Summerfield Part 18

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 pa.s.s; 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 f.a.n.n.y's poet sings."

"Only in little patches; and they are dull, and without interest, unless the sun happens to s.h.i.+ne. 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 f.a.n.n.y, and buying Desdemona Faddle to fill f.a.n.n.y'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, f.a.n.n.y?"

"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 why _do_ you 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 refres.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.surances 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 f.a.n.n.y 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!"

"_I_ hope too, that I shall not have trouble," said Fabens with rising agitation; "but you seem to wake me out of a singular dream. What _have_ I 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 astonis.h.i.+ng things had come to light. That Fairbanks had obtained money at the banks in considerable amounts on the endors.e.m.e.nts 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!

"What _shall_ I 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."

XXVI.

ANOTHER WEEK OF REALITY.

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?"