"Oh, I can got breakfast," said Eben, cheerfully. "I have done it before now, when mother was not very well and Flora was away. Never you mind, Mr. Antis. If you will see to the horses, I'll get up some kind of a meal."
Mr. Antis laughed, and went off to the barn. Eben bustled about grinding coffee, slicing potatoes to fry, and setting the table. Presently, he called Mr. Antis, who came in to find a very respectable breakfast of ham and eggs, potatoes, and coffee, while a nicely-covered tray stood on the table ready to be carried up stairs. Eben was just toasting some bread.
"Well, I declare!" said Mr. Antis. "Where did you learn so much?"
"Oh, I have watched the women folks a great many times," answered Eben, busily turning his bread. "You sit down and eat your breakfast, and when I get this done, I'll just run down and get Kissy Cooke to come up for a while."
"But you must have your own breakfast, my boy."
"Well, I guess maybe I had better not go home to breakfast, there is so much to do. I'll just ask Tom to stop and tell mother I can't come, so that she won't wait for me."
Kissy left her work and came up from the mill long enough to make the sick woman comfortable, but she could not stay to do the housework. One of the patients for whom she washed at the Cure was going away at two o'clock, and Kissy had two white dresses to do up and get over to the Springs by twelve.
"Such fixings, and puffs, and ruffles, and what not!" said Kissy. "However, I ought not to complain, for I get a dollar apiece for doing 'em. But, mercy! How any one can wear such a lot of stuff! I'll just go down and get some warm water for you, Mrs. Antis, and put the room to rights, and then I don't see but I shall have to go."
Keziah went down stairs, and came up laughing.
"You never see such a sight in your life, Mrs. Antis. There's that boy Eben doing up the work as steady as an old woman—washing the dishes, cleaning the knives, and all. He puts water in the spiders to let 'em soak, and fills up his dish-kettle as fast as he takes the water out, all as regular as you please. 'Why, Eben,' says I, 'are you turned cook?'"
"'Oh, I can turn my hand to anything,' says he, as cheerful as a lark."
"I never did see such a boy."
"I am sure I never did," said Mrs. Antis. "I don't know what in the world I should have done without him this summer. I have had so much company, and nobody to help me."
"Seems to me, if I was company where there was no help, I should turn to and be help myself," remarked Keziah.
"Well, I did think Matilda Benedict might at any rate have offered to help me, but she never did," said Mrs. Antis. "Must you go now, Keziah?"
"Why, yes, I don't see but I must, on account of those dresses. If the lady wasn't going away, I would put her off, but there's just where it is, you see. However, I'll run in as soon as I get back."
"I think, perhaps, I can get up by and by," said Mrs. Antis. But she did not get up that day nor the next. Eben found time before he went in search of a girl to run down to his mother's and tell the state of the case.
"Do tell!" said Mrs. Fairchild. "And she there all alone! It's too bad, ain't it? Why don't some of the neighbours go in?"
"I suppose they are all busy with their own affairs," said Eben. "I don't know what we shall do if this girl don't come, for the bread is all gone, and I am sure I can't bake."
"Do tell!" said Mrs. Fairchild, again. "I declare, I've a great mind to go up there myself and stay till somebody comes."
"Do, mother," said Flora. "You are such a good nurse, and I am sure Mrs. Antis would do as much for us any day."
"That she would, or for anybody else," said Eben. "I wish you could go up, mother. It would be such a comfort to them."
"Well, I believe I will," said Mrs. Fairchild. "You can take care of yourself, can't you, Flossy?"
"Oh yes, indeed," replied Flora, smiling.
"Well, I must be off," said Eben. "I hope to bring the girl back with me."
Eben was disappointed. The girl was willing to work for Mrs. Antis, but could not come till next Monday, when she promised faithfully to make her appearance. Eben went back to find his mother established as nurse and housekeeper, mixing a batch of bread, and attending to her patient between times.
"It don't much matter," said she when she heard Eben's report. "I guess I'll just stay on till the girl comes, anyhow. 'Tain't much to do the work where everything is so convenient. You pick some peas, Eben, and I can be shelling them, while my bread is rising."
Eben had never seen his mother so animated and cheerful since the change in her circumstances, and he went about his work rejoicing. Mrs. Antis grew rapidly worse instead of better, and Mrs. Fairchild had her hands full.
"Never mind the dishes, ma, I'll take care of them," said Eben. "You just attend to Mrs. Antis."
"Well, I declare! Before I'd be a kitchen drudge and wash dishes," said Tom Wilbur, coming in to see what Eben was about, "I'd see the whole concern at the bottom of the pond before I'd do it!"
"Would you? Well, I wouldn't. I'd do more than this for Mr. Antis. I can't say it is work that I should choose, but I am willing to do anything to help."
"Well, I shouldn't think it would be very pleasant," said Tom. "Suppose any of the boys should come in and see you! But you haven't a bit of spunk, Eben; you are willing to let any one drive you."
MRS. FAIRCHILD FINDS HER MISSION.
THE girl came when she promised, for a wonder, and proved a very nice, efficient person, and still Mrs. Fairchild stayed on at the mill cottage. Mrs. Antis was very ill, and Mrs. Fairchild was an excellent nurse.
"I don't seem to be much wanted at home," said she. "I can just run home now and then to see how the children get on and help Flora with the work, for it won't do for her to be hindered; though I do think," added Mrs. Fairchild, "that Flora is all the better for having something to do about house, instead of sitting all day over the machine."
"Oh, very well, ma, so long as you don't get overtired," said Eben. "It is very nice to have you here, and I am sure I don't know what Mrs. Antis would do without you. Mary is a real good girl, but she never could do the work and take care of Mrs. Antis too, especially when we are having so much company all the time."
"Grandfather used to say that tanners always kept tavern, and I think it seems to be a good deal so with millers," observed Mrs. Fairchild. "However, you needn't be troubled for me, Eben; I haven't felt anything like so well since I left the farm as I do now. I guess the air here is rather better than it is at our house. The house stands higher, you see."
"Maybe so," said Eben, smiling. He did not contradict his mother, but he could not help thinking that the improvement in her health was due to something else than the situation of the house.
While upon the farm, Mrs. Fairchild had been used to an active life, full of cares and interests. She was an excellent dairy-woman and a very successful raiser of poultry. "As uncertain as young turkeys," seemed to be a proverb that hardly applied to hers, she was so uniformly successful—or, as she said, lucky—with her birds, and she always had eggs to sell when eggs were scarce and high. Since the shock of her husband's death and the loss of her property she had led a very different life. The work of her small household would not have sufficed to keep her busy, even if the children, in mistaken kindness, had not taken it almost entirely off her hands, and left her nothing save to sit still and brood over her sorrows. She really suffered from want of exercise, and was in considerable danger of falling into a state of confirmed ill-health for want of anything else to do.
Since she had been with Mrs. Antis all this was changed. Mrs. Antis was very sick, and needed a great deal done for her. Mrs. Fairchild went up and down stairs a dozen times a day for one thing and another. Then, as she said, they kept a kind of tavern, for Mr. Antis was always bringing people home to dinner and supper. Mary was not very skilful in the finer kind of cookery, but she was anxious to improve. Mrs. Fairchild was a capital cook, and was wont to boast that she could make anything which could be made out of flour and eggs. She was as ready to teach as Mary was to learn, and the result was that Mr. Antis declared that he had never lived so well in his life.
Besides all her exercise indoors, Mrs. Fairchild found time to run down home almost every day to see Flora and look after her young ducks, now happily hatched and swimming in the outlet. The result of all was that the good woman grew once more cheerful, good-natured, and ready to look on the bright side of things, and to think that, after all, they might do very well, and so one cloud which had hung over the little family passed away.
Having once got into the way of nursing, however, Mrs. Fairchild seemed likely to be unable to get out of it. She had been at home only a week when Squire Dennison came after her for his wife.
Mrs. Fairchild hesitated, and said "Do tell!" a great many times, and didn't know what the children would do without her, but was at last prevailed upon to go, at least for a few days, till somebody else should be found. The result was that she stayed some time and came home in the best of spirits, with thirty dollars in her purse and a big box of honey, which Mrs. Dennison had insisted upon her taking "for the children."
"How well you look!" said Flora.
"Well, I do feel first-rate. I think nursing agrees with me—I really do—and if it wasn't for leaving you alone, Flossy, I should almost be tempted to make a business of it. Only think! If I could earn enough to help Eben through college, after all."
"I don't believe Eben would be willing to have you do that," said Flora.
"Oh, well, I don't calculate to. Still, you know, my dear, if anybody should want me very much, why, I might go, you know, and it all helps along, and really I do feel ever so much better for the change."
Flora smiled, and agreed that in such a case it would be no more than neighbourly to go, and so the matter rested.
One day Mr. Antis was standing in the mill door, when Eben came up to ask him some questions about the garden. Mr. Antis was looking earnestly down the road, and asked in his turn:
"Eben, is that our team coming down the hill? I am short-sighted."
Eben looked in the same direction. "It is our wagon, I am sure, and that is Tom driving, but those don't look like our horses. Yes, they are, too," he added, hastily, "but what in the world has happened to them?"
When the horses came up they did indeed present a woeful spectacle. They were wet, and covered with mud to their ears, panting and tired to death, and one of them had both knees cut and bleeding.
"Well, I couldn't help it," said Tom, sullenly. "The horses ran away and got into the creek, and I had hard work to get them out."
"Ran away!" said Mr. Antis, in surprise. "How did that happen?"
"I'm sure I don't know; because they are vicious, ugly brutes, I suppose."
"They are neither ugly nor vicious—not half so much as you are," said Jeduthun, who always regarded the "mill" property as his own, and resented any imputation accordingly. "If the horses ran away, it was because you was fooling with them, or didn't tie 'em as you ought."
"Oh, of course! I never can do anything right!"
"Were you in the wagon when they ran away?"
"No, I wasn't," replied Tom, sulkily, "and lucky for me I wasn't."
"I dare say you left them standing without being tied at all," said Jeduthun, "or else you left them alone when the train came along."
It turned out that this was really the case. Tom had left the team standing unfastened at the door of the sawmill in Shortsville, while he gossipped, or, as Jeduthun said, "loafed," about the train, notwithstanding he had been warned against that very thing. The engine whistled sharply "down brakes;" the horses started, and there being no one to check them they ran directly into the stream, and but for the most energetic assistance would have been drowned. As it was, they were both hurt, and one of them so badly that it died during the night. It was a valuable animal, and Mr. Antis was naturally indignant, especially as Tom showed no sort of regret or repentance.
"Well, I've got my walking-paper," said Tom, coming into the garden where Eben was picking cucumbers for pickling, "and I ain't sorry, either. I expect father will scold, but he may as well scold about that as anything else."
"Got your walking-paper?" repeated Eben, looking up. "You don't mean that Mr. Antis has discharged you, do you? Take care I don't step on the cucumber vines."
"Bother your cucumber vines!" said Tom. "Yes, I am discharged, and I wish I had discharged him first. That's all I care about it. I never did like the mill, anyhow, and I'm glad to be out of it. Now, you see if I don't get a place in Hobartown."
"But what was it about? The horses, I suppose?"
"Yes, of course. Mr. Antis has been over to Shortsville, and they told him that it was all my fault, and a lot more about my racing horses on the road. I don't care; I couldn't help their running into the creek."
"But you could have helped leaving them unhitched," said Eben. "You know Mr. Antis tells us never to leave any of the horses without hitching, and that team especially. He told us we must always stand by their heads when the cars were coming."
"Well, I wanted to see whether anybody I knew was on the train, and besides, it isn't very pleasant to stand holding a frisky horse for half an hour. Mr. Antis wouldn't like it himself, I guess."
"He would never stop to think whether he liked it or not," said Eben, much disgusted. "I shouldn't think it would be very pleasant, as you say, to think that you had killed a valuable horse, and such a good, kind creature as Billy was, too. Mr. Antis cried about it when he told how the poor fellow tried to lift up his head and whinny as he used to when his master came into the stable."
"More fool he, to cry about a horse," said Tom, brutally; "and besides, I didn't kill him—he killed himself—and I'll thank you not to say I did, unless you want to get up a fight."
"Get up a fight, indeed!" said Eben, in a tone of great contempt. "Don't you know that I could settle you with one hand? And I will, too, if you say any more about Mr. Antis!" added he, exploding all at once, as very quiet and self-restrained people sometimes do. "Get out of this garden and take yourself off. What do you mean by coming here and hindering me?"
"Dear me, Eben you needn't be so touchy!" said Tom, backing off and looking as much astonished as if the old house-dog had suddenly been transformed into a wolf. "I'm sure it is nothing to you; Mr. Antis is no relation of yours, is he?"
"Clear out!" was all the answer Eben vouchsafed him, and Tom took himself off. "I am a fool to mind him, that is a fact," said Eben to himself, "but he is so mean. After all Mr. Antis had done for him, and all the mischief he has done, to talk so about him. I wonder if Mr. Antis will give me his place? I believe I will wait a little, and see whether he says anything about it. I would rather he made the offer himself."
Eben waited for two or three weeks, but Mr. Antis said nothing about the mill, and Eben began to think he was to be disappointed again, when one day, as he was going to break fast, Mr. Antis called him from the office-window:
"Come in, Eben; I want to see you."
Eben obeyed, his heart beating a little faster than usual.
"Sit down a minute," said Mr. Antis, busily writing meantime. "There's yesterday's paper if you like to look it over." Eben took the paper and looked over the news, but I suspect he did not "take the sense of it" to any great degree. Presently, Mr. Antis sealed his letter and laid down his pen.
"Well, Eben, I suppose you know that Tow Wilbur has gone for good?"
"Yes, sir. He told me so the same day. He said he had got his walking-paper."
"Did he seem to be sorry?"
"No, sir, I can't say he did. He never liked the mill, and I think he was rather glad to get away from it."
"I am sure I was glad to get rid of him," said Mr. Antis. "I don't think, however, I should have discharged him on account of the horses if he had showed any sorrow for what he had done, but he did not seem to care in the least. What did he say to you? I have a particular reason for wishing to know," he added, as Eben hesitated; "unless I had, I should not ask you such a question, for I don't believe in tattling."
"Well, he didn't seem to care, I must say," replied Eben. "He said it wasn't very pleasant to stand at the head of a pair of horses for half an hour, and so on. I got real mad myself and ordered him out of the garden, which I suppose I had no business to do," said Eben, in a tone of apology, "but he riled me so I couldn't stand it."
"I am glad you did," said Mr. Antis. "Yes, there's just where it is. 'Not very pleasant' will always be reason enough for Tom, no matter how necessary or desirable the business may be. No, I won't take him back," added he. "My mind is quite made up to that. He'll never be good for anything. I never could trust him. Well, the next thing is, do you want his place?"
Eben coloured, and did not exactly know what to say.
"Yes or no," said Mr. Antis, "because if you want the place, why, the place wants you, and if you don't, why, I must look out for somebody else."
"I do want it, of course," replied Eben, finding his voice. "You know I was just coming after it the day you hired Tom. It isn't that I don't like it where I am, but—"
"But you want to earn more money," said Mr. Antis.
"Yes, sir, and besides that, I would like to be learning something about the business. Maybe I can be a miller some day, if I can't be a doctor, and anyhow, I like to be learning all I can."
"Good for you!" said Mr. Antis. "I think you and I will suit as well in the mill as we have done in the house. I expect Mrs. Antis will be furious with me for taking you away from her."
"She won't need me so much now that she has Mary," said Eben, modestly. "Mrs. Antis has been very good to me. I shall never forget it. I guess, maybe, I can find time now and then to help her about her flower-garden."
"Very likely, though you will see we shall have busy times from now on to December. Are you good at figures, Eben?"
"I guess so. I have been twice through the arithmetic."
"That may be. I have seen people who had been through the algebra, and yet could not run up a column of figures correctly, or cast the interest on a note. However, that does not so much matter. You see, Eben, the thing is, I want somebody that I can trust—somebody that I can send over to Hobartown to the bank, or to the city, if necessary—somebody that I can trust with the team, or to collect accounts of the farmers when I cannot go myself. Jeduthun is just as honest and good as gold, but he can't be spared from the mill, and does not understand figures, and besides—I don't know why—he hates to have anything to do with money. Now, I believe that I can trust you. I have watched you carefully ever since you have been at our house, and I see that whatever you undertake to do you do thoroughly and well. I believe that, as the Scripture says, 'He that is faithful in the least is faithful also in much.' I am willing to trust you, and to pay you thirty dollars a month."
Eben's breath was almost taken away. "That is a great deal, Mr. Antis," said he. "I did not expect nearly so much."
"It is a great deal more than I gave Tom, I know, and I expect the old man will make a fuss about it, but I shall expect a great deal more of you than I did of Tom, and you will have more responsibility. Well, what do you say? Will you try it?"
"Yes, indeed, sir; I shall be glad to do so, if you think I can satisfy you. I will do my best."
"That is all I can ask," replied Mr. Antis, kindly. "Now go home and tell your mother and Flora all about it."
"Mother isn't at home just now," said Eben. "She has gone to take care of young Mrs. Badger."
"She seems to make quite a business of nursing."
"Yes, sir. We don't exactly want her to do it, but she likes to think that she is earning something, and her health is so much better when she has something to interest her that we have about concluded to say nothing against it."
"I would let her have her own way," said Mr. Antis. "It is rather lonely for Flora, though, isn't it?"
"Well, she doesn't seem to mind it very much, especially since Mary Clarke boards with us. She wanted to board somewhere and go to school, and she and Flora are great friends, so it comes just right. Everything comes just right for us, I think. I never believed we should be half so happy again."
"Well, run and get your breakfast, and come back as soon as you can," said Mr. Antis.
EBEN CATCHES A RIDE AND SOMETHING ELSE.
IT may be guessed that the breakfast at the little house was a very pleasant one.
"Though, after all," said Flora when they were alone together, "it seems to tie you up to the milling business, and I don't like that. I never can give up the idea of your being a physician."
"Please don't talk about it, Flossy!" said Eben. "If it is best, you may depend upon it the thing will be brought to pass, and if it is not best, I don't want it—at least, I don't wish to want it," he added, rather sadly, "and so I would rather not talk very much about it."
"I suppose that is the best way if one can bring one's mind to it," said Flora, rather reluctantly, "but I can't feel about those things as you do—that if it is best it will certainly come to pass."
"You believe in God's word, don't you?" asked Eben.
"Of course."
"Well, don't you remember what he says—that all things work together for good to them that love him, and that no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly?"
"And you think that is meant for you?" said Flora, with a slight touch of sarcasm in her voice. "Don't you think that is taking a good deal on yourself?"
"I don't see why," answered Eben, simply. "I am sure that I do love him and try as well as I can to 'walk uprightly,' and I suppose his promises are as much to me as to any one else."
"I am not sure about using the Bible in that way. I think it is for general, and not for particular, application, as Mr. Smith said the other night."
"I don't exactly see how that can be," answered Eben. "Suppose a law is given out to a school: isn't it given to every scholar in the school? Suppose Miss Hilliard should say, This school will have a holiday on Thursday: wouldn't that mean that every scholar should have a holiday?"
"Well, perhaps so, but according to that, all we have to do is to wait and do nothing till God sees fit to give us what we need."
"Partly right and partly wrong," said Eben. "We are to wait, but it does not follow that we are to do nothing. You waited more than an hour for Miss Barnard at the Cure the other day, but you were not doing nothing. You wore making tatting as hard as you could all the time. The tatting kept your time from being wasted, and Miss Barnard came just as soon as though you had spent your time in doing nothing but fretting. Now, the mill is my tatting."
Flora laughed. "There is no use in arguing with you, Eben. I found that out long ago. Seriously, I am glad you feel so. It must be a great comfort."
"It is," said Eben, emphatically, "the greatest comfort. I think I should have broken my heart without it at the time that I made up my mind to go to work."
"And yet you were so quiet about the matter that I almost thought at times you really did not care. I wish I was like you."
"Well, I don't know that I do. One like me seems to be about as much as I want. I like a little variety. But I do wish you saw as I do about that, because I know what a comfort it is."
"Can you always feel so, Eben?"
"I can't always feel so, but I can always know so, and that is better," said Eben. "However, I must be off, for Mr. Antis is going away to Syracuse."
Mr. Antis was very much hurried about getting away. One person after another wanted him, and he stayed for some last words, till he had barely time left to drive over to the Springs.
"There!" exclaimed Jeduthun, a few minutes after he had gone. "Mr. Antis has left his pocket-book and papers behind him, after all—the very thing he was going for. I don't know what ails him this morning. He kind of goes round like a hen with her head cut off."
"So many people were wanting to see him," said Eben; "but what shall we do?"
"There's Jem Carter going by; I dare say he has started for the Springs. Hallo, Jem!" shouted Jeduthun from the window. "Going to the Springs?"
"Ay! Want anything?" was the answer that came back.
"Can you take Eben over? I want to send a message to the boss if I can catch him. Get your hat, boy, and button the things up in your inside pocket. You mustn't let Jem see 'em."
"I understand," said Eben. "But give me a message, if Jem asks me about it."
"Oh, well, tell Mr. Antis not to forget the new belt and the wrought nails. Jem will drive fast if you coax him. He likes to show off that mare of his'n, and I don't think he can be drunk by this time in the morning."
Jem was not drunk. On the contrary, he was as straight as possible, and in a very good humour. He was the son of a wealthy farmer, and had come into possession of quite a large property at twenty-one, since which time he had been good for very little. "A goodhearted fellow—nobody's enemy but his own," was the remark many people made about him, but unluckily no man can be his own enemy without being the enemy of others besides himself, and that good-heartedness which is perfectly consistent with breaking a mother's heart and robbing orphan sisters is not very valuable. Jem was, however, as I said, quite straight this morning, and very willing to oblige Eben by catching the train.
"Get on first-rate with Antis, don't you?" asked Jem.
"Oh yes," replied Eben. "He's a very easy man to get on with."
"I expect he is," said Jem. "Antis and I were schoolmates. He was always a clever fellow, though not extra bright; but he has got on well, and everybody respects him. He's Mr. Antis, he is. I'm nobody but Jem Carter. That calls me so."
"Jeduthun didn't mean any harm," said Eben.
"Oh, I know it! He's a good fellow, too;" and Jem touched up the mare a little.
"I wouldn't hurry her," said Eben. "She's doing very well now."
"Oh, I sha'n't hurt her, never you fear. She's about all the friend I've got now, Eben," said Jem, with sudden emphasis and decision. "I want to give you a piece of advice. I'm a poor shoat, I know, but you may as well learn by my experience. Don't you never be coaxed or bullied into drinking the first drop of liquor or making the first bet—not the very first one. If you once begin, you never can know where you will stop."
"I think you are right," said Eben. "My father used to say the same. But, Mr. Carter, excuse me, but can't you stop drinking, and betting, and such things, now?"
"No, I can't!" returned Jem, shortly. "I can't, and I don't know as I want to. What's the use? I sha'n't live long, and I may as well have a good time while I do live."
"And what then?" asked Eben, gently.
"Then I shall go to the devil, I suppose, and serve me right, too," said Jem, in a kind of angry despair.
"You needn't, Jem."
"Needn't what?"
"'Go to the devil,' as you say. You may stop now, and never take one more stop downwards. You may turn your face towards heaven this very minute."
"I can't believe that," said Jem. "I don't believe such a fellow as I could ever be forgiven. You don't know, and I wouldn't tell you for anything, how bad I have been. I should be ashamed to ask for forgiveness."
"That's just the greatest mistake you ever made, Jem."
"I have made a great many mistakes, Eben."
"Well, you never made a worse mistake than that. I don't suppose the thief on the cross was any better man than you are, and he was saved at the very last minute, and you may be saved too, if you will. There is more love in the Lord than there is sin in all the sinners in the universe, as I heard old Father Badger say once."
"Now look here, Eben Fairchild! Do you dare to say that the Lord loves me—me? Such a beast as I am?"
"You are not a beast; you are a man with an immortal soul, for whom the Lord died, and I do dare to say that he loves you," said Eben, firmly. "He loves you this very minute."
"If I thought that—" said Jem. "But I always thought he hated sinners?"
"For whom did he die if not for sinners? You haven't read your Bible to much purpose, Jem."
"I don't think I have. I was taught to read it when I was young, but it is many a day since I saw the inside of mine."
"But won't you see the inside of it now, Jem? Do!" said Eben, with affectionate earnestness. "I am only a boy, but I know enough to be sure that there is no need of your going to the devil, as you say, if only you will choose to go the other way. I am sure of it—as sure as that, that is the hotel at the Springs."
"There is the train just coming up, too," said Jem. "It will be a tight jump, but I guess we will catch it. Come, old lady, do your best."
The mare seemed to understand the urgency of the case, for she flew like the winds. Just as they turned the corner Jem said, cheerfully:
"There! You'll be in time to jump on if you're spry. I say, Eben, when you say your prayers just put in a word for me, will you?"
"Indeed I will, Jem. Thank you ever so much."
"I'm the one to thank you, I reckon. There! Don't stop."
The bell had just sounded as Eben jumped on the last car.
"I shall get carried off as sure as the world," he said to himself as he walked through the train, "but I don't care. I can stop at the next station. Where is Mr. Antis, I wonder?"
He went on through all the cars without finding the man he sought till he came to the drawing-room car, when the young coloured person in charge rather demurred as to his entering.
"I guess you don't want to come in here, sonny," said he, with condescending politeness. "Them that comes in here pays a dollar extry."
"I want to find a gentleman who got on board at the Springs," said Eben. "He left some important papers behind him, which I was sent to carry to him."
"Oh, well, that alters the case," replied Mr. Johnson. "If you's got business, it's all right. I guess I know the man you mean—a light-complected gentleman with a beard, ain't he?"
Eben assented.
"Well, then, you'll find him in the saloon a-talking to Dr. Henry. Go right along through, and you'll come to him."
Eben walked on, rather dazzled by the splendor of the fine Pullman car, till he reached the saloon, where he found Mr. Antis in close conversation with Dr. Henry, and naturally rather surprised to see him.
"Why, Eben, what has brought you here? Has anything happened to Mrs. Antis or the baby?" he asked, in sudden alarm.
"Oh no, sir, but I think you have forgotten something," replied Eben, producing the pocket-book and papers. "Jeduthun found them after you had gone, and I got a ride with Jem Carter, so I brought them over. I guess I shall have to go on to the next station," he added, looking out of the window of the car.
"It looks like it now," said the doctor, smiling.
"I couldn't help it," said Eben. "I only just jumped on the train as it started."
"And suppose you had just fallen off the train and under it, what then?"
"Then I should have been killed, I suppose. But I took care not to fall, and I knew Mr. Antis would lose his journey if he did not have his pocket-book and papers."
"I should have lost more than my journey, I dare say," remarked Mr. Antis. "I don't know how I happened to do such a thing. Doctor, this is Eben Fairchild, son of an old acquaintance of yours."
"Oh yes, I remember you very well now, though you have grown since I saw you," said the doctor, shaking hands with him. "And how are you getting on, Eben?"
"Nicely, sir. I am working with Mr. Antis in the mill," replied Eben, blushing with pleasure at being introduced to the famous doctor, whom he had been accustomed to regard with much reverence.
"That's good; and what is your sister about?"
"Flora runs a sewing machine, and does very well by it," answered Eben. "She gets a great deal of work from Miss Barnard and other ladies at the Cure."
"Tell her not to work too hard. She will be getting consumption or something worse if she does. Tell her from me she ought to take a walk every day."
"I will, sir. I try to have her go out every day, but she is so afraid of losing time. But here is my stopping-place, I suppose."
"You had better go on to Hobartown and wait there for the three-o'clock train," said Mr. Antis. "I'll settle your passage, and there is something to pay for your dinner. You will find it a more entertaining place to wait than this."
"And I dare say you won't mind doing an errand for me," added the doctor. "I want to send a note up to Dr. Porter at the college, and was meaning to give it to some of the hackman, but if you will carry it for me, I shall be much obliged. Go up to the medical college and ask for Dr. Porter. He will be in the museum, I dare say."
"I wonder—" said Eben, and then he stopped, shocked at his own boldness.
"Well, you wonder what?" asked the doctor, good-naturedly.
"He wonders whether he can see the museum, I suppose," said Mr. Antis, answering for Eben. "He has a great hankering after bones, and such like. I found him the other day trying to put together a hen's skeleton which he had cleaned up somehow."
"Is that so?" said the doctor. "Then he shall be gratified;" and he wrote a few words at the bottom of his note. "There I have given you an introduction to Dr. Porter, and he will show you any number of skeletons and other cheerful objects of that description. But what did you want to put the hen's skeleton together for?"
"I wanted to see how it went," replied Eben, finding his voice, which he was rather apt to lose under the influence of any pleasurable emotion. "Such things are so curious and interesting."
"You ought to study medicine," remarked the doctor. "Why don't you?"
"I only wish—" Eben began, but something choked him, and he turned away and looked steadfastly out of the window.
Dr. Henry had a wonderful tact in understanding the feelings of those about him. He saw that he had unwittingly touched a tender point, and that the boy was trying hard to control his painful feelings. He turned away and talked to Mr. Antis till they reached Hobartown.
"Here we are!" said he, cheerfully. "You won't have any trouble in finding Dr. Porter, and I dare say you will make friends with him, for he is a kind old man, and fond of young people."
"Thank you, sir. Does the note need an answer?"
"No; it is only to ask him to meet me at the train to-night."
"And, Eben, don't go to a saloon or any such place to get your dinner," added Mr. Antis. "Go to the hotel or to Williams's. There! Good-bye, and have a nice time while you are here. You have saved me a great deal of trouble."
"That boy seems to have a good deal in him," remarked Dr. Henry as the train moved on.
"Indeed he has!" replied Mr. Antis. "You touched his heart when you spoke of his studying medicine."
"So I saw. What is there about it?" Mr. Antis went over the particulars of Eben's history. Dr. Henry listened with great interest, and asked a good many questions.
"It's all nonsense about his going through college," said he when Mr. Antis finished. "Colleges don't make doctors. If he has got it in him, he had better go to work and study medicine directly. Not that any amount of college learning would do him any hurt, of course, if he had time for it, but he has neither time nor money, it seems."
"No, there's the rub. He has get to earn his own living, and he wants to help his family; though, since the old lady has taken to going out nursing, I fancy they do very well."
"Is he a steady boy?" was Dr. Henry's next question. "Does he do what he undertakes, or does he work a little while at a thing and then get tired of it?"
"He does what he undertakes, if it can possibly be done," replied Mr. Antis. "He is not so quick as some, but he is the most perfectly faithful boy I ever saw in my life. If I tell him to attend to anything, I am sure to find it done, if it is a week afterwards. I believe he worked a week at that hen's skeleton, but he seemed to get it all right at last."
"Good!" said the doctor, emphatically. "That is the kind of boy I like;" and looking out of the window, he fell into a reverie which lasted all the way to Auburn.
EBEN MAKES A NEW FRIEND AND MEETS AN OLD ONE.
EBEN knew his way to the college very well, and found Dr. Porter without trouble. The old gentleman was in the anatomical museum, and Eben glanced round him with wondering and delighted eyes while Dr. Henry's note was being read. Dr. Porter smiled when he came to the postscript.
"So you think you would like to see the museum?"
"Yes, sir, if you would be so kind as to show me," said Eben, starting, for his whole attention was already absorbed by an unspeakably hideous anatomical painting which hung near him.
"Do you know anything about anatomy?" asked the doctor.
"Not much," replied Eben, blushing. "Only what I read in Miss Milliard's physiology and in the old Edinburgh encyclopaedia that father had."
"Well, that is not a bad beginning," said the doctor, kindly. "But how came you to care for such reading?"
"I don't know, sir; I always did like it. When I was a very little boy, mother scolded me for pulling open the cat's mouth and looking down her throat; but I did not mean to hurt her: I only wanted to see how it was that she purred."
"That was pursuit of knowledge under difficulties," said Dr. Porter, laughing. "I dare say your mother's fears were quite as much for you as for puss. Didn't she bite you?"
"Oh no, sir. We were old friends, and she knew I didn't mean any harm."
Dr. Porter was a very kind old gentleman, of most polished and winning manners, though he could be stern enough on occasions, and sarcastic enough too to make a rude or impudent student wish to creep into the smallest hole he could find. He was really interested in Eben, and Eben felt that he was so. Something in his manner overcame the boy's usual shyness and awkwardness of expression, and before they finished the tour of the museum, he had told his whole story and opened his whole heart to his new friend. Dr. Porter listened to and sympathized with him, and explained what they were looking at, to Eben's heart's content.
"But it must be dinner-time," said the doctor, stopping at last and looking at his watch. "Have you had your dinner?"
"No, sir," replied Eben. "Mr. Antis gave me the money to pay for my dinner, but I had forgotten all about it."
"Don't you feel hungry?"
"Yes, sir, now I think of it, I believe I do," said Eben. "I had a pretty early breakfast, and not much time to eat it."
"Well, you had better come up and get your dinner with me. I live at the hotel now. My daughter is away, and I want to see a little more of you."
"I am not dressed," said Eben, looking at his clothes, which were those which he wore about his work every day. "I came off in such a hurry I had hardly time to put on my hat."
"Oh, never mind. We shall find soap and water in my room. Come! It is time we were off. I am hungry, if you are not, and I have no notion of dining off bones and preparations, I can assure you!"
Great indeed was the amazement of certain fine young students boarding at the hotel to see Dr. Porter come into the dining-room with Eben, seat him at his own particular table, and treat him with every attention. More than one of them would have given a good deal for such a mark of consideration, for Dr. Porter was a great personage, not only in the college, but also in the society of the little town.
Eben, on his part, enjoyed his dinner very much. He had been taught "manners" when he was young, and he had something of the instinctive good-breeding of an Indian. An American Indian, however newly caught, is rarely guilty of any breach of table manners, simply because he waits to see what other people do.
"Come up to my room," said the doctor when the dinner was over. "You have time, haven't you?"
"Oh yes, sir, plenty of time. The train does not go till three fifteen, and it is only two now."
"Well, you will want to run about town a little, I dare say. However, we shall have time for a little chat."
"How many books!" said Eben, looking at the two well-filled bookcases. "I think I should be perfectly happy if I had so many books as that."
"Here is but a small part of my library," said the doctor. "These are my working tools which I use every day. Some other time I will show you my whole collection. Now, see here, Eben: suppose I render you partly happy by lending you one of these books to read; will you take good care of it, and be ready to give me some account of it when I see you again?"
"Yes, sir; indeed I will," replied Eben. "I will take the greatest care of it."
"Well, then, here is Carpenter's 'Comparative Physiology,' a stout fellow, as you see, but interesting as a romance to any one who cares for such things. Now, if you work through this faithfully, you will have made a very good beginning. Stay! You must have a dictionary of some kind. Do you know French?"
"No, sir. I began to learn Latin, and I have tried not to forget it."
"You had better let the Latin go, and study French," said Dr. Porter. "You will find the modern languages of more practical use to you in the beginning. There! Now you are pretty well equipped, and I shall have to send you away, for I have a lecture to prepare. Perhaps you may have lectures of your own to prepare some day."
A happier boy was not to be found in the United States than was Eben Fairchild that day as he walked down the long hill on which stood the group of college buildings. He could not resist the temptation to look into his books as he went along, till a stumble over a stone brought him nearly on his nose and quite to his senses at the same moment.
"Well, there! They'll keep!" And resolutely closing them, Eben began to study the shop-windows, that he might amuse his mother and Flora with an account of them when he got home. He was looking at a beautiful picture in the window of a bookstore, when some one slapped him on the shoulder, and looking round, he saw Tom Wilbur. Tom was no special favourite of Eben's, but he was in the mood to be cordial to everybody.
"Why, Eben, is this you? How came you over here?"
"I came on an errand for Mr. Antis," replied Eben, shaking hands.
"Seems to me I'd have dressed up a little," said Tom, with his usual politeness. "The folks here ain't like the folks in Boonville. They don't think much of a fellow, unless he looks nice."
"I hadn't time to dress," said Eben, feeling vexed at himself for being annoyed at Tom's words. "I had to catch a ride and come off at a moment's warning."
"Oh, well, it don't matter for you, I dare say. What are you staring at in this window? I don't see anything very interesting."
"At the pictures. I think they are beautiful, and Flossy will like to hear about them."
"Oh, well, never mind! Come and have a game of billiards."
"I don't know how to play billiards."
"Well, at tenpins, then. I think you know how to play tenpins, and they have a capital alley in this saloon."
Now, Eben did know how to play tenpins, and was fond of the game. He hesitated, but only for a minute.
"No, thank you, Tom. Mr. Antis told me particularly not to go to any saloon."
"Fiddle-de-dee for Mr. Antis! He ain't your father, and if he was, he isn't here. Come along, and don't be such a great baby! I'll pay for you, and like as not you'll make some money, for I know you are a good player. I won five dollars there the other day."
Eben remembered Jem Carter's words about the first bet. "No, Tom, I can't go to a saloon, and I won't, so don't ask me. How do you like the dry goods business?"
"Oh, I have left there. I couldn't stand it."
"Why, what a fellow you are to change about!" said Eben. "You will be one of the rolling stones that gather no moss, if you don't mind. What was the matter this time?"
"Enough was the matter," said Tom, sulkily. "I guess you wouldn't find it very pleasant to stand behind a counter all day, pulling down things just to put them up again, and getting a precious blowing up if you didn't have everything just so, or answered back anybody's impudence. It was enough to make anybody mad."
"If you don't do anything till you find everything just right, you won't do much," said Eben, sagely.
"I don't care; I ain't going to be bullied and treated like a slave for anybody."
"What are you doing now?"
"Oh, I am in a shoe store, but I don't like it much. The college fellows hold their heads so high and look down on clerks as if they were no better than toads. I mean to make my father send me to school and to college. I know he can afford it as well as not if he chooses, and then, I shall be somebody."
"And then the Seniors will bully you, and you will have to mind the professors and tutors, and be on hand for prayers and recitations, and how will you like that?" asked Eben.
"I don't care; I mean to try it, anyway. But come; go with me and got some oysters and a glass of lager."
"No, thank you," said Eben again. "I have just had my dinner at the hotel."
"Whew!" whistled Tom, opening his eyes. "We are grand, to be sure! How did you come to do that?"
"Well, I went up to the college to carry a letter from Dr. Henry to Dr. Porter, and Dr. Porter showed me the museum, and then asked me to dinner with him. He lent me these books, too. I think he is a nice old gentleman."
"Nice! I should think he was. There is not a person in Hobartown more thought of—no, not the president himself. Well, to be sure, the luck that some people have! But did he really ask you to dinner, or are you fooling, now? You are just trying to make me believe a big one, I bet."
"Believe or not, as you like," said Eben, indignantly. "It's nothing to me."
"Oh, come, don't be mad," said Tom, who began to think Eben might, after all, be a friend worth cultivating. "I dare say it is all as you say, only it seems so odd. Are you working for Mr. Antis yet?"
"Yes, but I am in the mill now."
"In my place, I suppose?" said Tom.
"Not exactly. I have more work to do, and I have more wages."
"Well, I am sure you are welcome," returned Tom. "How do you like it?"
"Very well, so far," said Eben, smiling. "I only went in this morning, and I came right away after breakfast."
"Well, I wonder at that. I expected you would step right into my shoes."
"I believe Mr. Antis wanted me to finish something about the garden. But good-bye, Tom; I must be going, or I shall miss the train."
"I'll go down with you."
"Won't you be wanted at the shop?"
"Oh, that don't matter. However, perhaps I had better be going."
Eben was not sorry to part with Tom. He wanted time to think over his new-found pleasures and all the things that had happened to him. He had the feeling that I suppose almost every one has experienced after a day of unwonted pleasure and excitement—as though he must have done or said something wrong or unbecoming. However, when he came to consider the matter, he could not find anything very important of which to accuse himself, unless it was that he had talked rather too freely to Dr. Porter and to Jem Carter.
"Certainly I never said so much to any stranger before, but the old gentleman seemed somehow to lead me on from one thing to another. Dr. Henry said he was fond of young people, and I am sure he must be, or he would not have lent me these nice books. I wonder how he knows that I won't run away with them or sell them? I wonder if Flossy would give up Latin and study French with me? Mary Clarke has studied French, and she could help us along."
"But there was Jem Carter. I wonder if I was right to speak so plainly to him? It was hard work enough for me to do it, I know, so I didn't speak to please or show off myself. It seems like taking a great deal on myself, now I look back on it, but, after all, I know that every word I said was true, and he was not offended, either, for he was as kind as could be, and asked me to pray for him. Oh, if he could only turn round, and be a good, sober, Christian man, how happy all his friends would be! Well, there is no use in going back on it, as Jeduthun says. I remember reading in that book Miss Barnard lent Flossy last week, that it was a bad habit to get into the way of always going back in the dark to see if you hadn't left a spark from a candle behind you. Why, what a crowd!"
They were now near the Springs, and as they came up Eben saw that there was a great crowd about the station. This was nothing very unusual, for going down to see the train come in was one of the few public amusements that the Springs afforded, but it was not the usual merry crowd of ladies and gentlemen from the Cure and the hotel. They were almost all men. There was no laughing and very little talking, and every one seemed to be speaking in low tones. What could have happened? As Eben got out of the car, somebody said:
"No, he was perfectly sober. I was talking with him not half an hour before, and he was just as straight as I am—not joking and carrying on, as he generally is, but kind of grave and serious."
"Here's Eben Fairchild," said some one else. "I dare say he will take the mare home. Eben, would you be afraid to drive poor Jem Carter's mare over home?"
"No, of course not," replied Eben. "But why does not Jem take her himself?"
"Why, haven't you heard?"
"No, I have been at Hobartown all day. Is he sick?"
"Dead!" replied the man. "Killed in a minute, not an hour ago."
Eben felt sick. "How was it?" he asked.
"He was standing down here when the two o'clock freight came in, and just as it was slacking, that little two-year-old girl of Marvin's went toddling right on to the track before the engine. Jem saw her and sprang to save her, and he did, somehow, manage to throw her over on the other track, but the engine knocked him down and killed him instantly. He was stone dead when they took him up. Halloo, my boy, don't faint! What's the matter?"
"I don't know. It was so sudden," said Eben, recovering himself with a great effort. "Why, I rode over with him from Boonville this morning."
"Did you?" asked another bystander. "Was he quite sober then?"
"Yes, indeed; as sober and sensible as anybody. Oh, poor Jem! What will his poor mother do? Does she know about it?"
"Yes, before this time; Mr. Edwards, the minister, went over to tell her the news, but they can't take the body home till they get a coffin. They have telegraphed for one, and it will be here by the five fifteen."
"After all," said some one else, "if he was to die, it was better so than in delirium tremens or in some drunken brawl, as seemed most likely to happen. He died in a good cause, and there is no telling what thoughts passed through his mind in that minute."
"'Between the saddle and the ground,If mercy's sought, mercy's found.'"
"But it is a dreadful thing to live the life he did, and then be called away so sudden."
As Eben drove homewards with the mare, who almost seemed to understand that something had happened to her master, he could no longer regret that he had spoken freely to poor Jem. He had not known that he was speaking to a dying man, but if he had, he did not feel that he would have said much more. He remembered, with a thrill of sudden joy, that Jem had seemed to take his words not only kindly but gladly, and had asked his prayers.
"That will be a comfort to his poor old mother," he thought; "and one thing I know—I will never be so backward as I have been, in speaking on such subjects at proper times."
He drove the mare home and attended to her comforts with special care, but the poor creature whinnied and looked wistfully about her as though she missed something. Eben's tears came fast as he patted and caressed her.
"Poor Beauty! You are looking for your master, but he will never take care of you any more. He was always a good master to you, wasn't he, Beauty?"
"Well, Eben, here you are at last," said Jeduthun as Eben entered the mill to report himself before going home. "I've been looking for you all day. The old lady was real worried, when we first heard that somebody was killed over at the Springs, for fear it was you, but I told her I guessed there was no occasion. What has kept you so long?"
"I got carried off on the cars, and had to stay at Hobartown till three," said Eben, "and then I drove poor Jem's mare home and took care of her."
"Ah, poor Jam! He was called dreadful sudden, wasn't he? And to think it was only this morning you was riding with him! Well, we must all go some time, we don't know how soon, and the only thing is to be ready. But you look regularly beat out, Eben. You had better run down home and see your mother, and you needn't mind coming back again to-night if you don't want to. Oh, I forgot to ask you: of course you found Mr. Antis?"
"Yes. I just made out to get on the back end of the train, and I had to go clear through to the Pullman car before I found him. I was going to get off at P—, but he said I might just as well go on to Hobartown, where I could have a good time."
"That's just like the boss!" said Jeduthun. "He's about the consideratest man ever I knew. Well, did you have a good time?"
"I guess I did!" said Eben. "Dr. Henry was on the train, and he gave me a note to carry to Dr. Porter up at the college, and Dr. Porter, he showed me the museum and lent me these books, see."
"They look like dreadful hard reading," said Jeduthun, glancing at the dictionary of anatomical terms. "I don't suppose I could make head or tail of them, but I'm glad if you like them, and I'm glad you had such a pleasant day."
EBEN TRIES TO SERVE TWO MASTERS.
"SEEMS to me, Eben, you're getting kind of scatter-brained lately."
"What now?" asked Eben, not very good-naturedly.
"What now? Well, not so much now as yesterday," replied Jeduthun. "You gave Bassett's account to Williams and his to Bassett, and you dropped the wrench and hammer out in the shed, just where you'd been using them, I suppose, and what you've done with that 'ere stencil-plate maybe you know, but I don't. I've been looking for it for half the morning. Did you post the letters last night?"
Eben started and coloured. He had forgotten to put the letters in the office, and had brought them back in his pocket.
"Now, just look here, Eben, I want to talk to you!" said Jeduthun, seriously. "This ain't going to answer, my boy—not at all. You ain't doing right either by the boss or by yourself. You have always been a first-rate boy, but I can't say you have done well the past two weeks."
"I don't know what I have done so very bad," said Eben, trying to speak carelessly. "I'm sorry I forgot the letters, but I can go and put them in now."
"Now is just too late. Mr. Bassett is gone, and the letters will have to wait till to-morrow. It isn't so much what you have done as what you haven't, Eben, which is most commonly the case. I've picked up and covered up after you as well as I could, but I can't help you unless you help yourself, and besides, I don't know why I should. Mr. Antis didn't like it at all when he heard of the mistakes you made about the bills, and I'm afraid he'll be awful provoked when he finds out about the letters."
"Well, everybody makes mistakes sometimes," said Eben.
"Eben," said Jeduthun, impressively—for the miller could be impressive in spite of his miscellaneous grammar and decided Virginia accent—"Eben, you are wrong, and you know you are. Your conscience tells you so this minute. You ain't being faithful to Mr. Antis, though he pays you large wages for a boy of your age, and though he has been very kind to you. You ain't doing your duty neither to God nor man, and unless you turn right round and go on the other track, you'll find yourself in more trouble than you know."
Eben was silent, and looked steadily out of the window. His conscience did tell him that Jeduthun was right, but his pride and some other feelings would not let him own that he was in the wrong.
"The fact is," continued Jeduthun, "you're a-trying to do two things at once, and that's what you can't do. You can't serve two masters no more than any one else. I've no objection to your reading your medical books in the evening if you like, though it must make it rather dull for Miss Flossy and the old lady, after they haven't seen you all day, but you have no business to be bringing them into the mill, and letting your thoughts run on them when you ought to be 'tending to your work. If you're going to be a doctor, why, be a doctor, and if you're going to be a miller, why, be a miller, but don't try to be both at once. That's being too much like my young missus when she emptied the camphire bottle into the mince pies, thinking it was rose water: it spiled the medicine, and it spiled the pies too."
Eben went home that night in a very uncomfortable state of mind. Mr. Antis had been very sharp with him about the letters, and had told him that the cost of the telegraphing which his neglect had rendered necessary should be taken out of his wages. But that had not hurt Eben half so much as the way in which Mr. Antis had said, "I really thought I had found one boy who could be trusted to do what he undertook."
Eben knew very well where the trouble was, but he was slow to acknowledge it to himself, because he felt that such an acknowledgment involved a great deal. He had found the physiology, as Dr. Porter had said, as interesting as a romance, and his head was running on it all the time. The book was in his hand the moment he entered the house, and hardly left it, even at meal-times, and he was impatient of the slightest interruption to his studies.
Flora, who had set out with being delighted with her brother's new employment, began to find that in the experience it was rather dreary. The evenings were now growing long, and she found that after a day of fine sewing, her eyes were too weary to read by candle light, while Eben was impatient of any conversation, even when nobody talked to him. Mary Clarke was bent upon making the most of her last year in school, and studied every evening up in her own room. Mrs. Fairchild dozed over her knitting and Flora sat silent with hers, while Eben pored over his big books without a word to say to anybody for as long a time as his mother would allow him to sit up.
"Where is my book?" was his first question to Flora as he entered the house and missed his beloved "Carpenter" from its accustomed place.
"I dare say mother laid it in the other room," replied Flora. "I had to use the whole table for cutting out and basting my work."
"I wish my things could be let alone!" said Eben, sharply.
"I couldn't help it, Eben," returned Flora, in rather an injured tone. "My work had to be got ready, and I cannot cut out on the floor. It breaks my back. It is rather less trouble for you to get your book out of the other room."
Eben said nothing, but finding his book, sat down to read by the lamp.
"Well, I declare!" said Mary Clarke as Flora came in from the well bringing a heavy pail of water. "I should think somebody else might do that."
"Eben don't like to be interrupted," said Flora, demurely.
"Flora could have asked me to bring the water, I suppose," said Eben, rather loftily.
"I asked you last night," replied Flora, and Eben bit his lip without replying, for he well remembered the answer he had made and the ungracious way in which he had performed the service, which he always used to render as a matter of course.
"Are you going to have any reading to-night?" asked Mary, after tea. "If not, I will bring my books down stairs and study."
"I presume not," replied Flora. "We never do have any, now-a-days."
"It seems kind of dull to have it all so still," said Mrs. Fairchild, rather plaintively. "Of course Eben wants to read his book, but I can't help wishing, sometime, that, it was interesting to the rest of us. That is one way I miss Mr. Fairchild so much, now that the evenings are growing long. He used always to read loud to me winter evenings. I do always enjoy a book read loud so much more than I do reading it to myself; and besides, my eyes are not so good as they were."
"I do wish," said Eben, laying down his book and speaking in a voice which trembled with anger—"I do wish I could have a minute's peace somewhere. I should think, after I had been working hard all day in the mill and worried about forty different things, that I might be allowed to spend my evening in quiet with my book, without being snapped at and hinted at on every side by mother and Flora. Flora, I should think you might have a little feeling for me, but you haven't one bit."
"Why, Eben, my son, what's the matter?" asked his mother. "Is that the way to speak to your sister?"
If Flora had been wise, she would not have said anything, but have left her brother to be ashamed of his petulance. But she was not very wise, nor was she, with all her good qualities, very amiable; moreover, she loved Eben with all the love of her heart, and she was, besides, tired and nervous from too close application to a perplexing piece of work, and so was therefore in an excellent state for a quarrel. So she said in the sarcastic tone which she well knew always vexed Eben, "Oh, never mind him, mother! Of course the vexation and fatigue have been all on his side. We haven't had any. We have done nothing but enjoy our elegant leisure—you with Mrs. Badger's sick baby, and I with a perverse sewing machine. Besides, what are women made for, if not for the lords of creation to vent their vexation upon? We ought to accept our lot, and be thankful."
"That ain't my notion, and it wasn't your dear father's, Flora Fairchild!" said Mrs. Fairchild, who always took things literally. "And I don't believe Eben thinks so, either."
"Oh, very well!" said Eben. "If I cannot be quiet here, I will go to my room. It is very kind of you, Flora, I must say—all to revenge yourself because I forgot to bring you a pail of water, I suppose. You know well enough how much I have always wished to study, and you pretended to wish it too. I can see now just how much you were willing to sacrifice to me."
"Children, now don't you say another word until you can speak pleasantly!" said Mrs. Fairchild.
"Oh, I don't want to speak," said Flora. "I am glad to understand what a monster of selfishness and ingratitude I am. Eben is all right, of course, only, as he is so wise, I should like to know how all this is to work for his good, when the very thing that he ought to be thankful for and that he has wished for so long makes him cross and selfish—that's all!"
"Not a word more, Flora!" said her mother. "No, Eben, not a word! Mind me! There has been a great deal too much said already."
Mrs. Fairchild rarely roused herself to command. A mild "I guess I wouldn't," or, "It isn't worth while," was as far as she commonly went in reproof, but when she did exercise her authority there was that about her which commanded obedience. Flora sank back in her chair and knitted furiously, and Eben hid his face behind his book. The rest of the evening was passed in silence till nine o'clock, when Eben arose and lighted his own lamp.
"Eben, you are not going to bed before prayers, are you?" said his mother, looking at him in surprise, for since Mr. Fairchild's death Eben had been acting as chaplain to the family.
"I don't wonder he feels like it," said Flora, half aloud. "His prayers would be edifying, no doubt."
"Flora!" whispered Mary Clarice, warningly. Eben turned back without a word and set down his lamp.
"You may give me the book, my son," said his mother. "I will read for once."
Without speaking, Eben brought out the great Bible, laid it on the table before his mother, arranged the lamp conveniently for her, and then sat down in the corner, turning his own face from the light. It was the long-established custom of the family to read the New Testament through in course, but this night, for some reason of her own, Mrs. Fairchild departed from that custom, turning over to the Gospel of John and reading our Lord's intercessory prayer. Then she said, a little tremulously:
"We will sing your father's favourite hymn, children:"
"'How blest the tie that bindsOur hearts in Christian love!'"
"He always loved that hymn, and I remember we sung it at worship in his room the very day before he died. Mary, will you start the tune?"
Flora broke down at the first verse and Eben's notes were very husky, but Mrs. Fairchild's weak, sweet voice and Mary's strong and full one carried the plaintive melody through to the end. Mrs. Fairchild's prayer was as simple as that of a child. She prayed that they might all be kept in the love of God and of each other, that no clouds might come between them, but that they might have grace to see clearly, and to fulfil their duty, the one towards the other. Mrs. Fairchild's religious faith was her strong point, and gave to her character all the force it possessed.