of him; but, as may be guessed, she cared nothing for her husband, except for what she could get out of him, and wasnot in the least disturbed by the manner in which Ben referred to him.
"This house and the land around it," she said, "are estimated at ten thousand dollars. There are, besides, stocks, bonds, and mortgages to the amount of fifty thousand dollars."
"Sixty thousand dollars in all!" exclaimed Ben, his eyes sparkling. "You're quite a rich woman, mother."
"Yes," said Mrs. Oakley, complacently, "I suppose I am."
"It's a little different from when you came here four years ago on a salary of twenty dollars a month. You were pretty hard up, then."
"Yes, Ben, but we can hold up our heads with anybody now."
"I say, mother," said Ben, persuasively, "as I'm your only son, I think you might give me ten thousand dollars right out. You'd have fifty thousand left."
Mrs. Oakley shook her head.
"You're too young, Ben," she said. "Some time or other you shall be well provided for."
"I'm seventeen," grumbled Ben. "I'm old enough to look after property."
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Ben," said Mrs. Oakley."I will give you an allowance of ten dollars a week from now till you are twenty-one. Then, if you behave well, I will make over to you twenty thousand dollars."
"You might say thirty. You're not saving a third for John Oakley, are you?"
Mrs. Oakley's face hardened.
"No," she said; "he's been too insolent to me. I suppose I must give him something, but he shall never have a third."
"Five hundred dollars will be enough for him," said Ben, with contemptible meanness, considering that but for the accident of his father's second marriage the whole property—one hundred and twenty times as much—would have gone to John.
"I can't tell you how much he will get," said Mrs. Oakley. "It depends on how he behaves. If he had treated us with greater respect, his chances would be a great deal better."
"He's a proud upstart!"
"But his pride shall be broken. I'm determined upon that."
"Then you won't send him to college? That would make him prouder still. Besides," added Ben, his habitual meanness suggesting the thought, "it costs a good deal to keep a fellow at college."
"No," said Mrs. Oakley, "he shan't go to college."
"Good!" said Ben, his eyes sparkling; "that will be a bitter pill for him, for he wants to go."
"How soon would he be ready?"
"In about a year."
"You may set your mind at rest on that point. He shan't go."
"All right, mother. When are you going to pay me my allowance?" he said, insinuatingly.
Mrs. Oakley took out her purse, and placed a ten-dollar bill in his hand.
"That's for the first week," she said.
"Couldn't you make it fifteen, mother?"
"No, ten must do for the present."
"Are you going to allow John anything?"
"He doesn't deserve anything. When he does, I will allow him fifty cents a week."
Ben strolled over to the billiard rooms, and spent the forenoon playing billiards with another young fellow as idle and unpromising as himself. He then walked over to the hotel, and bought a dozen cigars, one of which he began to smoke. At one o'clock he returned home to dinner. John was not present at this meal. The intermission between morning and afternoon schools at the academy was but an hour,and he had been accustomed to carry his lunch with him. He was not released until four o'clock in the afternoon.
"Well, mother," said Ben, "how about the horse? Are you going to give up to John?"
"Certainly not; you may consider the horse yours," said Mrs. Oakley.
"John'll make a fuss."
"Let him," said Mrs. Oakley. "He'll find that I can make a fuss too."
"I'll go out to ride this afternoon," said Ben, with satisfaction. "I'll get started just before four o'clock, so as to meet John on his way from school. He'll look mad enough when he sees me;" and Ben laughed, as he fancied John's looks.
"It is a very good plan," said Mrs. Oakley, approvingly. "We'll see if he dares to interfere with you again."
The more Ben thought of it, the better he was pleased with this plan. All the academy boys knew that the horse was John's, and they would now see him upon it. He would be likely to meet many of them, and this would make John's humiliation the greater. At half-past three he went out to the barn.
"Mike," he said, to the hostler, "you may saddle Prince. I am going to ride out."
"Master John's horse?"
"No,myhorse."
"Your horse, sir? Prince belongs to Master John."
"How dare you stand there contradicting me?" said Ben, haughtily. "The horse is mine. My mother has given it to me."
"It's a shame, then," said Mike to himself, "for Master John sets a sight by that horse. The old woman's mighty queer."
It was lucky for Mike that Mrs. Oakley was not aware of the disrespectful term applied to her in Mike's thoughts, or he would probably have been discharged at short notice. But the fact was, that none of the servants liked her. Feeling a little doubtful of her own position, she always spoke to them in a haughty tone, as if they were far beneath her, and this, instead of increasing their respect, only diminished it.
Mike saddled Prince, and led him out into the yard.
"You must be careful, Master Ben," he said. "The horse has got a spirit of his own, and he isn't used to you."
Ben was a poor horseman, and he knew it; but he was too proud to admit it to Mike.
"Don't trouble yourself," he said, haughtily. "If John can manage him, I can."
"He's used to Master John."
"Well, he's got to get used to me," said Ben. "If he don't behave well it will be the worse for him. You haven't given me the whip."
"You'd better not use it much, Master Ben. He won't stand a whip very well."
"Keep your advice till it is asked for," said Ben.
"All right, sir," said Mike, and handed him the whip. He followed him with his eyes as he rode out of the yard. "He don't sit like Master John. It wouldn't take much to throw him off. However, I've warned him, and he must have his own way if he breaks his neck."
Although Ben had spurned Mike's warning with so much disdain, he thought of it as he rode up the street, and let Prince take his own gait. The truth was, he did not feel very secure in his seat, and did not feel very much confidence in his own horsemanship. Indeed, he would not have cared to ride out this afternoon, but for the anticipated pleasure of mortifying John.
He rode leisurely along, taking the direction of the academy, which was nearly a mile distant. He looked at his watch, and estimated that he wouldmeet the pupils of the academy as they emerged from school.
He was right in his reckoning. At precisely four o'clock there was a bustle about the doors, and with merry shouts the boys poured out into the street. Among them were John Oakley and Sam Selwyn, who, as intimate friends and classmates, generally were found in company. They turned up the street which led by Mr. Selwyn's office, and in the direction of John Oakley's home.
"John," said Sam, suddenly, "I do believe that is Ben Brayton riding on your horse."
John looked up the street, and saw that Sam was right.
"You are right, Sam," he said.
"Did you tell him he might ride on it?"
"No."
"Then what business has he with it?"
"His mother told him he might take it. She has taken it from me."
"She's an old—"
"Don't call names, Sam. I'll tell you more about it another time."
Meanwhile Ben had seen the boys coming from the academy. Among others he recognized John and Sam, and his eyes flashed with anticipated triumph.Hitherto he had been content to let the horse go on at his own rate, but now he thought it was time to make a display. He thought it would annoy John to have him dash by at gallant speed, while he, the rightful owner, was obliged to stand out of the path, unable to interfere. He therefore brought the whip down with considerable emphasis upon Prince's side. Unfortunately he had not foreseen the consequences of the blow. Prince took the bit between his teeth, and darted forward with reckless speed, while Ben, seeing his mistake too late, pale and terrified, threw his arms around the horse's neck, and tried to keep his seat.
John started forward, also in alarm, for though he had no reason to like Ben, he did not want him to be hurt, and called "Prince!"
The horse recognized his master's voice, and stopped suddenly,—so suddenly that Ben was thrown off, and landed in a puddle of standing water in a gully by the side of the road. Prince stopped quietly for his master to come up.
"Are you hurt, Ben?" asked John, hurrying up.
Ben rose from the puddle in sorry plight. He was only a little bruised, but he was drenched from head to foot with dirty water, and patches of yellow mud adhered to his clothes.
"You did this!" he said, furiously to John.
"You are entirely mistaken. I hope you are not hurt," said John, calmly.
"You frightened the horse on purpose."
"That's a lie, Ben," said Sam, indignantly. "It's a lie, and you know it."
"I understand it all. You don't deceive me," said Ben, doggedly.
"Will you ride home?" asked John.
Ben refused. In fact, he was afraid to trust himself again on Prince's back.
"Then I suppose I must." And John sprang lightly upon the horse's back, and rode towards home, followed by Ben in his soiled clothes.
Mrs. Oakley, looking from her window, beheld, with wondering anger, John riding into the yard, and her son following in his soiled clothes.
"What's he been doing to Ben?" she thought, and hurried downstairs in a furious rage.
"Whathave you been doing to my son, you young reprobate?" demanded Mrs. Oakley of John. Her hands trembled convulsively with passion, as if she would like to get hold of our hero, and avenge Ben's wrongs by inflicting punishment on the spot.
John was silent.
"Why don't you speak, you young rascal?" demanded Mrs. Oakley, furiously.
"I am neither a reprobate nor a rascal, Mrs. Oakley," said John, calmly, "and I do not choose to answer when addressed in that way."
"Ben," said Mrs. Oakley, turning to her son, "what has he done to you? How happens it that you come home in such a plight?"
"I was thrown over the horse's head into a mud-puddle," said Ben.
"Didn'thehave anything to do with it?" asked Mrs. Oakley, determined to connect John with Ben's misfortune, if possible.
"He spoke to the horse," said Ben.
"And then he threw you?"
"Yes."
Ben answered thus, being perfectly willing that his mother should charge his fall upon John, as this would create additional prejudice between them. It was contemptible meanness on his part, but meanness was characteristic of him, and he had no hesitation in stooping to falsehood, direct or indirect, if by so doing he could compass his object.
"It is as I thought," said Mrs. Oakley, thinking it unnecessary to inquire further. "Of course, as soon as you were thrown, he jumped on the horse and rode home. You're carrying matters with a high hand, young man; but you'll find that I'm your match. Get off that horse, directly."
"That was my intention," said John. "I am sorry, Mrs. Oakley," he continued, "that Ben has not seen fit to give you a correct account of what has happened. If he had, it would have been unnecessary for me to speak."
"It is unnecessary for you to speak now, John Oakley," said his stepmother, sharply. "Do you mean to charge my son with telling a falsehood? If that is the case, take care what you say."
"Ben has not told a falsehood, but he is trying to make you believe that I caused his fall."
"I have no doubt you did."
"Then you are mistaken. Why didn't he tell you that when I first saw the horse he was running at great speed, in consequence of Ben's having imprudently struck him severely with the whip? He is a spirited horse, and won't stand the whip."
"He is like you in that, I suppose," said Mrs. Oakley, sneering.
"Heislike me in that," said John, quietly.
"You would both be better if you had to stand it," said his stepmother, angrily.
John did not see fit to reply to this.
"Is this true, Ben?" she asked.
"Yes," said Ben, reluctantly. "I struck the horse; but it was not till John spoke to him that he threw me off."
"So I supposed," said Mrs. Oakley, significantly.
"I see, Mrs. Oakley," said John, "you are determined to find me guilty of causing Ben's fall. If I could be mean enough to do such a thing, and so risk his life, I should despise myself. Prince was rushing up the street with tremendous speed, and I was frightened at Ben's danger; I called out to Prince,but he stopped so suddenly that Ben was thrown into the puddle, or he might have been seriously hurt."
There was so much sincerity in what John said, that Mrs. Oakley, though very much against her will, could hardly help believing him. Determined, however, to make out a case against him, she said:—
"As soon as you saw him off, you jumped on the horse and rode home, leaving him to get home as he could. That was a very generous and noble thing to do!"
"Ask Ben if I did not ask him to ride home," said John.
Ben, in answer to his mother's glance, said, rather unwillingly:—
"Yes, he asked me to ride home, but he knew I wouldn't after being thrown once. I won't get on the brute's back again, I promise you."
Mrs. Oakley was disappointed to find that the case she was trying to make out against John had failed at all points, and that he was cleared even by the testimony of her principal witness.
"You had better come in and change your clothes, Ben," she said. "I am afraid you will take cold. And do you"—turning to John—"take the horse round to the stable. He's an ugly brute, and I'll take care that he doesn't endanger your life any more."
John led Prince round to the stable, and delivered him into the hands of Mike.
"Where's Master Ben?" inquired Mike.
"He got thrown off."
"I thought how it would be," said Mike. "He can't ride no more'n a stick. I told him not to take the whip, but he wouldn't heed a word I said."
"That's how he got thrown. He struck the horse violently, and he was running away with him when he heard my voice and stopped."
"Did Master Ben get hurt?"
"Not much. He fell into a puddle, and dirtied his clothes."
"Maybe he'll be wiser next time."
"He says he won't ride Prince again."
"All the better for you, Master John."
"I don't know, Mike," said John, soberly. "I'm afraid Mrs. Oakley will sell him. She says he is an ugly brute, and she won't have any more lives endangered."
"Ugly brute!" repeated Mike, indignantly. "There's not a bit of ugliness about him. He wants to be treated well, and I'd like to know who don't. And he's so attached to you, Master John!"
"Yes, Mike, it'll be hard to part with him." And John's lips quivered as he looked with affection at thenoble horse, to which he had become much attached. Besides, it was his father's gift, and as such had an additional value for him, as, owing to his disinheritance, he had nothing else of value by which he could remember the parent whose loss he was made to feel more and more, as his stepmother's injustice and harsh treatment, and Ben's meanness and hostility served daily to increase. It almost seemed to him as if Prince was the only friend he had left, and that he must be parted even from him.
Meanwhile Ben was changing his clothes in his room. The adventure which had just happened to him did not make him feel very pleasant. In the first place, it is rather disagreeable to be thrown violently into a puddle of dirty water, and Ben might be excused for not liking that. Ben's pride was touched, since it had been demonstrated in the most public manner that he could not manage Prince, while it was well known that John could. Ben knew boys well enough to feel sure that he would be reminded from time to time of his adventure, and he did not like to be laughed at. Why was it that John always seemed to get the better of him? He went out expressly to triumph over John in presence of his schoolmates, and this had been the humiliating result.
"Why was I such a fool as to use the whip?"thought Ben, vexed with himself. "If it had not been for that, it would have been all right."
But he had used the whip, and it was all wrong. As to using the horse any more, he did not care to do it. To tell the truth, Ben, who, as we know, was not very courageous, was afraid of Prince. He suspected that the horse would remember the blow he had given him, and would be likely to serve him the same trick the next time he mounted him. So he resolved that he would never ride out on Prince again; but he was equally anxious that John should also be prevented from using him. The words that his mother had last used led him to hope that she would agree to sell him, and, what was still more important in his eyes,give him the moneyresulting from the sale. Under these circumstances the triumph would still be his, and he would enjoy John's grief for the loss of his horse.
When Ben descended from his chamber, in a clean suit, he found that his mother had taken measures to console him for his mortifying adventure. The tea-table was spread, and two or three delicacies such as he particularly liked were set before his plate. Ben surveyed this with satisfaction, for he was something of a gourmand.
"I thought you might be hungry, Ben," said hismother; "so I got some of that marmalade that you like so well, and here is some hot mince-pie."
"That's just what I like, mother."
"We will sit down at once. John can come when he gets ready."
"What are you going to do about that horse, mother?" asked Ben, rather indistinctly, for his mouth was full.
"I did intend to keep him for your use; but if he is likely to play such tricks as he has to-day, I suppose I had better sell him."
"Yes, mother, sell him. I'll never mount such a vicious brute again, and I suppose you won't keep him just for John's use."
"Of course not. It costs considerable to keep a horse. Besides, he'd be flinging out that he could manage the horse, and you couldn't."
"Of course he would. But the horse is used to him, you know, and that is why he doesn't find any trouble with him. But you gave me the horse, you know, mother."
"But you don't want him."
"No, I don't; but I suppose you'll give me the money you sell him for."
"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Oakley, hesitatingly."He cost a hundred and fifty dollars. That is too much money for you to have."
"Why is it?" said Ben.
"I give you ten dollars a week now."
"Yes; but that goes for small expenses. If I wanted now to buy anything expensive, I couldn't do it."
"What is there you want?"
"I don't know yet," said Ben; "I haven't thought, but I should like to have the money."
Mrs. Oakley still hesitated.
"I know it would make John awful mad," said Ben, cunningly appealing to his mother's hatred of our hero, "to think that Prince was sold, and that I had the money. Perhaps it's that you're thinking of. But I didn't suppose you'd be influenced by anything he could say or do."
"John may be angry or not; it is entirely indifferent to me," said Mrs. Oakley, falling into the trap laid for her. "I was only thinking whether it would be well for you. I don't know but I will let you have the money,—that is, I will put it in the savings-bank in your name, and you can let me know when you want to use it, and what for."
"All right," said Ben, who determined that when he once got hold of the money he would not consultanybody as to its disposal. "When will you sell it, mother?"
"To-morrow, perhaps. I hear that Mr. Barnes, the livery stable-keeper, has just lost a valuable horse. Perhaps he may like to buy it."
"He'll buy it fast enough," said Ben. "I heard him say the other day that he should like to have Prince. He likes fast horses. How surprised John will be when he comes home, and finds Prince is missing!"
Ben laughed as he fancied John's anger, and this thought, together with the money which would so soon be placed to his account, quite restored his spirits, somewhat to John's surprise, who did not understand the reasons which he had for being cheerful.
So Prince's fate was decided, and a new trial awaited John.
Fromhis early boyhood John had been intended by his father to receive a collegiate education. If he should acquit himself with credit in college, he was afterwards to have his choice of studying a profession, or entering mercantile life. At the age of eleven he commenced Latin at the academy, and two years afterwards Greek, and in these he had advanced so far that in a year he would be qualified to enter college. There were six boys in the preparatory class to which he belonged, among them being Sam Selwyn, his intimate friend, who has already been introduced to the reader. From the first John had stood at the head of the class, both in Latin and Greek, Sam ranking second. Although they were rivals in scholarship, there had never been the shadow of a difference between them arising from this cause. Both were of a generous nature, and were strongly attached to each other, and it had long been understood between themthat when admitted to college they would room together.
John had often talked with his father about going to college, and Squire Oakley had strong hopes of John's maintaining a high position in his college class, and doing him credit at the institution where he had himself graduated. This made it all the more remarkable that John's interests had been so entirely neglected in the disposition of his property made by his will.
As John was on his way to school, on the morning succeeding Ben's fall from the horse, he was overtaken by Sam Selwyn.
"How's your amiable brother this morning, John?" asked Sam.
"Meaning Ben?"
"Of course. I hope his health hasn't suffered seriously from his unexpected bath. Poor fellow! he had a pretty good fright."
"Yes, I don't think he'll trouble Prince very soon again."
"I shan't soon forget how frightened he looked with both arms around the horse's neck. I should have felt like laughing, only I was afraid he might come to harm. Now you'll have Prince to yourself."
"I don't know about that, Sam. I rather think,from something Mrs. Oakley said, that she means to sell Prince."
"Sellyourhorse!" exclaimed Sam, indignantly.
"She says it isn't mine. She's given it to Ben. As Ben don't dare to use it, I am afraid Prince will have to go," said John, sadly.
"I wouldn't stand it!" exclaimed Sam, in excitement. "It's an imposition."
"But what can I do?"
"The horse is yours."
"Not legally, I am afraid. I can't prove it, and Mrs. Oakley says it was only mine to use."
"Whether you can prove it or not, the horse is yours, and I say it will be an outrageous thing if it is sold. At any rate you ought to demand the money that is received for it."
"I'll tell you what I have made up my mind to do. Mrs. Oakley may say that the horse is expensive to keep, but as Ben received a watch and chain at the same time I got the horse, it is only fair that I should have a watch in place of it, if it is sold."
"Of course, that is only reasonable."
"Not that a watch would pay me for the loss of Prince. I'd rather have him than three watches; but it doesn't cost anything to keep a watch."
"That's true; but I hope you'll be able to keep the horse."
"So do I," said John; but he had very little expectation of it.
"Well, there's hope ahead, old fellow," said Sam, cheerfully. "Next year we'll enter college, and then you'll be out of the way of Master Ben and your kind stepmother, for forty weeks in the year, at any rate."
"I hope so," said John, slowly.
"Youhope so?" repeated Sam. "You don't expect Mrs. Oakley will remove to Cambridge, so that you may still be favored with her charming company?"
"I don't feel sure of going to Cambridge myself," said John, soberly.
"You don't mean to say you're afraid you won't pass the examination? If you don't, there'll be precious little chance for the rest of us."
"That isn't what I mean," said John. "I think I should pass the examination. At any rate I am not afraid of it."
"Whatareyou afraid of then?" asked Sam, in surprise.
"I am afraid Mrs. Oakley won't let me go."
"But your father always meant you to go. She knows that."
"Yes, she knows it, for father used often to referto the time when I would be in college, in her presence. But I am afraid that won't make much difference with her."
"Has she said anything about it?"
"No, not yet; but it will cost considerable to keep me at Cambridge."
"Well, your father left a good deal of property."
"Yes; but it was left to Mrs. Oakley."
"There's enough to pay your expenses at college, and maintain Mrs. Oakley and Ben handsomely."
"I know that, but I am sorry to say that Mrs. Oakley and Ben both dislike me, and it will be reason enough with them to keep me at home because they know I am anxious to go."
"It's a burning shame," said Sam, indignantly, "that such a woman as that should have the control over you. As for Ben Brayton, I always did despise him. He's a mean fellow, and a coward to boot."
"I don't like Ben much," said John.
"And he returns the compliment."
"Yes, he has taken a dislike to me, I don't know why, for I have always treated him well, though I couldn't like him."
"I say, John," said Sam, "if you don't go to college, it'll knock all my plans into a cocked hat. You were to room with me, you know."
"Yes, Sam, I have been looking forward to that a long time."
"What a jolly time we should have! I shan't have half so much pleasure in going to college if you don't go with me. You're such a good scholar, too, it would be a great pity. But perhaps it may not be so bad as you think. Mrs. Oakley may be only too glad to get rid of you."
By this time they had reached the door of the academy. The bell sounded, summoning the pupils to their morning exercises, and John and Sam had other things to think of, for a while at least.
At the close of the afternoon John returned home. He went into the house to carry his Virgil and Greek Reader, being accustomed to prepare a part of his lessons out of school. On going out into the yard, he saw Ben lounging lazily against a fence, whittling.
"Are you going out to ride, John?" he asked, in an unusually friendly tone.
"I think I will ride a little way," said John.
"I got enough of it yesterday," said Ben.
"You were unlucky. If you had not struck Prince it would have been all right."
"I don't care about trying it again. I hope you'll have a pleasant ride."
"Thank you," said John, unsuspiciously.
He went out to the barn, and opened the door that led to the stables. He made his way at once to Prince's stall, and looked in.
It was empty!
Surprised, but not yet suspecting what had really happened, he called out to Mike, whom he saw outside:—
"Where's Prince, Mike?"
"Shure, sir, didn't you know he was sold?"
"Sold? When?"
"This morning, Master John."
"Who bought him?"
"Mr. Barnes, the man that keeps the livery stable. He was here this morning. He and the mistress came in, and they soon struck a bargain."
John's heart swelled with anger and sorrow, but he asked, calmly:—
"Do you know what price Mr. Barnes gave for Prince?"
"Yes, Master John; I heard him say that he would give one hundred and ninety dollars. The mistress wanted two hundred; but she finally let him have Prince at that, and a good bargain it is to him too."
John left the stable outwardly calm, but much disturbed in mind.
"Mrs. Oakley might at least have let me knowwhat she meant to do," he said, bitterly. "My poor father's gift too."
Ben waited for John's return with malicious interest. He wanted to witness and enjoy his disappointment.
"I thought you were going to ride?" he said, with a smile of mockery.
"Can you tell me where your mother is?" asked John, coldly.
"She's in the house, I suppose. Do you want to see her?"
"Yes."
John entered the house without taking any further notice of Ben. He found his stepmother in the sitting-room. She looked up, as he entered, with a glance of satisfaction, for she saw that she had made him unhappy.
"Mike tells me you have sold Prince, Mrs. Oakley," he commenced.
"Yes. What of it?"
"As he was my horse, I think you might have let me know what you intended to do."
"Prince was not your horse," she said, sharply.
"He was my poor father's gift to me."
"Nonsense! He merely let you call him yours. The horse was mine."
"He was as much mine as Ben's watch is his. Are you going to sell Ben's watch?"
"No, I am not. If that is all you have to say, you may leave the room."
"It is not. I will not object to your selling the horse, because it would cost something to keep him; but it is only fair that the money for which he was sold should be given to me, or enough to buy a watch and chain like Ben's."
"You are very modest in your expectations, young man," sneered Mrs. Oakley.
"I'm only asking what is just."
"You seem to forget whom you are speaking to. If you think you can bully me, you will find yourself entirely mistaken."
"I am not in the habit of bullying anybody. I only want my rights," said John.
"Then you'll have to want. You may as well understand, first as last, John Oakley,"—and his stepmother raised her voice angrily,—"that I am mistress in this house, and owner of this property. You are entirely dependent upon me for the bread you eat and the clothes you wear, and it will be prudent for you to treat me respectfully, if you want any favors. Do you understand that?"
"I understand what you say, Mrs. Oakley," saidJohn, indignantly. "You seem to have forgotten that every cent of this property belonged to my father, and would now be mine, if my father had not married you. You had better rememberthat, when you talk about my being dependent upon you, and favor Ben at my expense."
Mrs. Oakley turned white with rage.
"What do you mean by your impertinence, you young rascal?" she shrieked, rising to her feet, and glaring at John.
"I mean this," he exclaimed, thoroughly provoked, "that I don't believe my father ever intended to leave you all his property. I believe there is another will somewhere, and I mean to find it."
"Leave the room!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, in a voice almost inarticulate with rage. "You'll repent those words, John Oakley. You're in my power, and I'll make you feel it."
John left the room, his anger hot within him. When he reflected coolly upon what had passed, he did repent having spoken about the will. It might set Mrs. Oakley upon the track, and if she found it, he feared that she would have no scruples in destroying it, and then his last chance of obtaining his rights would be gone.
Mrs. Oakleywas not only angry, but very much disturbed at the words which John had imprudently uttered. They startled her, because they intimated John's suspicion of something which she had good reason for knowing to be a fact.
Mrs. Oakley knew that her husband had executed a later will, and, though she did not know where it was, she believed it still to be in existence!
The will under which she inherited bore a date only two months after her marriage with Squire Oakley. She had cunningly influenced him to make it. He did so without proper consideration, and gave the will into her custody. But, though his wife carefully concealed from him her real character, she could not do so entirely. Little things, which came under his observation, led him to believe that she entertained a secret dislike for John, and, only three months before his death, Squire Oakley, to protect John'sinterests, made a second will, which superseded the first, and limited his wife to that portion of his property which she could legally claim,—that is, one third.
He did not see fit to apprise his wife of this step. But she was watchful and observant, and something led her to suspect what had been done. She determined to find out secretly, and with this end went to the desk where her husband kept his private papers, one day when she supposed him to be absent, and began to search for the suspected will. After a while she found it, and, spreading it open, began to read:—
"I, Henry Oakley, being of sound mind," etc.
She had read so far, when a heavy hand was laid upon her shoulder. Turning with a start, she saw her husband, his face dark with anger, looking sternly at her.
"Give me that document, Mrs. Oakley," he said, abruptly.
She did not dare do otherwise than obey.
"By what right do you come here to pry into my private papers?" he demanded.
"I am your wife," she said.
"That is true. You are my wife; but that does not authorize your stealing in here like a thief, and secretly examining papers, which would havebeen shown you if they had been intended for your eyes."
"Does not that paper relate to me?" she asked, boldly.
"It relates to my property."
"It is your will."
"Yes."
"And it makes the one which I hold of no value."
"It does."
"So you are secretly plotting against my interests," she said, angrily. "I suspected as much, and I determined to find out."
"The will of which you speak never ought to have been made. It disinherits my son, and places him in your power."
"Could you not trust me to provide for him?" asked Mrs. Oakley.
"I fear not," said her husband. And her eyes fell before his steady glance. She felt that she was better understood than she had supposed.
"So you have placed me in John's power," she said, bitterly.
"I have done nothing of the kind."
"Have you not left the property to him?"
"You well know that you are entitled by law to one-third of my estate."
"One-third!"
"Yes."
"And he is to have two-thirds?"
"Why should he not? If I had not married a second time he would have had the whole."
"And my son Ben is left unprovided for?" questioned Mrs. Oakley, in a tone of mingled anger and disappointment.
"Ben has no claim upon me."
"Poor boy! so he will be penniless."
"You appear to forget that your share of the property will amount to twenty thousand dollars. He need not suffer, unless his mother should refuse to provide for him."
But this did not suit Mrs. Oakley's views. She was not at all reconciled to the thought that John Oakley, whom she disliked, would inherit forty thousand dollars, while she and Ben must live on half that sum. She was fond of money and the position it would bring, and although twenty thousand dollars would once have seemed to her a great fortune, her desires had increased with her prosperity, and she now thought it a hardship that she should be limited to such a trifle. She was by no means reconciled to the thought that Ben must play second fiddle to his rich stepbrother. Still John was young, and if she werehis guardian that would be something. So she smoothed her face and said:—
"I suppose you have appointed me John's guardian?"
Squire Oakley shook his head.
"I have appointed Mr. Selwyn to that position. It is more fitting that a lawyer should have the care of property," he said.
There was another reason which he did not mention. He thought that John's interests would be safer in Mr. Selwyn's hands than in those of his wife.
"This is an insult to me," said Mrs. Oakley, angry and disappointed. "It will be declaring to the world that you have no confidence in me."
"Nothing of the kind. Even were you his real mother, there would be nothing strange in my leaving him to the guardianship of another."
But Mrs. Oakley looked angry, and for days afterwards wore an offended and injured look. She appeared to forget from what poverty and dependence Squire Oakley had delivered her, and how many favors he had lavished upon Ben, who had no claim upon him save in his relationship to her.
Three days afterwards, Squire Oakley asked hiswife for the will which she had had in her possession for nearly three years.
"Why do you want it?" she asked.
"Because it is of no value now, since I have made a later will. I wish to destroy it."
Mrs. Oakley said she would look for it. If she did so, she took care not to look in the right place, for she reported that it was mislaid, and she could not find it.
"It is rather strange that you should have mislaid a document which might have been of such importance," said Squire Oakley, significantly.
"I am always mislaying things," said she, forcing a laugh. "I will look again to-morrow."
But the will was not found, and Squire Oakley drew his own deductions from this fact. Painful as it was to suspect his wife, he feared that his second will would not be safe if she could once get it into her possession. He saw, too late, that he had married a selfish and unscrupulous woman. He determined, therefore, to conceal the document, which so vitally affected his son's interests, in a hiding-place where it would be safe from Mrs. Oakley's prying disposition. He did so. But he did not foresee at that time how soon he would be struck with paralysis that would affect his speech, and render it difficult for him to revealthe secret to those who ought to know it. So it happened, however. From the time paralysis attacked him, Mrs. Oakley kept vigilant watch over him, and did all she could to keep John away from his father's bedside, lest the secret should be revealed to him. Meanwhile, she sought everywhere for the missing will, but couldn't find it. The most she feared was that it had been placed in the lawyer's hands for safe-keeping. It ought to have been. Squire Oakley, as he lay on his sick-bed, regretted bitterly that it had not been so disposed of. It would have saved him from much anxiety. John obtained one interview with him, as we know, but his father was unable to impart to him the desired information, and the sudden entrance of Mrs. Oakley destroyed his last chance.
The rest we know. Squire Oakley died; his wife produced the earlier will, which she now had no difficulty in finding, and under that claimed and inherited the whole property. A search was instituted for the late will, under the lawyer's directions, but it was not found. Mrs. Oakley found herself, to her secret delight, the undisputed mistress of her late husband's handsome estate. She had hoped that John knew nothing of the later will; but the words to which he gave utterance at the close of the last chapter undeceivedher. It was clear that he knew something of it, and he had expressed a determination to find it. That it was somewhere in the house, Mrs. Oakley believed, and, if so, it was very possible that John might stumble upon it. The result would be that she would be compelled to surrender two-thirds of the property, and he would become independent of her. Aside from the large pecuniary loss, she could not bear to think of John's release from her persecutions. At present, she pleased herself with thinking that he was in her power, and that she could "break his proud spirit," as she termed it, though, as we have seen, John was disposed to be respectful, and only displayed such a proper spirit as his self-respect demanded.
"If I could only find the will myself," thought Mrs. Oakley, "there would be no further trouble."
She did not say to herself, that, should such a discovery be made, it would plainly be her duty to make it known to Squire Selwyn, who had always been her late husband's lawyer. She did not consider what she should do with it, but we who have obtained a glimpse of her character may easily guess that in her hands it would not have benefited John much.
The point for Mrs. Oakley to consider was how to protect herself against any sudden discovery ofJohn's. She saw that it would be dangerous for her to have him continue in the house, and she resolved to send him away. Where, she could not at once decide.
Having determined upon this, it occurred to her once more to visit her husband's desk, and examine it carefully, in the hope of discovering some secret drawer, in which the will might have been concealed.
It was now evening. She lit a lamp, and went to the small room which Squire Oakley had used for reading and writing in, and went at once to the desk. It was old-fashioned, with a variety of small drawers. These she had examined more than once, but she opened them again, in the hope of discovering some false bottom, which had served as a means of concealment. While she was intent upon her search, she heard a slight noise at the door, and, looking up, was startled to find John looking into the room.
"What are you prying into my actions for?" she demanded, sharply, a little embarrassed at being caught thus employed, and especially by John.
"I am not," said John.
"Why are you here, then?"
"By accident entirely; I was passing through the entry, and, seeing a light in here, I just glanced in."
"I wanted to find a receipt," said Mrs. Oakley,thinking it best to offer some plausible explanation. "A bill was presented me for payment that I think has already been paid."
"Can I assist you?"
"No," said Mrs. Oakley, coldly. "I shall probably find it soon."
John was not deceived by this explanation. He felt sure that Mrs. Oakley was searching for the will; but this he kept to himself.
"I must get rid of him at once," said his stepmother. "Once get him out of the house, and I'll explore it thoroughly. I shan't feel safe till the will is found."
Mrs. Oakleyhad determined to send John away, This resolution was easily formed, but it was not quite so easy to decide where to send him. There were plenty of boarding-schools where he might be sent, but these would be expensive, and, besides, Mrs. Oakley was of opinion that John knew enough already. He was very much the superior of Ben in scholarship, and for this she was sorry. She would like to have apprenticed him to a trade; but if this was done while Ben lived in idleness, Mr. Selwyn would be sure to remonstrate, and as the will was not yet found she felt in some fear of his opinion.
It was about this time that the stage arrived one afternoon before the gate, and a tall, shabbily dressed man, with a battered valise, descended, and walking up the front path rang the bell.
The servant who answered the summons thought she recognized him as a peddler who had called there about a month before.
"We don't want anything," she said, abruptly, nearly shutting the door in the stranger's face.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, staring at her in surprise. "I want to see your mistress."
"It's no use. She won't take anything of you."
"What do you mean by your impudence?" he said, angrily.
"Hoity-toity," said the girl. "You put on airs enough for a peddler; but it's of no use. You may take your rubbish off somewhere else."
"Who's a peddler, I should like to know? If you don't open that door pretty quick, I'll tell my sister to dismiss you without a character."
"Your sister!" repeated the girl, taken by surprise. "What has your sister got to do with me?"
"She gives you a home, and pays you wages, I reckon."
"Aint you a peddler, then?" demanded the girl, incredulously.
"I am Mrs. Oakley's brother, and you'd better invite me into the house, if you want to stay in it yourself."
"Excuse me, sir. I made a mistake. If you'll walk in I'll tell Mrs. Oakley you're here."
"That's the first sensible word you've spoken. I'll put my valise here in the entry."
"Well," thought the servant, "if that's Mrs. Oakley's brother, I don't think much of her family. I always thought she belonged to a poor set."
She went upstairs to the front chamber, where her mistress liked to sit, and said:—
"Your brother's downstairs. He says he would like to see you."
"My brother!" repeated her mistress, not looking overpleased.
"Yes, he is down in the parlor."
"Very well, I will go down and see him."
The ill-dressed stranger was stretched out in a rocking-chair, in an attitude more comfortable than graceful. He was gazing about the room, and noting with much complacency the evidences of comfort and luxury which the handsome furniture exhibited. It was thus that Mrs. Oakley found him.
"How do you do, brother Ephraim?" she said, coldly, advancing, and just giving him the tips of her fingers.
"I'm pretty well," he answered. "So the old gentleman's dead, hey?"
"If you mean my husband," she answered, still with coldness, "you are right."
"It's all right about the property, hey? How much is left to you?"
"The whole."
"Whew!" whistled Mr. Ephraim Huxter.—"Well, you have worked your cards well, that's a fact."
"I'll thank you, Ephraim," said Mrs. Oakley, with dignity, "not to use such low language, or indulge in such insinuations. I did my duty by my husband, and he showed his confidence in me by leaving me his property."
"Well, perhaps that's the right way to put it," said Mr. Huxter. "I'm glad you have feathered your nest so well."
"I must again request you not to indulge in such language," said Mrs. Oakley, in tones of displeasure.
Mr. Huxter was evidently perplexed.
"Come, Jane," said he, "there's no use in trying to deceive me. You made a good thing of it in marrying old Oakley, and you needn't pretend to be broken-hearted because he is dead, and has left you his fortune."
"Hush!" said Mrs. Oakley, closing the door; "what if the servants should hear you talking in this way?"
"Well, there is something in that. That girl of yours that came to the door took me for a peddler. She wasn't going to let me in."
Mrs. Oakley glanced at her brother's soiled linen and stained clothes, and did not express any surprise.
"I brought my valise," said her brother. "I suppose it'll be convenient for me to stay a few days."
Mrs. Oakley assented rather ungraciously,—in truth she did not care much to present such a man as her brother. She felt that it would make it still more difficult to obtain the position which she desired to maintain in the village.
"I thought maybe I could help you in settling up the estate," said Mr. Huxter.
"I don't think I shall require any assistance. Mr. Oakley was a good business man, and the task is an easy one," said his sister, coldly.
"How much does the property amount to?" asked Mr. Huxter,—the property being in his eyes the main thing to be considered.
"I can't say exactly."
"Well, you can give a guess."
But Mrs. Oakley did not care to have her brother understand her exact position as regarded money matters. She saw clearly enough that he was already speculating how to turn her prosperity to his own advantage, and this she was determined he should not do. She would like to have kept him at a distance, butshe was already feeling one of the inconveniences of wealth. There are some whose chief enjoyment of wealth arises from the happiness which it enables them to impart to others, and some, in Mrs. Oakley's position, would have been glad to do something for such of their relatives as were in struggling circumstances; but it was not so with her. She was of a stingy, penurious disposition, and did not mean that her money should benefit any one but Benjamin and herself, except the small sum which she felt obliged to spend on John.
"No, I don't think I could form any estimate," she said. "Mr. Oakley has recently died, you know."
"Has he left as much as fifty thousand?"
"Fifty thousand!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley; "what are you thinking of?"
"It isn't much less, I am thinking. At any rate, you're a rich woman."
"I am comfortably provided for."
"I wish I was as comfortably provided for," said Mr. Huxter. "Seems to me your ideas have risen some, Jane, since you used to live with me, and bind shoes for a living. You and Ben wouldn't have been very comfortable, I reckon, if I hadn't helped you once upon a time."
"As to that," said Mrs. Oakley, "I worked for my board. It was no great favor on your part."
"At any rate, you thought yourself lucky to get a home. Now, things are changed considerably. You are a rich woman, and—well, I'm hard up."
"You always were shiftless, Ephraim," said Mrs. Oakley, who saw what her brother was coming to.
"Shiftless!" repeated Mr. Huxter, in an injured tone. "I don't know what you call shiftless. I've been a hard-working man; but luck's never been on my side."
Mr. Huxter's nose had a suspicious redness, which seemed to indicate whiskey might have had something to do with his want of luck. This was in fact the case. If he had never made much headway, it was partly, at least, his own fault, as his sister knew well enough. But she knew also that there was very little chance of his amending in that particular, and though she gave him little encouragement by her manner, she felt that she should have to help him at last.
"How are your family?" asked Mrs. Oakley.
"Oh, about as usual. Wife's always scoldin' and complainin', and the children are fractious. I don't know what makes 'em behave so. My home aint a very happy one, that's a fact."
Mrs. Oakley knew that very well. For more than two years, when left a widow, with Ben on her hands, she had found a home in her brother's family, which proved so far from agreeable, that she finally determined to leave it, and do as well as she could for herself outside. She had been lucky enough to obtain a situation in Mr. Oakley's family as house-keeper, and this proved the starting-point of a new and prosperous career. During Mr. Oakley's life, Mr. Huxter had never been near her. This had been at Mrs. Oakley's special request. She felt that her brother was not calculated to do her any particular credit, and she had succeeded, though with some difficulty, in keeping him at a distance. She had accomplished this by an occasional present, and the distinct intimation that these would cease unless her brother should respect her wishes. Now that she was a widow, he considered that the prohibition was at an end, and had presented himself unexpectedly, and was by no means welcome.
At this moment Ben, who wished to see his mother, and was not aware of his uncle's arrival, entered the room, and, observing the shaggy appearance of the visitor, whom apparently he did not recognize, surveyed him with unconcealed contempt.