George Ludlow was introduced in a former chapter; Mrs. Fabens and her daughter discussed his character and life. They spoke of him as poor, and dependent on his own hands for a living for the family; as despised by certain young people in Summerfield who happened to stand above need; and yet as manly and capable; a lover of nature and books. I need say nothing of his person, except that he was homely to a stranger and handsome to a friend. I need say little more of his past history than this; he had labored for Fabens for a few weeks, and now a mutual regard quite ripened to affection, was rising between him and Fanny.
George well knew her worth and happy fortune; he remembered that he was poor in what the world called riches; yet, possessing a manly self-respect, he considered himself as made in no way inferior on account of his poverty; and observing that she reciprocated freely any regard he gave her, he had the boldness at last to declare his affection, and intimate the happiness it would pour into his heart and life, some day to possess her as his wife; and it was not in her will, nor in that of her parents, to return one word of discouragement; although it was an opinion of theirs, to which he freely responded, that the final decision should be deliberately weighed, and the union set over to a time at which they would be better prepared for a happy bridal and a happy life.
But the impressions left by Fairbanks on the mind of Fabens, after the conversation in the harvest field, tended only to strengthen the Squire in the opinion that his wife had misjudged the gentlemanly merchant; and to elevate Fairbanks the more in his confidence and esteem. And returning to the house that evening, Fanny remarked to her mother, that she must have judged, too hastily: "for much as I have tasked my powers of discernment," said she, "I cannot detect the first design or word, which would lead me to suspect that Mr. Fairbanks is deceptive. True, he rather addresses himself to one's self-esteem, and is open, and ardent for a comparative stranger; but it must be a manly way of his, which he forgets to hold in reserve; and I believe he is a gentleman. I am sure, too, mother, that I have not allowed myself to feel flattered by his words; nor could I ever regard him as nearer than a friend. A true friend to us I believe he is. A face expressing so much open goodness; a bearing so instinctively affable, could not belong to a bad man."
Fairbanks was too clear-sighted not to read and know the hearts with which he was making acquaintance; and his well-considered plans suffered nothing for want of diligence on his part, in being brought to a fulfilment. Nor did he stand or act alone.
Almon Frisbie was his clerk and confidant, and talked of a friendship that began long before they left the Hudson; and he was prompt at any moment to receive his counsels in sacred trust, and go on all his errands. He was ardent and unreserved in expressing his love for Fairbanks; and Fairbanks was free and fond in the good things he said of Frisbie; and the people of Summerfield were very happy with such valued acquisitions to their society; and enjoyed the pleasantest hours whenever they numbered the merchant and clerk among their guests.
Promptly at the time agreed on, Frisbie came with the money to pay for the delivered wheat-crop; paid the entire sum in Spanish milled dollars; and spent an agreeable evening, discussing character, hearing Fabens's history from before the time of his settlement there; and giving incidents of his own life, and his adventures and experiences, with Fairbanks.
It was a pleasant hour. This was the second winter they were enjoying their new house, and the change and contrast could not be forgotten. The new house stood on a gentle eminence, a quarter of a mile from the road, and within a distant view of the lake, which was beautiful in summer. There was a fine selection of all the forest trees that once flourished on the farm, in front of the house, which had been transplanted there twelve years before, in preparation of shade and beauty for the dooryard; and though their verdant honors had been shed in autumn, they reminded the hearts within of their guardian presence, by the whisperings of love they blent with the winter blast.
The house was a high story and a half, and stood thirty-five by thirty on the ground. It had a north room and south room, with bedrooms attached; it had four chambers, two large and two small, above; and a kitchen, a tea-room, and wood-house in the rear. It was painted white without, with a coal-black border on the tops of the chimneys, and had blinds of Paris green. It had white walls and oak-grained doors and casings in the south room, and white walls, doors and casings in the north room. The north room was Fanny's, and the spare bed was spread with a blue and white carpet-coverlet, spun with her own hand, and woven in Auburn prison; and it was hung with snow-white curtains, which she spun and wove. She had a stove in the north room, and a fire-board behind, covered with trees, watered with a silver lake, and stocked with a herd of deer, three of which were drinking from the lake.
In the south room was another bed; and that was hung with checkered curtains; and there was an ample fireplace; and that was the family room. There sat the company when Frisbie made his call.
Fabens was advanced in life, and yet he looked young, as if time had taken a ten years' rest. Mrs. Fabens had grown round and robust; but had not shed her blooms; while Fanny had become perfectly straight, and her hair was two shades darker; her eyes had still more lustre; her countenance still more life, and her voice still more music; while her step was more elastic, and her form was more nature.
A prodigal walnut fire glowed gloriously before them; butternuts and chestnuts were tasted, and a large dish of rosy Spitzenbergs passed around; and while Fabens and Frisbie kept up a running talk, Mrs. Fabens and Fanny enjoyed the hour, as one sat knitting fringe-mittens in the corner, and the other plied her dexterous needle piecing a bed-quilt in snow-balls by the stand; and seeming to contend with the walnut fire, which should give forth the liveliest, warming smile, and fill up all the room with the most comfort, joy, and peace.
"Yes, I have known Fairbanks, known him like a brother, since we were little boys at school," said Frisbie. "We began our A B C's together, when Mary Sanford taught school; and I remember we said, 'A,' 'B,' 'C,' 'D,' and so on, in a loud voice, both at a time. And that Mary Sanford—you did not know her, did you, Squire? She taught in the same district five years; and it was said, she impressed much of her own noble heart on her pupils (though of this, perhaps, it does not becomemeto speak;) but she married a false villain at last, and now she lives poor and deserted, they say, away out on the White Woman's Tract, beyond the Genesee river, with a family of children to support.
"And my heart has ached for many lovely girls who have thrown themselves away to such scoundrels. Her husband was brought up in the neighborhood too, and everybody thought George Lowry was a very pink of virtue. That made it seem so strange. Well, as I was going to say, Fairbanks always seemed a brother to me; and if there could be any fault in his treatment, he has trusted me too largely, and given me to share too many of his gifts and gains. But there, you never saw such a fellow in your life!"
"In what particular?" asked Fabens; while Mrs. Fabens took a quicker rock in her chair and scratched her forehead with her knitting needle; and Fanny paused from her piecing to hear.
"I mean in his confidence in men, and his free-heartedness, giving away what he has. He would share his last crust with an enemy, and he is so up and down honest himself, he believes the whole world honest and pure also."
"But he seems to be a good judge of character," said Fabens, "and I should think he would not be often deceived. I see he notices heads and dispositions pretty narrowly."
"Heis oftendeceived," said Frisbie, "and he has met losses and crosses enough to make a few of his black hairs turn white. But I tell him it's owing to his putting too much confidence in men. He thinks everybody is honest because he is. His mother used to tell him, when he was a little boy, that he would always be poor, he was so confiding and free-hearted."
"There is a good deal in that," said Fabens, "and it is very true, as I have found it. Men that can be trusted most, are commonly most trusting, while the false and guilty are always on the lookout for rogues. How is Fairbanks' business now? He has met no losses in Summerfield, I hope."
"O, no, no! I did not refer to anything that had taken place since he came to this town," said Frisbie. "Of all the world, this is just the place for Fairbanks, and I tell him so. Where all are honest as one's self, there can be no trouble. He never was doing so well, by half, as now, I dare say. His business is large already, and his collections are remarkably prompt. They seem here to like him, about as well as he likes them."
"He seems to attend to his business pretty closely; I like that in him," said Fabens.
"Attend to business? Ay! if you could see all the time, how he attends to business, Squire; how he searches and foots his legers every day," said Frisbie; "how he keeps things moving and straight, and pays his notes before they come due, you would say he could not help prospering, and you would back him for any amount he would ask. But, here, it is nine o'clock, already, and I must face this cold storm, that has come up since I came."
"Don't hurry away yet," said Fabens. "There is nothing to call you home. Stay all night, we will be glad to have you, and you shall have an early start in the morning."
"O, Imust go to-night," said Frisbie, and he took his cloak, and concluded the conversation—"I must go to-night. I told Fairbanks, I would be home before ten, and he knows what to depend on. We keep our word with each other. Come over and see us, Squire. We have a fine room fitted up now, in the store, where we can entertain our friends. Fairbanks isalwaysglad to see you. He thinks Squire Fabens about east, and his family too! He would feel more freedom to visit you, if you would call on him oftener. I never saw a man who thought more of seeing his friends. And so far from home as we are, you must remember that our friends here stand in the place of the absent and dear."
Frisbie departed, and Fabens expressed the liking he had taken to the fellow, and the increased esteem he must confess for Fairbanks.
"I am sure," said Fanny, laying aside her work, but not her smiles, that outshone the walnut fire, nor that presence of blissful life, that filled up all the warm room; "I am sure, there cannot be much deception in them. We would detect it in some way, if there was."
"Do you esteem either of them as you do George Ludlow?" asked Mrs.Fabens.
"No, I do not in all respects," answered Fanny. "My esteem for him, as for them, increases. And the way the Faddle girls treat George, makes me think all the more of him, and desire to make him happy. Then I admire his sentiments and tastes, and his love of labor. Still I would be glad to number Mr. Fairbanks and Mr. Frisbie among my friends. Was the man named Lowry or Ludry that he said married his teacher? It sounded so much like Ludlow, it startled me."
"It was Lownsly, Lowry, or something like it," answered Mrs. Fabens.—"There are some things which seem fair, and even generous in them, it is true. And Fairbanks has a way of looking very meek and innocent; and one of two things is certain: he must be unacquainted with the world, and incapable of a thought of deception, or else he is an arch and dissembling rogue. But there are some expressions about his eyes that I cannot like; and I think there is a little blarney about them both. I may be wrong; I hope I am, and if I am, that I may be forgiven. It is unpleasant to be haunted by these suspicions. But there, I could help breathing as well."
Upon this, Fabens went to his barn to look after his cattle and see if any would be likely to suffer in the storm; and finding all in comfortable quarters, he returned, saying, "I wish I could know that everybody in the world had as happy a home as we have to-night. I could then rest more warmly and sweetly. It is bitter cold night, and I fear many will suffer. I am glad I made the wood-bee for poor Troffater. His family can have the comfort of warm fires this winter. The neighbors turned out well, and a good big pile of beech and maple lies at his door. I shall sleep better for that."
They enjoyed their devotions, Fabens praying that God would bless His beloved poor, and all who were suffering and needy; while He kept their own hearts from unjust judgments, from deception and evil; and they were soon wrapped warmly and well in the slumbers of the night.
Not another month expired before Fairbanks paid a visit to Squire Fabens, and conversed a whole evening on topics that could not but interest the family; and Mrs. Fabens confessed he had never appeared so well to her mind before; and that if there were art and insinuation in his manner that time, it was so skilfully managed and deeply concealed she could not discover it.
Still something impressed her with the conviction that it would be quite as well not to rely too much on his integrity, until he was better known; and by no large trusts committed to his honor, to tempt him to an act of vice. But Fabens and Fanny could harbor no suspicions; while for the latter, Fairbanks showed more regard on this occasion than would have been compatible with a knowledge of her engagement to Ludlow, and respect for the sanctity of plighted love. Still, it appeared his unthinking way of indulging hearty friendship; and indeed it rather augmented than diminished Fanny's regard for him.
When about to return, Fairbanks remarked that he had been engaged beyond present preparations in the purchase of produce of late, and had expended more of his money than he calculated in the beginning; and if the Squire would lend him fifty dollars he should have it back again in a fortnight. The money was handed him without hesitation; and just a week from that time, Frisbie came and paid it, saying that Fairbanks always felt distressed when he could not take up his notes, and pay borrowed money before he agreed to. He spent another evening; and among other questions, he inquired, in an innocent way, if they knew George Ludlow.
"We know him very well. Why, what of him?" returned Fabens.
"O, nothing," answered Frisbie; "nothing. I happened to think of him just now; that is all. I believe Fairbanks saw him for the first time in your harvest-field last summer. He would not have remembered it, if Ludlow had not had occasion to mention the circumstance in connection with another affair the other day."
"Then you have seen something of him, have you?" inquired Fabens.
"O, but little, sir, very little indeed," said Frisbie. "He came the other day to trade out a due-bill, and—I believe Fairbanks is well enough satisfied about him now. We were not certain that you knew him very well."
"There was no difficulty with him, I presume?" said Fabens, not indifferently.
"O, no, nothing of any consequence whatever; nothing that we would breathe abroad, or wish to remember," said Frisbie, with a meekened look.
"May I ask if anything dishonorable on his part?" inquired Fabens. "We have supposed him one of our best young men—one of theverybest in town; and we have known him from a child."
"I am sorry I mentioned his name: I see it disturbs you," said Frisbie. "I would not weaken one's confidence in another for anything in the world—unless I had the weightiest reason. And this was nothing of importance, for one of his friends to know."
"But maywenot know it, and be relieved of our anxiety?" askedFabens, with rising emotion.
"Why,—yes, I would as liefyouwould know it as not," said Frisbie. "Youwill say it was a trifling affair, and little worth minding after all. Hundreds of young men do the same, and never repeat it, and are just as well thought of, too, by a good many people. Temptations lie in wait to ensnare us all; and the greatest wonder is, not that now and then one becomes criminal, but that so many people, good as you and I, Squire Fabens, do not oftener step aside from virtue's way."
"But we thought George Ludlow the last to be tempted. He is certainly a most respectable young man. His very looks bespeak an innocent heart. I seldom meet him without desiring to exclaim as Jesus did at the approach of young Nathanael—'Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile!' And then he is so industrious and regular," said Fabens warmly.
"I am very glad you think and feel as you do. It is truly refreshing to witness such confidence in men. And I told Fairbanks that George looked as though he worked hard, and wanted to be respected."
"But tell me, what of his error, Mr. Frisbie? I insist upon knowing."
"You shall know, Squire Fabens. I would as liefyouwould know as not; you will not breathe it where it can hurt Ludlow. You know we are bound to lift up the fallen—not to crush them."
"But he has not fallen, I hope! What was his error?"
"Do not let it trouble you, Squire, do not let it trouble you at all. I think just as much of him, far's I know, as ever I did. The crime—if crimeyouwould call it, is this: he came to our store to trade out a due-bill, as I said, and after he had gone, we missed a pocket-handkerchief."
"He or some one else may have taken it by mistake," interrupted Mrs.Fabens, rocking her chair in agitation.
"That is very likely, as I told Fairbanks," said Frisbie. "And it is best for us to think so. We had better judge ten guilty persons innocent, than condemn one innocent man. It was asilkpocket-handkerchief; and as it lay on the counter just before he left, Fairbanks thought Ludlow must have taken it; and following him over to the tailor's shop, where he left his bundle, I opened it, and found a handkerchief, just like ours, wadded up and tucked into one end of the wrapping paper.Littlethings sometimes indicate more than we wish to believe. But then he looked a little honest, when he came in, and said he knew not how on earth it got there."
"I don't believe he did know," said Fabens. "How easy it would have been for you; or whoever put up the goods, to have put that in by mistake."
"Just so I told Fairbanks," said Frisbie; "and it must have got there in some such way. It was crumpled up so, my first thought was that it was tucked in by stealth. I inquired of our new customer, Captain Troffater—I believe they call him Captain, I very confidentially named the circumstance to him, and he said itmightbe a mistake of ours; but he did not know about it, and it was best for merchants to keep a sharp lookout, when they did not know who was in their store. But there, as—"
"I will not believe George stole it," interrupted Fabens earnestly. "He is incapable of such an act; and it is much more reasonable to believe it was done up by mistake."
"I have brought home things several times in that way, and nobody suspectedImeant to steal," said Mrs. Fabens. "The clerks confessed their hurry, and their liability to make mistakes, when I returned them."
"We do make such mistakes too often, as I told Fairbanks; and it must be he took it in that way," concluded Frisbie. "At any rate, I had rather believe so, and have youallbelieve so, than believe him guilty. I am sure I would not harm the fellow; and I would not weaken your confidence in him. I am always so grieved myself to know that a person is not as good as I believed him to be, I would not attempt to convince any one of confidence misplaced for the world—unless I had the weightiest reason. Yet, I confess it grieves me still more to see confiding people deceived, they feel so bad after it."
Upon this, Frisbie rose and repeated his invitation to Fabens, to go over and see them, saying, as he left the door, that "he hoped Fairbanks would not be an old bachelor always, but get him a good wife, and have a home, and live like somebody, that ladies and gentlemen might visit him. But what do you think he says, when I jog him on the subject? That there is only one girl in Summerfield he could like well enough to marry, and I point in a certain direction, and tell him I can guess who he means!
"Fairbanks is getting notional like all old bachelors. His mother taught him some of it. She thought so much of him when she kept house for him on the Hudson, she dared not let him stay away from home over night, for fear he would have the croup.
"He grows more and more particular in his choice of friends, and sets a higher and higher mark for the young lady of his choice. I tell him he is too particular. But he must have his notions; and I will say this for Fairbanks, whoever gets him, will get a prize worth setting her cap for. His mother always said, if he hadn't a happy and loving home, it wouldn't be his fault."
Frisbie left, and while Fanny's quince-blossom blushes all rallied to her cheeks and mounted to her forehead at the allusion in his last words, they all wondered why any one could suspect George Ludlow of crime, on evidence so trivial; and they thought none the less of him, or the merchant, or the clerk.
In the course of a few weeks, Fairbanks and Frisbie came again, and Fairbanks borrowed a hundred dollars, spent a pleasant evening, and evinced a still warmer regard for Fanny Fabens. A week before the money was to be paid, he returned and said, he had it all with him, and if the Squire wished to make immediate use of it he would insist on paying it over; at the same time intimating the great obligation it would confer on him to permit him the use of it a few weeks longer; getting an extension of time till he could return from New York, and obtaining the loan of Fabens' note, payable to his order at the bank, for a hundred and fifty dollars.
Before the time of extension expired, the borrowed money was paid, with interest urged, and a few handsome presents to Fanny and Mrs. Fabens, for the accommodation. And on being well assured that the note at the bank had been taken up, and the signature cancelled, Fabens loaned him another note for two hundred and fifty dollars.
In two months more, other elegant presents were made to Fanny and Mrs. Fabens, and Fairbanks and Frisbie, together, as a token of their particular and high esteem, presented Fabens a superb cane, of a limb from the Liberty Tree, as they said, then waving on Boston Common; richly mounted with silver, bearing his name, and the names of the generous donors, on a silver eagle, set in the ivory head; with appropriate inscriptions, and all polished like the smoothest glass.
"This gift," said Squire Fabens, so touched with emotion, he faltered and hemmed in his speech, "this gift kindles a warm spot under my vest here," laying his hand on his heart. "A gift always affects me, if it is ever so small. And this, gentlemen, isreallya handsome giftindeed. I have no words to express my thanks."
"Thanks would only burden us the more, as we have been the most obliged," said Fairbanks, with his blandest bow, and meekest smile; and other kind words were spoken, and confident assurances repeated; and another note obtained for three hundred dollars. During that delightful visit, in words employed with the most winning selection, Fairbanks and Frisbie said so much to the Squire about his credit abroad, about the favorable development of his head for a mercantile life, about the advantages which he knew merchants always had over farmers, about the pleasures of store-keeping, the opportunity of visiting New York frequently, and making honorable acquaintances there and elsewhere, and several other desirable objects, that when alone in the field, they proposed to him to come with them into a grand copartnership of the name of "Fairbanks, Frisbie and Fabens," and assume all the business of Summerfield; he was actually taken with agreeable surprise, his head growing giddy, as by some irresistible charm; and he looked upon the farmer's life and labor, as the life and labor of a drudge; glanced forth upon visions of opulence, honor and ease; and hoped to put away, without too much sacrifice, his stony acres, and enter upon that high and tempting course.
His mind wandered and returned, as between sleeping and waking. He remembered, at last, what Julia would be likely to say, if informed immediately, and in full, of the scheme. He remembered how diligently she had wrought, how prudently managed, to help him to his handsome property. He knew with what affection she regarded that home and farm, and every fruit-tree, and shade-tree and sugar-maple; every flower-bed, and herb-bank, and rose-tree and vine; every comfort and convenience around them; and how it might wring her heart, and how Fanny might weep to see the old homestead go to another; and he concluded, it was best on the whole, to take time for reflection, and if at last he determined to sell, and become a merchant, he would let his family know but little of his plan at a time, and prepare them gradually, as Fairbanks considerately advised, to incline to his will, and consent to try the change.
Before the end of another week, and before Fabens had decided on their proposition, Frisbie came again for the loan of another note, of three hundred dollars, and left, saying, "they were perfectly willing he should take his own time, to make up his mind about coming into the new firm; that this note should be looked after and paid as promptly as all the others had been, and he would find that John Fairbanks as clever a fellow as ever dealt with him."
The last assurance of Frisbie was indeed very kind, but unnecessary; for Squire Fabens was well convinced before the last visit, that Fairbanks was all he had been represented to be; and that conviction rose from a simple and cool opinion to a warm and loving faith, when he considered all the gifts they gave; the generous solicitations, which merchants but seldom extended to farmers; and the liberty they allowed him, to take his own time and look the matter carefully over.
It was a mean suspicion, he thought, which could longer fear deception. Had it been their design to deceive, why all that frankness; that fair and candid proposing; that trusting to his own mind to weigh, and his own time to return an answer? Villains would have been more exacting in their terms, and briefer in their plans and proposals. Villains would have talked in a lower tone, attempted to hurry him to agreements, and hastened the signing and sealing. With those gentlemen, all was generous, candid, moderate, indulgent; and even if he concluded not to accept their magnanimous offer, he should always remember the kindness in which it was made.
A whole week was before him; yes, two or three weeks if he wanted it, to weigh the proposal and return an answer. He gave his whole mind to it, and a week was found sufficient for the deliberation. During that week he seemed to live many years of a life, wide and wonderful; stirring and instinct with actions, incidents and scenes; a life and possessions, progressive as the rise of day, and rapid as the bloom of springtime. It was a week of Castle Building. The days of the week introduced a succession of views that swept in action and speech before him like the scenes of a thrilling drama.
In that store, he saw himself, now moving in the press of business; now examining their posted legers; and now seated in the comfortable counting-room, counselling on their growing concerns, or conversing with an old friend, or neighbor, as the smooth pine whittlings rolled like ribbons from his hand; and now on the back piazza, enjoying the air and prospect.
It was a happy change. It was all shaded sweetly from the intolerable sun; it was more stirring than farm work; it was more gentle, and suited to his years. It was cleanly; and his cool linen wristbands would keep all the week as snowy white as Julia had done them; while she would have lighter washings, and more leisure time.
It was a profitable change. Money was made faster there, Not that his soul was on fire with a passion for money; he loved money less than most of his neighbors; he was free and manly with his money as you would not find ten in a thousand. Still, honest gains were pleasant to him; the amount he had accumulated somehow prompted a desire for more; and in a store he could gain faster, and in larger amounts, and perhaps retire in a few years, from all business, more independent than now, enjoy the satisfaction of giving more gracious charities, and dispensing sweeter reliefs; and settling a handsomer sum on Fanny when she married, and again when he died.
It was an honorable change. Say what they would, farmers looked up to merchants, and considered their own avocation inferior. Many farmers honored merchants more than those of their own sphere, and would be glad to be merchants themselves. As he moved about that store, or whittled in that counting-room, or sat on that back piazza, and took of the cool summer breeze, fresh kisses of beauty borne up from the laughing lake, he would still be called Squire Fabens, but it would come with more emphasis and meaning than now, while delving in the vulgar soil.
His eyes were still more pleased, and there flocked around his heart sensations of more exalted bliss. The chances of his fortune were very large, and sure; but he would feel rich on a quarter of what would be required in older sections, and in cities. If he could have ten thousand dollars, and a clear conscience and good name left, he would feel richer than many with a million. He would be rich enough, and thank no man for more. No man ought to accumulate more. With that fortune he could settle down, in the pleasantest home.
That home rose before him in the scene. It stood fronting the village green. It supported its piazza and Paris green blinds, and was white and modest in all appearance. It was a two-story house of course, for a story and a half would look too much like a squatter's home, in a village; yet it was not over large. A large house would give Mrs. Fabens too much care and work, and she would not have a servant to wait on her. The house was just suited to his family. It was furnished neatly but prudently; having a sofa indeed, and one large mirror; but brick fireplaces, frugal lamps, a plain carpet in the parlor, and maple chairs with simple flag-seats.
In that home, how much comfort he could take when his friends gave him calls; when Fanny and her children came home on a visit, and when some poor weary mendicant entered for shelter, alms and rest! To that home he could retire in a few years, free from the cares of business, anxious for nothing, but the good of his neighbors, still young in his heart, and fresh in all his feelings to enjoy life's blessing and peace.
Mrs. Fabens could be lady of a handsomer home, and perhaps persuaded to keep a servant or two, and take some comfort in her old age. His first object should be to force happiness on her; for a better wife never blest a devoted husband. Mrs. Fabens should be urged to extend the sphere of her enjoyments, and Fanny should be well provided for. He would try for twenty thousand. Then a larger house could be built, and a good horse and carriage attend at the door.
That sum was accumulated, and that home and its opulent comforts and equipage rose in the scene. He was glad he possessed it. The poorest of his friends, the most humble of his fellows were welcome as ever there, and he was happier, showing how a rich man could unbend, and how much more was in his power to bless them.
Now he could travel some. Neither he nor his family has seen anything of the world at all, and he would take them around to see it. They should go to Saratoga a week, thence to Albany, thence to New York, and Philadelphia. Perhaps they would go through the country in their own private carriage, taking all the comfort of the journey. It would be grand to visit Niagara, and bring home in their souls the sublimity of the falls. May be they would go to Boston, and set their feet on Bunker-hill, where his father fought in the Revolution; and if he should ever be honored with a seat in the Legislature, or in Congress, he would take his family with him, for he could do it as well as not.
He wondered why he should have taken it into his head to build his house in the village, where he could not turn himself without knocking his elbows, and where he could get no good views of nature, and hardly land enough for a patch of green grass to spread-out washings on.
Judge Garlock had a country-seat overlooking the Cayuga, scarcely a bow-shot from the pebbly shore, and he must have one too. He sells his village home, purchases ten acres on a gentle and beautiful slope, builds him a splendid house, with polished marble mantels, with cornices, centre-pieces, and folding-doors, furnished in several rooms with mahogany chairs and sofas, with ottomans and divans; the large parlor graced with a fine piano, for Fanny and her sweet daughters, when they shall come home; and his lovely acres are made more lovely by a profusion of trees, circles and lines of white pebble walk, pink-beds and tulips; and flourish not long without a deer-park and duck-pond, as symbols of ancient times.
And how his heart leaps with delight as he beholds that home in contrast with the old ones, and imagines the comfort they will find there. Not the wet grass, or slumping soil of a farm, but the white pebble path of a villa will he now tread, as he goes forth to enjoy the morning and the night. And while he is out, if he chooses not to sit down in his summer-house, and read, or look over his last paper, under one of his maples, and has nothing else to busy his thoughts, and no one to share his company, he can fling corn to his ducks in the pool, and feed his gentle deer, delighting to see them enjoy his care.
Who has not a right to build as handsome a house as money will buy? He cannot withdraw his eyes from the charming scene! He retires and returns again and again, to linger and look upon it. The clear and cool Cayuga shines beyond, as if hung for a mirror to reflect it; and he sees the whole magnificent estate, the house and its terraces, the grounds and trees, the walks and waters, the ducks and deers; even the tulips and pinks, as plainly in its placid splendor, as you can see the sun in the silver sky.
But he must turn, at least to breathe, for the fifth scene opens. Still he remains a member of the firm of Fairbanks, Frisbie and Fabens. Still at times he is seen in the store, waiting on customers, when the others are absent, sitting now and then in the counting-room to counsel or converse, or enjoying a cool hour on the back piazza. Still he is very happy, yet not quite satisfied.
He has run upon the idea that a high-school is wanted in Summerfield, and that he cannot more nobly enhance his happiness than by establishing a school of the first class, in a building erected for the purpose, endowing it amply, and making a present of it to the town. Ten thousand dollars more could easily be made, and it would enable him to do that very handsome thing for Summerfield.
In comes the money without effort, and without delay; the school is established on a pleasant eminence, in full view of his mansion, and it makes a fine ornament to the place; while he finds it a pleasant sight indeed, to see talented young men, and accomplished young women, going forth from Fabens' Academy, to improve society, and ennoble their own life with learning, and graceful manners and ways.
And while revelling in this new source of joy, his fortune continues to grow, and the sixth scene opens. It will be thought a novel enterprise in that community, and he is prepared for it, and even for a few sneers and witticisms; but these will not move him at all, and he resolves to build a meeting-house, and call a pastor, and settle a salary upon him. He has always supported Elder Darling's meeting—the Elder is an excellent man, and he will continue to support him; but he is not perfectly suited with the Elder's preaching; it wants heartier life, and a more evangelical power and effect; and he knows of many who hunger for a gospel of larger faith and charity; which shall feed and refresh the people, and raise their aims and views; which shall identify religion more with a pure and benevolent character; which shall not be sectarian; and, free from cant and vain pretension, shall enter into every-day life, and make smiles its hymns, and deeds of good its prayers. Such a minister can be procured, such a church established. He can establish it himself, and not mind the cost. He will do it, and ask no man's assistance. Up goes a beautiful church as there is in all the country, and on comes the eloquent preacher; and full meetings, and joyful seasons follow. If ever he was a man of perfect happiness, it is now.
And what can prevent the continuance of his bliss? The evangelical gospel sounds sweeter than ever in his ears. New interpretations of Scripture enlighten him, and higher views of God and heaven open like elysium around. And can anything, out of heaven, flood his heart with a fuller satisfaction, than on a still, bright, silent Sunday, such as God gives in holiest beauty only to the country, to ride in his carriage to that lovely church, which nestles like a white dove in among the hills, and hear preaching that will fatten his soul with celestial manna-dew, exchange warm greetings with hundreds who thank him for the privilege they enjoy at his hand, and ride home, rejoicing all the way, to be the agent by which a door is opened for light and truth in a new region?
His happiness continues to flow. All his reasonable expectations are fulfilled, and he seems to live longer in a single day, on a single Sunday now, than he once did in a twelvemonth; it makes him so happy to know he has made many others happy. But with the increase of fortune, comes the increase of desire, and he finds another thing lacking; a new project leaps into his mind, and the last scene opens.
There are a great many poor people in Summerfield. Several causes have combined to make them poor. Most of them are very worthy, and have interesting children. All of them are God's sons and daughters, and should not pine in want and grief amid so much wealth and country. If a Poor Man's Home were established on a large and productive farm, and put under judicious management, how much suffering might be alleviated! How many aged heads lie down on soft pillows of peace! How many aged hearts, unburdened of grief, and made to run over with flowing tears of gratitude! How many of the disabled and unfortunate, placed beyond reach of want and misery! How many bright children snatched from the errors and temptations that lurk in the way of poverty, and clothed and educated in virtues and lessons, that would place them on a footing with rich men's children, and lead them to lives of usefulness and honor! How many orphans provided for, and how many widows made to sing in their hearts for joy!
He has means sufficient to do most of the building himself, and endow the Home; and with a little help from others, the institution is completed; and he sees bright glancing wings of joy hovering at doors where grief has been a constant guest; Comfort wiping tears from eyes long accustomed to weep; and Virtue and Knowledge leading large processions of rescued children on their heavenward way. He is rich and happy as he can hope or desire to be on earth, and he lies down to sweet dreams on the last night of his Week of Castle Building, and with those dreams the visions of affluence close.
During that memorable week, while those splendid scenes of fortune passed his view as on a rolling panorama, there were moments when Fabens felt that the scheme was too magnificent to contemplate alone, and Mrs. Fabens and Fanny ought at once to be admitted to the blissful secret, and participate his joy. Then again, he happened to remember Julia's love for the old home, and her questioning, slow-footed caution, and he refrained from a disclosure.
But he could not refrain from sounding her mind a little, as he returned from the field for his meals, to ascertain if his own dreams could possibly be too extravagant, and if there were any hope of a consent from her, provided in the end he should have an earnest desire to accept the tempting offer. He asked her several questions of considerable meaning to himself, which she answered, with little suspicion of the thoughts that lay concealed beneath the surface of the words.
"Our fields never looked more beautiful to me, not even in June, than they have for a few days now of this lovely weather," said Mrs. Fabens, gazing from her favorite window upon the rich landscape in view, on the first day of the Week of Reality.
"We are somewhat retired, and cannot see a great distance north or east from the house, but what we can see is so bound up with all my dearest feelings and pleasantest thoughts, I would not change it away for more pretending views from new situations. I love to look at our east woods very well; and the hill pasture; and the orchard in blossom is a charming sight, and more charming still when tossing the yellow pippins to the sun, as in this pleasant breeze."
"You think the old farm is pretty near the centre of the world, I suppose," said Fabens.
"It holds my heart as if balanced on the world's centre," replied Mrs.Fabens.
"And nothing would tempt you to leave it? not even a larger house, or nearer sights of lovely water, or pleasanter walks?"
"No, indeed!"
"But, you always thought Judge Garlock's place very handsome."
"O, it is handsome to look at as you pass; it is nearer the lake than ours; and no doubt it is the dearest spot on earth to Mrs. Garlock, she has lived there so long; but I would not leave this place for that."
"But you forget her splendid house, her white pebble walks, her grounds looking like an Eden; and—"
"No doubt they are very dear to her, but I would not exchange houses, or grounds, or gardens, or sights with her."
"Not if we had more money, to live as they do!"
"No! not for a house full of silver dollars."
"Not to have such a splendid view from your door and windows of the silver-breasted lake, and the grand old hills beyond?"
"Hardly, if the river Jordan rolled there, and Canaan bloomed opposite; though I always thought that would be the loveliest sight on earth. But what are you talking about, Matthew? do we not see the lake from our house, and the hills, too, beyond?"
"Only from a distance."
"'Distance lends enchantment to the view,' as Fanny's poet sings."
"Only in little patches; and they are dull, and without interest, unless the sun happens to shine. But would you not like to live there if I was a merchant or lawyer; and had given a school, a church, and hospital to the town, and grand folks were flocking from all quarters to visit us?"
"No, I would not, as true as I live and breathe; not if you were King George, and kings and queens were flocking to see you. Nothing but Heaven would tempt me to change away the old home; we have taken so much comfort here. It seems a part and parcel of myself. I would as soon think of changing you off for Merchant Fairbanks, because he may be called a little handsomer, and goes dressed up like a lord every day about his dainty store. I would as soon think of selling Fanny, and buying Desdemona Faddle to fill Fanny's place, just because she has a mess of dangling curls, and paints her face, and wears more rings and flounces."
"How you do talk! That would be quite a different thing; wouldn't it,Fanny?"
"No, father, I think mother is right. I'm sure I never can love another home as I love this. I should feel dreadfully to hear you talk of selling. I never could love another home."
"Not if you had George there, to increase your happiness?"
"Another home to call father's and mother's I mean; where I could return and enjoy all the old things that are grown so fast to my heart. But why do you talk so, father?"
"That I was going to ask. You have no intention of leaving here, I hope, and whydoyou talk so? You act wild."
"You began the talk, Julia, and I was seeing to what a stretch you would carry your feelings. But here, it is time I was out in the field at the plough again, and I will leave you now, to think it all over, and see if there is nothing on earth that would tempt you to sell the old home."
A drop of cold water, or the slightest shake will interrupt the reallest seeming dream; and half of this conversation would have brought Fabens out of what but a day before seemed a splendid reality. He went to his plough in the light of his awakened senses, and walked all the way on the actual, sober ground. His gorgeous air castles vanished like a train of fleeting clouds. A walk in the dirty furrow seemed long before night, a very pleasant and refreshing pastime; and he shuddered with shame more than once to think he had been so extravagant in many of the thoughts, that were set afloat by the merchant's offer. He came to himself that afternoon; and sitting down to tea, with a glance first at the north meadow and the white ash shade-trees blooming there; then at the east woods and orchard; then at the blue fringes of the mountains lifted sublimely before him in the south; then at the crystal Cayuga in the west and the green hills sleeping beyond; he exclaimed, "I must agree with you, Julia; we have views from our doors and windows as handsome as any I know of, and the old farm still looks very good to me."
During that afternoon, however, Mrs. Fabens had been thinking of Fairbanks and Frisbie, and it occurred to her that they might have said something to her husband about selling his farm; and from that, her mind returned to the borrowed notes. It had been her expressed desire that he would not contract a liability for any one, of more than fifty dollars, without security; and now she felt painfully curious to know, if the former notes loaned had been all taken up, why they had not been brought to her husband, that he might positively know that his liability had ceased. But Fabens was so magnanimous he had thought it unmanly to ask security of the merchant, or distrust the assurances of men who had dealt so handsomely as they.
She wondered she had not remembered to inquire about the old notes before, and was troubled till she could ask the question. At night she introduced the subject. "It may be all right," said she, "but something keeps whispering to me, that trouble awaits us. We have a comfortable property, as much as anybody ought to desire I know, but we have all worked hard and honestly to get it, and it would be hard to be defrauded of a hundred dollars. I would rather give all we can spare to the poor and needy, than to be defrauded of it."
"I confess to you, mother, what till this week I never felt," said Fanny with emotion; "I begin to lose confidence. I fear father is deceived. I don't like their coming so often. I don't like the way they make so many presents. I don't like their asking for so many notes, and I have heard too much of what begins to sound like flattery. Oh, I hope father will not have trouble!"
"Ihope too, that I shall not have trouble," said Fabens with rising agitation; "but you seem to wake me out of a singular dream. WhathaveI been doing? Why have I given them power so to deceive and defraud me, if they chance to have the wicked will? I must go and see if all is well. I fear, I fear they deceived me! What have I done?"
Early the next morning Fabens set off to see Fairbanks. He designed first to inquire if Fairbanks had preserved, and could produce the old notes represented as paid, and next ascertain whether the last one left him liable; and in his anxiety, and the wakefulness of his reason and judgment, he gave no thought to the idea of quitting his fine old farm for a merchant's life, except to wonder how such an idea had been permitted to enter his head. A cool hour's ride brought him to the village where Fairbanks traded, and his fears were in no wise relieved, by finding the store still closed, and failing to obtain an answer to his rap and call.
He stepped over to the tailor's shop across the way, and there he was informed that the store was closed by a sheriff the day before, on an old judgment from New York, and there were not goods enough on hand to cancel the liability. That the neighborhood was all in excitement, for astonishing things had come to light. That Fairbanks had obtained money at the banks in considerable amounts on the endorsements of several citizens; and still was owing for two or three crops of wheat and other produce; besides leaving a large board bill unsettled; horse hire, cigar and liquor bills, and hired help unpaid; and with Frisbie had left the town, no doubt, never to return!
"WhatshallI do?—Can it be possible?—Can I believe it? You amaze me! How they did deceive me!" were the answers of Fabens to each unwelcome item of this news.
"Then they run away in your debt, too, did they, Square?" asked the tailor, as he finished the hurried tale of recent disclosures. "If he's in debt to you, you've a plenty of company. A good many were took in by the rascals. I begun to smell the rat after it was too late. Each of 'em owes me now for a suit of Sunday clothes. When I set pressing 'em off at midnight, I little thought they would be run-away suits, and I was working so hard for nothing. But I must pocket the loss, I suppose, and comfort me, remembering this is the first time a rascal has bit me. How much did they owe you, Square, considerable?"
"I know not as I can say positively, that they owe me anything," said Fabens, as soon as he could crowd in a word of reply to the talkative tailor's question; "but it must be, I shall lose by them. I loaned my note to Fairbanks, a few weeks agony [Transcriber's note: ago, agone?]—my note at the bank for three hundred dollars. I expect I shall have that to pay, and I know not how much more."
"Why, of all things! they've bit you hard, you may depend!" exclaimed the astonished tailor.
"Is it possible that they are such deceivers?" asked Fabens, in an agony of grief.
"They are dreadful creatures; there's no mistake about that, I guess," said the tailor.
"But they always looked honest and friendly," said Fabens.
"And so can old Bill Shazzar, and old Bill Zebub, look honest and friendly too, when they want to come it on a fellow," said the tailor.
"Who next can we trust?" exclaimed Fabens, wounded as deeply by the deception as by the loss. "Where was my reason? Where were my senses all this while? Why didn't I take my wife's advice, when she gave it with tears in her eyes? I dread to go to the bank and see how matters are."
Before Fabens left town for Auburn, to inquire at the bank, concerning his paper, an officer of the bank met him, having been to his house, and followed him here, and he disclosed the fact that Fabens was liable for a thousand dollars, not one of the old notes having been paid. "My worst fears are realized!" cried Fabens, the cold sweat starting out in beads on his forehead.
"Why was I so heedless? And is this all right, sir? Could you not have warned me of my danger before it went so far? You must have known that something was going wrong in that fellow's affairs; and why was I kept in the dark to this hour?"
He was answered that the villains had managed so adroitly, they did not suspect deception, till too late. "But we are not at all alarmed, Squire Fabens, concerning the amount for which you are liable to us," said the gentleman. "Weknowyou are good and honest. We will give you all reasonable time to cancel the notes. I regret sincerely, that you have met such a loss, Squire Fabens. But there, a farmer should never be liable for a trader. Let farmers endorse each other if they will; they know each other's risks and resources. But they know little of the risks and insecurities of trade, and less of the chances of deception connected with it, and they should never endorse for traders, or loan their notes. Hundreds of fine farms go in this way to pay other people's debts."
"But must my farm go to pay those notes?" asked Fabens, turning still whiter in the face, and sweating almost blood. "Myfarm, that I have worked so hard for? my comfortable home? Must it go, and leave us destitute now as old age comes in sight? It is hard to think of these things. And what will my poor wife say? and how can she endure this trouble? I will pay the notes, if it takes all I have, and the coat from my back, in the bargain; but I beg you don't sue me. I never was sued in my life. Don't injure my character, or make me unnecessary cost."
Everything proved just as they informed him, and he went home heavy-hearted, to relate what he had heard. Mrs. Fabens and Fanny were deeply grieved by the thought, that he stood so largely liable on Fairbanks' account. But they bore the shock with a composure, which comforted Fabens greatly; and such hopefulness had ever been the blessing of them all, before another week, they had nearly recovered from the first agitation, and begun to contrive how they should manage to make the best of the misfortune.
It was nothing against their firm religious faith in overruling Good, nor against their fortitude, or self-reliance, to say that at first they yielded to agitations and griefs. It would have been unnatural in them not to be moved. For the present it was a calamity which they must suffer. Their old farm was dear to them, every acre of it. To its woods and waters; to its fine pastures and green meadows; its generous fruit-trees and grateful shade-trees, they were tenderly attached, looking upon them with family affection; and how could an item of that sweet home be spared? They doubted not but God would control the event for good; but it could not displease him to behold this feeling in his children. How could they adjust their faith to the event and be resigned so suddenly? It was hard to bear the stroke. It cut to the tender quick, and they shuddered and wept. It was hard to think the unworthy should be agents, to bring the disguised blessing which would follow such a woe. Hard to be deceived by those in whom so many confided with such pure and magnanimous trust.
But they were not immoderate in their grief. The deception might have been deeper, and the loss more alarming and great. And then what was their grief at that hour, compared with the misery that must gnaw at the hearts of the deceivers, as inseparable from their guilt. What gift in the wide world would tempt them to exchange places with the wretched creatures? What a thorny road of perdition must their way of life be! How they must whiten and gasp, and what poignant pangs must thrill them through and through when they remembered their villainous deeds!
And then they remembered how thankful they should be, that the designs of the criminals on Fanny had failed even of their first success, while they wept to hear of the shame in which more than one poor victim had been left; that they lost no confidence in George Ludlow; and none of their family had been made less virtuous by them.
Fabens remembered his schemes of benevolence, and his project of a new church and minister, without regret; but he crimsoned with blushing shame, as he confessed the foolish idea to which they forced him to listen, in regard to selling the old homestead and becoming a merchant. "Just as though it could be possible for us to be as happy as we are, in another sphere of life!" said he. "What in the world do I want to make me happy and respectable, except more faith and goodness, and the means to confer more good, that I did not possess before the scoundrels came? I wonder that Matthew Fabens allowed them to make him such a silly fool!" But it was long before he told them the dreams he indulged in his Week of Castle Building.
They counselled together: with returning resignation and confidence, they counselled.
"A thousand dollars!—athousand!" said Fabens, with a long-drawn sigh. "That is a large debt for me to owe—a large one! I must see how I can settle it. I cannot bear to be in debt, even on another's account. I must not sit down and give up. I cannot rest very well till I do something to square it. He said they wouldn't sue me. I never was sued, and I could not bear to be. But I have only about a hundred dollars, and where can I raise the rest? The debt is a round thousand in all."
"I do not know. It really looks dark before us after all," said Mrs. Fabens. "A thousand dollars does not grow on every bush. I see no way, but a slice of the farm must go, and a pretty large slice too; and that will be very hard. How much is the whole farm worth?"
"It ought to fetch six thousand, five hundred," said Fabens. "Six thousand I've been offered for it, time and again."
"I cannot bear to part with an inch of the farm—it is so dear to us," said Mrs. Fabens.
"How can we part with a rood or a tree," asked Fanny, with a sigh. "Every tree seems one of the family, and every rood has transferred a picture of its beauty to our hearts."
"But something must be done to wipe off the thousand dollars. The hundred on hand will help; and where shall I raise the rest? They may sue me, and sacrifice double the amount, if they have to wait too long," said Fabens.
"O well, we shall have enough left after paying the thousand," saidMrs. Fabens. "Any one will loan you nine hundred, and take a mortgage.Then we should not have to sell a single rood. We could all turn to,and raise it off from the farm in three or four years."
"I cannot bear to mortgage the farm," said Fabens. "I should then feel in debt. I hate debts as I do sin and Satan. Hadn't we better sell off a little strip joining Nimblet's, and stand free and clear once more? It is handsome land, I know; my heart leans to it warmly, for I have labored along there a good many pleasant days. But hadn't we better let the pretty piece go? He has been at me these three years to sell it; and he can pay for it all down. Wouldn't the farm be large enough without that strip?"
"That may be best," said Mrs. Fabens. "I dislike debts and mortgages as much as you. But the farm is so handsome with that green border, and its lovely shade-trees!"
"That is the most beautiful fringe of fields on the farm," said Fanny. "The trees are the finest;—think of those charming chestnuts, and how their white blossoms sweeten the air in July! And the handsomest walnuts and maples wave along there. And there is my lovely linden, and mother's balm of Gilead. And how level the ground is; and how the bluebirds and robins love to sing there!—But perhaps it may be best to let it go, and be out of debt. We shall all feel so much better. You cannot sell the loveliness of those fields, and he could no more buy it than buy the songs of the birds, or the light of the blue skies. The handsome prospect, the verdure, light, and song, are the property of all who have eyes to see and hearts to enjoy them; and Mr. Nimblet will take pains, I know, to make the fields more lovely, if he can."
"Then I may say to Mr. Nimblet, he can have the north fields?" askedFabens.
"O, wait a little while," said Fanny, "and see if we cannot keep them. It looks so beautiful in the middle field in the spring, when the dandelions blow; and the strawberries blossom; and the butter-cups wave in the wind; and the bobolinks light on the red clover and sing;—there would be more comfort in knowing it was all ours as we enjoyed the sight!"
"But we cannot have everything, Fanny, as we wish in this world," said Mrs. Fabens. "Let it go. I am willing, if you think best. As Fanny says, the landscape will be ours as much as ever. And after all, how much better off are we without that strip of land than many of our neighbors! Think of the poor laborers and mechanics that Fairbanks owes for work! How much more ought we to think of their loss than our own!"
"Yes, but, how much good we could have done with that thousand dollars," said Fabens; "giving some of it to the poor, and lending the rest to worthy young men who are struggling against hope to get something, and would be set on their feet by a little lift. But it is of no use to cry for spilt milk."
"And what is this trouble, compared with the loss of poor littleClinton, and our grief for him?" asked Mrs. Fabens.
"Dear me,—I would give the beauty of the world to see my brother Clinton!" cried Fanny, her blue eyes sparkling with tears. "I cannot remember seeing him; but how could I help loving him when you have said so much about him, and wept so many sad hours for his loss? O what would we not give to see Clinton? And how foolish it will be to mourn for a small deception and a thousand dollars!Don'tlet us mourn any more for that!"
"Clinton!" said Fabens, kindling to a glow, and rising and pacing the room. "Give all the world to see Clinton? I think we would, and we would be rich and happy, if Clinton were alive and here, though we were without money and handsome fields, and had no more than a bark shanty to shelter our heads."
"Indeed we would!" added Mrs. Fabens, rocking more earnestly in her chair. "And let us pay up the debt, sell the land and pay it, and thank the Lord that he has been so good to us, and taught us how to bear our troubles."
George Ludlow was present to sympathize and counsel, and he said "Let the land go;" and Fanny repeated, "Let it go; we have all its beauty pictured on our souls, and will possess it with our estate;" and before the week was over, Mr. Nimblet had purchased the row of fields on the north side of the farm, and the debt was paid, and happiness became, for that misfortune, no stranger to the household.