CHAPTER XVIII.
CLINTON ACADEMY.
At the close of the service, Mr. Carleton came around where Ray was talking with Edward Lawton and his sister Daisy, and remarked, as he laid his hand on the boy's shoulder:
"We were glad to hear your testimony to-night, Ray. We cannot help believing with you, that the Master is strangely but surely leading you along 'the way of holiness.' God grant it may be so. But come—you are to go home with me to-night."
"I would like to do so, ever so much," replied Ray, giving his pastor a look in which love and confidence and pleasure were all mingled; "but Mr. Woodhull will expect me home, and I have been absent from the farm so much lately. I think I shall have to decline your invitation this time."
"Mr. Woodhull will not expect you to-night," answered Mr. Carleton, with a mischievous look at Edward and Daisy, "for I told him some time ago I should keep you with me to-night. There is an important matter I wish to talk over with you. So get your horse and wagon, and Mrs. Carleton and I will ride up to the parsonage with you."
Whatever the important matter was, Edward and Daisy evidently were not ignorant of it, for they both laughed, and seemed, for some reason, to be greatly pleased.
"Yes, Ray," Edward added, looking over to Mr. Carleton, who had turned to speak with Mrs. Lawton, "and before you leave for Long Point farm in the morning, remember that you are to come around and talk that same important matter over with me."
Mr. Carleton shook his finger at Edward, who immediately relapsed into silence. Daisy, however, her eyes fairly sparkling with some unknown joy, added: "We shall certainly expect you, Ray." And then she turned and walked off home with her mother and Edward.
Ray, completely mystified by these allusions, and suddenly recalling Mr. Bacon's words on the Monday evening before, went off to the shed for his horse and wagon, wondering what "important thing" was in store for him, which seemed to give all the others so much joy.
But he did not long remain in ignorance of it, for as soon as the horse had been cared for, and he and Mr. and Mrs. Carleton were comfortably seated about the fire in the cosy sitting room at the parsonage, Mr. Carleton asked:
"You have heard of the Clinton Academy, at Easton, Ray?"
Hadn't he? Wasn't that the very school he had desired to attend, but had never expected to have the desire realized, even when saving up his money, for the expense had seemed to be entirely beyond his reach? Was it not there that both Mr. Greenough and Mr. Carleton had prepared for college? Hadn't Mr. Phillips, the principal of the school, and a college classmate of Mr. Carleton, visited Afton only the summer before, and hadn't he seen him and talked with him? He had a catalogue of that very academy, moreover, that the principal had sent him the September before, and what a struggle it had been for him to give up the idea of entering it then, no one but God and himself would ever know. With glistening eyes, and with a great hope coming into his heart that the "important matter" spoken of might have something to do with his attending that school, Ray therefore replied:
"Yes, sir; you know I met Mr. Phillips, the principal, when he visited you, and on his return home, he sent me a catalogue of the institution."
Mr. Carleton assented, in a way that seemed to imply, "Oh, yes, I knew all about it before;" then he continued:
"Well, do you remember Mr. Swinburne, the old, white-haired gentleman whom you met and talked with at the university grounds, when you were in the city?"
"Yes, sir," replied Ray, almost breathlessly now.
"I got a letter from him," Mr. Carleton explained, "only a few days after you met him, making inquiries about you. I thought it best not only to tell him your history, but also to give him an account of your manly resistance to a great temptation there that day. I soon received a letter in answer to mine. In it he stated that a number of years ago he established several scholarships at Clinton Academy, and had reserved the right so long as he should live to name the young men who should receive the income from them. This income is sufficient to pay the tuition and the room rent at the academy, and leaves only the board and incidentals to be met by the student himself. He closed his letter by saying one of the scholarships became vacant at the close of the last academic year, and has not as yet been assigned to any one, and he should be glad to name you for it. I took the liberty to request him to do so. Your entire expenses outside of what this scholarship provides for cannot amount to over one hundred and fifty dollars for the year. There will be many ways for you to help yourself during the school term, as well as in the vacations. Friends here in Afton stand ready to help where your own exertions fail to supply the necessary funds; so really I think you may begin your academic course there immediately after Thanksgiving."
"But you know I have lost one term; could I enter now and go on with the class?" asked Ray, anxiously.
"We thought of all that," replied Mr. Carleton, "and that is why we have not spoken to you about this before. We waited until Mr. Greenough wrote to Mr. Phillips as to the outlook for you to enter the winter term. He gave Mr. Phillips a list of the studies you had completed, and he replied that you could very readily enter and go on with the present freshman class, some of your studies being even in advance of the first term there at the academy, while none are behind it. There is then no objection on that score. The main question is, are you ready to undertake it?"
"Just one thing more, Mr. Carleton," Ray said, with evident embarrassment; "there is nothing unmanly in my accepting this aid?"
"I had expected that question, foolish as it is," replied Mr. Carleton, with a laugh. "If it is unmanly, then I was unmanly, for I went through Clinton Academy on one of those very scholarships. But, seriously, where is it unmanly? You can go through the academy working your own way without doubt. But you will have to stay out some in order to earn the necessary funds. This interrupts your studies, and compels you, we will say, to be six years in getting what otherwise you would have gotten in four. Which is wiser, to lose those two years, or accept the slight aid that will bring you along two years sooner to your life's work? The town or State, one or both, must maintain our common schools; our colleges and academies exist only because some friends have liberally endowed them. There is no part of the education that comes to us that has not been secured at less cost because of the help others have afforded. It is simply a question of the amount of help we will permit ourselves to receive. Thousands of our most useful men would never have received an education at all had it not been for accepting just the same kind of help that is now offered you."
"I guess the question was a foolish one," admitted Ray; "but I shall feel all the better for your explanation, and I am very grateful to all of you who have taken interest enough in me to arrange this thing. I had scarcely thought it possible for me to go to Clinton Academy, even while I was saving up my money to go to some school. It was a hard struggle, too, for me to give up that money to George; but I knew it was right, and I did it, believing that God would open the way for me to get an education, and he has, even better than I planned." He was silent a moment or two, as though in deep thought, then he added: "Who would have supposed that just that meeting with Mr. Swinburne that day would have led to this."
"Remember, too," said Mr. Carleton, with emphasis, "that it was after you refused to accept the money those men offered you for your education, and not before. When you had refused to accept an education by dishonest means, God led you in his way, and opened for you this door. So far as I can see, the education is within your reach, and in an honest, manly way also."
"God's ways are better as well as higher than our ways," remarked Ray, his eyes filling with tears of joy. "This, then, was what Edward Lawton wanted to talk over with me. How I wish he was going too!"
"He is," answered Mr. Carleton, with a laugh; "that is what he wants to talk over with you. His mother finds that she can, with economy, send him, though he will have to help himself somewhat, and as Mrs. Lawton will have much furniture to spare when she moves into her cottage, she proposes to fit you boys out with everything to make your rooms at the academy comfortable. There will not be a thing for you to provide in that direction."
"Well, I don't know that I shall sleep any to-night under the inspiration of this good news," said Ray, as he arose to be shown to his room; and, indeed, his bright, sparkling eyes scarcely looked as though they would need sleep for hours to come. "I believe I would start for Long Point farm, late as it is, just to throw off this exuberance of spirit, were it not that Edward wants to see me in the morning."
"Which would be ignoring our hospitality entirely," remarked Mrs. Carleton, with a laugh, as she bade him good-night.
The next morning Ray went around to Edward Lawton's, and so busy did they at once become with their plans and with their selection of the articles they would have sent to the academy for their use, that the clock struck twelve, and Miss Daisy, bright and pretty in her morning dress, entered the room to announce dinner before they were through.
"Why," Ray exclaimed, in consternation, "I ought to have been at Long Point farm long before this. Really, you must excuse me." And his looks showed how he hated to go.
"You needn't worry, Mr. Ray," said Daisy, with a graceful courtesy. "Mr. Woodhull knew of this also, and he said if we would only let you get home by night, he would have reason to thank us."
Ray needed no farther urging to remain. He found Mrs. Lawton kind and motherly, and as she spoke of his and Edward's going to the academy, Ray could not help thinking she could not be more interested if they were both her own boys. And a little later, when he took his leave, she seemed almost to echo his own thought, for she said:
"I want you to feel, Ray, that you are always welcome here; indeed, count this as one of your homes. For I can never forget that but for you I should not only now be bereft of husband, but of son also."
Ray found Mr. Jacob Woodhull at the farm when he arrived there, and he soon ascertained that both he and his nephew were already well acquainted with the new plans formed for him.
"We hate to lose you," Mr. George Woodhull said; "but we are anxious for your advancement, and shall on that account even hasten your going. Only remember, your vacations are to be spent right here. I'll pay you more for the sight of your face than any one else will for a whole week's work." And he turned away to hide his own deep feeling.
Later, Mr. Jacob Woodhull came around to the barn, where Ray was alone. He helped the boy finish the few chores that remained to be done, and then leaning back against the stanchion of one of the stalls, he asked:
"Do you remember, Ray, the night when you came over to my place and offered to pay me for the damage you had done me?"
"Yes," replied Ray; "and I hope you think better of me to-night than you did then."
"I certainly do," the old man replied, emphatically; "but do you remember what I charged you then?"
"Why, twenty-five dollars," answered Ray.
"Exactly," assented Mr. Woodhull; "but, Ray, did it ever occur to you that I charged you about five times more than I ought to have done?"
"No, indeed!" said Ray. "I was the prime mover in all those scrapes, and I ought to have been made to pay dearly for them."
"Only your share," said the old man, sharply, "and I never regarded but five dollars of that money as mine. The other twenty I invested for you, and it is just wonderful how the Lord has multiplied it. I have only been keeping it until I thought you would really need it, and when my nephew told me how you had given all your money to help George, and that you were going to the academy, I said, 'There, Jacob Woodhull, that boy'll need that money now, if he ever does—at least, he'll need a part of it;' so I've brought it down to you. This is only the first installment, but perhaps it is all you'll need just now; the rest is well invested, and when you want it, let me know. Here," and he took out a roll of bills from his pocket, and extended it toward Ray.
"Not a cent of it belongs to me," said Ray. "You ought to have it all."
"It isn't mine, either, and I'll never touch a cent of it again. I told the Lord you should have it when I invested it, and I'll leave it here, and you can do what you are a mind to with it." And the kind but eccentric old man threw the money on the floor, and walked out of the barn.
Ray picked up the roll and counted the bills; there were five, and all tens, making fifty dollars. He held them in his hand a few moments, and then slowly put them into his pocket. He now had ample provision for one term at the academy, and the best of it was—the Lord had provided it all. Surely he had no cause to fear but that the divine presence and guidance and blessing would go with him in this new undertaking.
On the Monday morning after Thanksgiving, though it was a day before the winter term at Clinton Academy opened, Edward and Ray left Afton for Easton, a small city in an adjoining State, and about fifty miles back from the sea coast. The academy buildings, numerous and spacious enough to accommodate over two hundred pupils, stood on a high hill just outside of this city, and commanded a fine view of the surrounding country. So famous was the school, however, that its ample accommodations were employed to their fullest capacity by the students who came crowding to its doors. Ray and Edward, consequently, as late comers, were obliged to put up with a room on the fourth floor of one of the older dormitories. But when they had unpacked and arranged their furniture, which had already arrived, the room presented a home-like appearance, not at all unattractive even to them. Well tired with their exertions, they sat down in their room after supper for a much-needed rest.
"I tell you what it is, Ned," said Ray, "we now begin a new career, and it is just the time for us to adopt rules that shall govern us throughout our whole academic course. What do you think?"
"I want to begin right, and keep right clear through to the end," answered Edward, thoughtfully. "Have you anything to suggest?"
"When I left the Forge for Long Point farm," answered Ray, "I adopted some resolutions that have been a great help to me. I see no reason why I should not re-adopt them now. I will read them to you, and perhaps you can make some suggestion that will add to their effectiveness." And he took from his pocket the rules he had written long months before, and which we have already recorded.
Edward listened attentively, and, when Ray had finished, he remarked, gravely:
"I guess, Ray, if we live up to these rules here at the academy, we shall have all we want to do without adding others. But I'm willing to adopt them, too. I tell you, I have a small frame in my trunk, and I'll copy those off in my finest style; then we will frame them and hang them just over our study table. There they'll be where we can see them, and where others can see them, too. So we will keep them constantly in mind, and show our colors at one and the same time. What say you?"
"A capital suggestion!" answered Ray, enthusiastically.
Edward, who was an unusually fine penman, now got out his writing materials, and copied the resolutions, while Ray looked up the frame and made that ready. In less than an hour the task was completed, and the neatly written rules hung just above the study table.
"One thing more, Ned," said Ray, as he stepped down from the chair on which he had stood to hang the frame.
"What is it, chum?"
"Let us now ask the Master to help us keep them."
"All right!"
And the two lads knelt there, and in turn asked their Saviour to help them to make those resolutions a part of their daily lives, in their studies, among their associates, and in whatsoever they should find to do.
With this consecration of their young lives to Jesus, they began their careers as students at Clinton Academy. Is it strange that the Master drew near and looked down in gentle love upon them? What else could we expect of One whose promise to his own is: "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee?"