I've Been Thinking Part 10

Old Peter had also much to say in her praise.

'He did not 'spect to see such a s.h.i.+p-shape craft; she ain't made to run fast, but she'll bear the wind, and she'll ride the waves, and that's what you want, my hearties. But what's her name?'

'Oh! we have not given her a name yet, we haven't thought about that!'

'Never thought about that? but you must think about it; what is a boat without a name? but I s'pose it ain't worth while to do no such thing on this craft o' your'n, seeing she is launched, and in sailing trim; but I tell you what, if you ain't given her a name, I'll do it; you must call her Susie, do you hear?'

'Would you?'

'Yes would I; and where can you get a prettier name, or one that will bring you better luck than that?'

'Well, if you say so; it's a pretty name, ain't it, Jim?'

Old Peter was determined to see that his favorite name was fastened to the boat; and in a manner that could not have been expected from him, printed it, in very legible characters, on the inside of her stern.

'Now, good luck to her! and don't you, boy, ever leave her while there's a plank to stand on; hear that?'

'Yes, sir; I shall not leave her for a trifle.'

The potatoes and beans proved very satisfactory to Major Morris. Jim received his money for each load, and was thus enabled to carry out his plan of paying for them. No sooner was a quant.i.ty brought down to him, measured and put into the boat, than he was ready with the pay; it was counted out to them in good silver money. Many wondered where it came from, and made up their minds that Mr. Montjoy had left his family quite a property, for all that was said about his dying poor.

No time was lost by Jim in completing the contract; every day that would answer was seized upon to carry a load. He neither counted profits, nor indulged in the least recreation, until the whole matter was settled.

A full month pa.s.sed, using their utmost diligence, before they took on board the last load, and had the satisfaction of delivering it safely, and receiving from Major Morris, not only the full balance due, but an expression of his perfect satisfaction with the whole affair. One hundred dollars Jim and Ned could now call their own, for although Ned said that it ought to belong to Jim, he would hear of no such thing; Ned, he said, had worked as hard as either of them, and sometimes harder.

'Well, Jim, what would all the working have amounted to without those thoughts of yours? and only to think how I laughed at you.'

'We won't mind that now, Ned; but if you won't laugh, I will tell you what I have been thinking about again.'

'Do tell, Jim? I will never ridicule any of your thoughts after this.'

It happened that the boys were sitting on their favorite rock, enjoying the calm decline of one of autumn's loveliest days.

'Come, Jim, I promise you I won't laugh.'

'Why, to tell you the truth, Ned, I have been thinking whether there was no way that we might be supplied with such things as we need from a store, without going to Grizzle's; I am tired of it, for my part.'

'There is no use of thinking about that, Jim, or talking about it either; we have had that over long enough; we cannot help ourselves, and there's the end of it.'

'I don't know that; I think we might help ourselves.'

'How, Jim? Come, let me hear.'

'Do you remember, Ned, I once told you about a boat I saw at the fort, which had come from a distance with stores for the garrison? there were large square chests of tea, just as they came from China, and barrels of mola.s.ses and sugar, and casks of rice, and a great variety of things, enough to have completely filled Mr. Grizzle's store.'

'Yes; I remember you told us about it, when you came home. But what of it, Jim? What good will they do us?'

'I do not expect that those particular articles will benefit us, especially, but I have thought a great deal about the matter since then; and now, what I was going to propose is, to put your money with mine, and let me lay it out in tea, and mola.s.ses, and sugar and some other things.'

'Why, Jim, now you are crazy. Why, when should we ever eat up a hundred dollars' worth of such things?'

'But you are too fast, Ned; you don't wait to hear what I have to say. I intended, when we had procured these things, to let the neighbors know of it, and when they wanted, we could sell to them for a small profit. I know many would prefer buying of us rather than of Grizzle.'

'Why, Jim!' and Ned jumped down from the rock, and placing himself immediately before his brother, looked up at him with great earnestness.

'You mean that we should set up a little store--don't you, Jim?'

'Yes, it would be something like that.'

'And then, perhaps, after a while we should have a great many things, and a great many people would come to buy of us; I know they would, for they all like you so much.'

'I don't know about that, Ned; but I think we could sell things cheaper than they have been accustomed to buy them, and, if so, they will surely come; and if we can take such little things from them as we have sold at the fort, and give them a fair price--'

'Oh, Jim, only think of it--hurra, hurra!'

'Do, Ned, stop; you will frighten all the folks.'

'What is to pay now, Ned?'

'Oh, Sam, is that you? hurra, Sam.'

'What ails him, Jim?'

'Oh, he has got into one of his tantrums again.'

'I tell you what, Sam Oak.u.m, you don't know what Jim has been thinking about this time; it beats his old thinking, I tell you.'

'Why, what is it, Ned? Come, tell.'

'Oh, Sam, Jim is going to set up a store, and do all manner of things.'

Jim and Sam could stand no more; so they broke out into a hearty fit of laughter. Sam, supposing it to be a joke, took no farther notice of the matter.

'You make me laugh, Ned, whether I will or no; but I don't feel much like laughing just now.'

'Why, what's the matter, Sam?' said both boys at once.

'There has nothing happened to me; but I have just been talking with Bill Andrews--he feels pretty bad. Bill is in trouble.'

'There, Jim; I told you so. Don't you remember the day your boat was put into the water, Sam? I saw then that something was the matter with Bill.'

'I hope he has not taken to any of his old ways.'

'Oh, no, Jim; I don't think Bill will ever take to them again. But you know Bill's mother?'

'She has not turned him away, has she?'

'No, Ned, not exactly; but I am afraid he will go away.'

'Oh, Sam! don't say so, for Bill is such a clever fellow.'

'I know he is'--and Sam's eyes began to glisten, and his lip to tremble--'he is a real clever fellow; and to think how well he has behaved, and how different he is from what he once was. I should not think his mother could do so.'

'Has she been scolding him, Sam?'

'Pretty much so, Ned. You know how Bill used to let things go--almost any how--he says he did. Bill is sorry for all that; he is very sorry--I know he is. But I tell you what I believe, boys, that when we have done wrong, even if we are sorry for it, and try to do better, something or other comes up after a while to make us smart for it; perhaps we did not feel sorry enough, or may be it is to make us sorry all our lives; I suppose we ought to be. Well, as I was saying, Bill used to be much at Grizzle's, and Grizzle let him run in debt as much as he pleased.'

'I tell you what, Sam Oak.u.m, I would not go in debt for any thing. I had rather live on raw clams and sea-weed.'

'So would I, Ned. But, as I was saying, Grizzle knew well enough that Bill's mother had land. He knew he should get his pay.'

'But don't you remember, Sam, when you and I went there last summer to engage potatoes, Bill said he only owed Grizzle a trifle?'

'I know he did, Jim, and so he thought, but Bill has been careless. He has taken potatoes there every year, as he thought, enough to square his account; but he never saw how it was, nor had any settlement made, and it has run on until lately; and when Bill asked him, for the first time, for his account--what do you think? Grizzle up's with a bill of more than eighty dollars.'

'Eighty dollars!'

'Yes, Jim, eighty dollars and upwards. Bill said when he saw it, he felt as if he should drop down.'

'Did he pay any of it? I would not have paid one cent of it until it had been pretty well examined. You remember your father's account?'

'Bill says he was confounded by it, and so afraid that his mother should hear any thing about it--for you know she is such a queer woman--that he paid Grizzle all the money that he received from you--thirty dollars.'

'Oh, what a pity!'

'Well, you see, Jim, Bill was so afraid his mother would know it he said it would make her about crazy.'

'Yes; but for all that, he ought to have told his mother.'

'I suppose he ought; but she soon knew it. For what did Grizzle do, but send d.i.c.k Tucker there; and he has taken the cattle, and other things, to pay the bill.'

'Oh, Sam, I am sorry for Bill. I wonder what his mother did say?'

'Bill says she called him every thing she could think of; and then she cried and hallooed so loud, that he had to go for the Widow Brown to come and pacify her. But he says he can stay at home no longer; so he is going across the barrens to see a Mr. Rutherford, who promised to be a friend to him; and he says he never means to come back, until he gets money enough to pay that account; and he is coming here to bid you good bye.'

'Sam Oak.u.m, this is too bad. I have been thinking how Bill might be a great help to us, and himself too.'

'It is no use; he is done for--his cattle are gone, and so there is an end of it. But don't say any thing to Bill about this, nor let him see that you feel bad towards him.'

'We don't feel bad towards him. Why, Sam Oak.u.m, we like Bill Andrews almost as well as we do you; but there he comes.'

Bill never appeared to better advantage than he did that evening: his countenance was naturally one of those bright and playful ones, over which there could always be seen some streaks of suns.h.i.+ne. He had really been through a severe trial; and had not his principles been well established, he might have been driven by desperation to his old habits; but his resolution against those evil ways was strong. And although Hettie had been for some time absent, yet her advice was before him, lifting his mind to better things, and creating a true disgust for what was low and corrupting. His look was sad, but not cast down. He gave his hand to the boys, and shook theirs with great cordiality. His eye indeed glistened, and his lip quivered; but these were only tokens of the pain it gave him to part from friends whom he loved so well. Few words were spoken. Ned had an abhorrence for tears. He therefore turned suddenly away, and began throwing stones very violently at some invisible object. Jim and Sam were not made of such stern material; and I do not suppose it ought to be set down against them, that, as soon as Bill's back was fairly turned, and on his way, they had between them quite a time of it.

On the morrow, just as the sun was beginning to pour forth a flood of glorious light, Bill shut the little gate that led from his mother's door-yard, and turning round as he did so, gave a smile through the tears which were flowing to his mother and sister, who stood wringing their hands and weeping aloud, on the little stoop that projected from their front door. He smiled, to let them see that he had no unkindness in his heart; and his tears were witness that he was on no errand of pleasure. Yet he lingered not, but, brus.h.i.+ng away the tears, and putting his bundle closer under his arm, walked with a firm step straight on his way. The sky was clear and blue, except where the beautiful sun-light was expanding in the east, and imparting a rich golden tint. The earth was whitened with the autumnal frost, and crisped under his footsteps, and the thick leaves rustled as he brushed along and disturbed their repose. His course was directed towards the Widow Brown's, where he must stop and say 'Good-bye,' and perhaps get a message to Hettie, whom he expected to meet before the day was over.

He walked briskly on; the sun had not yet penetrated the thick pines, and the cold air of the night still floated undisturbed as he entered the barrens. A lively fire was crackling on the widow's hearth, and at a plain, but clean-looking table, sat Mrs. Brown and her son. Coa.r.s.e but wholesome was the fare spread out upon it; and both arose as William entered, urging him to sit down and partake with them; having had but a little appet.i.te when he left his home, the keen air and the walk had prepared him to enjoy refreshment. Their meal ended, a little parcel taken for Hettie, a warm shake of the hand, and G.o.d's blessing implored upon him, and he was off.

This going to seek one's fortune is no trifling matter; the battle of life, where each is striving for his own particular benefit, and cares not who sinks so long as he himself securely floats, demands all the vital strength; and little else must claim our care or notice, save the great struggle.

Bill was yet a stranger to life, only as it glided along in the quiet seclusion, and that seclusion not the best adapted to bring forth man's n.o.blest efforts; beyond a bare support, and perhaps sometimes a thought of sharing his humble portion with her who had been a sort of guardian angel to him, his wishes had not hitherto aspired. No wonder, then, if trifles had a power to disturb him, which, to those immersed in scenes of busy life, would be but as an insect's buzz--a gentle brush, and it is gone. William Brown had left the cottage with him, and pleasant had been their chat together for a few miles; when about to separate, he merely said, 'Well, I wish you good luck; and if you see Hettie, please say to her that Dave Cross will be along by Rutherford's next week, and that he will stop and bring any word home that she wishes to send; but I guess, between you and me, it is only an excuse to have a chat with Hettie.'

Immediately after parting, Bill crossed the old bridge by the mill, and went on his way; but something had disturbed the inner man, for, as he ascended the hill, he paused where two roads met, one leading to Mr. Rutherford's, the other to the nearest town. A large stone lay at the point where they met: he threw his little bundle down, with an air that might mean, perhaps it did, 'I don't care what becomes of you or me either;' and then took a seat on the stone, leaned his chin on the head of his hickory staff, and looked at the gra.s.s and the stones and the old fence, and occasionally at a stray bird, as though there was something wrong about them. He waited a good long hour, in thinking, and hesitating, and vexing himself, and then trying to make the best of it; and finally picked up his bundle and started off, not in the direction of the town, but straight towards Mr. Rutherford's. It was late in the afternoon before he accomplished his journey, and found himself entering the gate which opened into the extensive grounds surrounding, as it was commonly called, the Rutherford House. He had never seen any thing like it before, and a more pleasant or home-looking place was seldom to be met with. There was a beautiful green lawn, with a long broad gravel road extending to the house; and there were large trees, spreading their long and drooping branches, scattered thickly over the lawn and lining the road, and the house was nestled beneath the shelter of some of the very largest and most graceful of the trees. It made no pretensions to architectural beauty, but it was large and well built; and the mult.i.tude of outhouses, and extensive range of barns and sheds, all in good order, spoke of room for man and beast, and of comfort too. Bill thought nothing of all this, his heart was full of misgivings as to how he should be received; to him it was all fine, too fine for the like of him; and he looked at some of the outbuildings, as he pa.s.sed along, to see if there was any place he could feel at home in, for the night.

George Rutherford, the inheritor of this lovely spot, had of earthly goods a bounteous store; but he had, also, what many an inheritor of earthly substance does not possess, a n.o.ble heart, large in its embrace of his fellow-man in all conditions, ever going out in its kindly feelings towards some object of benevolence; humble in every thought connected with himself, and with devoted zeal seeking to aid, to comfort, and to gratify the most menial of his dependents, and the most degraded and sorrow-stricken of his neighbours, far or near. Although rich blessings crowned his days, and sweet was the cup of life he quaffed, he felt most truly that no desert of his had earned them. Gifts of mercy he called them all; abounding gifts--too good, but as the tokens of Infinite Benevolence to the most unworthy.

He wanted, with all this, something of that shrewdness so essential to the getting or preserving property; this world so teems with those who covet all their eyes behold, who ask no counsel from the law of heaven or the code of earthly justice, so long as forms of law will screen them in their sly grasping after acres and goods, that a man needs, with all the piety of a saint, something of the serpent's cunning. It is not enough that he covets no man's silver or gold, that he wrongs no man of his due, that he extends his hand to the helpless, that he be ever ready to lift to his own level those who are struggling below him: he must take care for himself. Riches are fleeting substances, with wings ever ready for flight; he who enjoys the blessings they can bring, must give all diligence to 'see well to his flocks and herds; for riches are not for ever'; nor do they descend to many generations. Mr. Rutherford had already experienced some trials in this way; his confidence had been too strong, his sensibility for others' feelings too acute, and there was great danger that he might yet be a heavy sufferer, because he did not learn wisdom, as he might, from some of the trials he had already pa.s.sed through.

Whatever doubts may have disturbed Bill's mind as he was walking up the broad avenue, they were all dissipated the moment he was recognized by Mr. Rutherford. He grasped his hand with the cordiality of a friend, took him at once into the house, and into the presence of his lovely wife.

'You remember, my dear, the young man who so kindly a.s.sisted us at the time of the accident to our carriage.'

'Indeed I do,' said Mrs. Rutherford, rising and bidding him a hearty welcome.

Bill was put at once at ease; he never before could have supposed, that persons who lived so very differently from what he had been accustomed to, could be so affable; they seemed to him to feel and act as if he was as good as any of them; asked him as many questions as old Sam Cutter would have done, and seemed as pleased with all the little news he communicated, as though he had been a city resident, loaded with tidings from the gay and stirring world. The little children, too, in all their sprightliness and beauty--those speaking images of the parent's heart--came fondling round him; his plain rough garments were unheeded by them, and he was soon as familiar with the little prattlers as though they had been the children of his nearest neighbor.

But where was Hettie? Bill wondered much why she was not among the first to come and greet him. He did not ask; he heard her name spoken by the little ones, and his heart would beat and his breath grow short, and once he thought he heard her light step in the pa.s.sage; and then sad thoughts would come and sink his spirits, so buoyant from his kind reception. But Bill had yet to learn some lessons in the school of life.

Mr. Rutherford soon invited him to walk abroad, thus affording an opportunity to unburthen his mind, for he evidently had come for some express object. With much patience Mr. R. listened to his whole story, making no reply whatever until the budget was empty, nor, indeed, until some time after. Poor William thought that he had come to little purpose, and was anything than a welcome visitor. Mr. Rutherford, however, was only thinking in what way he could best serve the young man. He might indeed have taken him into his own family, and given him such employment as he had been accustomed to; but he thought he could perceive talents fitting him for a different sphere of life.

'How would you like to go to the city, and try your hand in a store?'

'I don't care where I go, sir, nor what the employment; if I can only have a chance to take care of myself honestly.'

'It will be very different from anything you have been accustomed to; the work may not be any harder, but it will be very constant, and without much chance for relaxation, merchants think that business is a subst.i.tute for everything else.'

But William was not to be daunted by any prospect of toil; and Mr. Rutherford, after telling him all he knew of the routine of business, proposed to give him a letter to a friend of his in an extensive business.

'He will do all that can be done to procure you a situation, and then you must do the rest yourself; but remember, William, that the most strict attention to everything you are called to do, an unflinching integrity, and a determined perseverance, will be requisite to gain success; and unless you have made up your mind to exert every energy, you had better return and engage yourself with whatever you can best at home.'

William's fine countenance was animated with an expression that told how his heart was touched.

'So far, sir, as any exertions, day or night, to make myself useful and acceptable will do it, I fear not; and I hope my friends will never have to regret any efforts in my favor. A sense of grat.i.tude, if nothing else, I trust will keep me watchful over myself.'

'Well, William, I will write this evening; I hope you will succeed, and I think you will.'

As they entered the house on their return, Hettie was just coming into the hall. Her appearance seemed to be accidental; perhaps it was. She blushed deeply, smiled a very little, and gave her hand to William in rather a timid manner. He was prepared to accost her warmly, but the peculiarity of her address chilled him; he felt a restraint he could not overcome, and his greeting was much like her own. She asked after her mother's health, thanked him for his trouble in bringing the little parcel for her, and then withdrew, leaving him to follow Mr. Rutherford, who was waiting at the parlor door to receive him.

William was tired enough that night to have slept soundly, but his thoughts would not be quiet; so he hailed the dawn with delight, and was ready immediately after breakfast to go on his way. Mr. Rutherford took him into a small room adjoining the parlor, and handing him the letter, 'There, William, I hope you will find this sufficient, and here is a trifle for you in case of need; if ever you become a rich man, you can return it: let me hear from you how you succeed.' So saying, he placed a little roll of bills in his hand, and bidding him G.o.d-speed, at once opened the door, apparently wis.h.i.+ng to avoid the shower of thanks which he saw beaming from the eye of the young man.

'Oh, sir, I never shall forget your kindness, and I hope I may yet prove it to you.'

Mr. Rutherford made no reply; he was not indifferent to grat.i.tude, but he did not care to be thanked personally. It was reward enough for him that he had made a fellow creature happy, and done what he could to give a helping hand to one just venturing on the deep waters. Long may that heart enjoy such draughts of pure happiness; and when, in years to come, you meet reverse of fortune, if such shall be thy fate, these stores, laid by in heaven's chancery, will be a refuge at your utmost need; and little deeds of love like this, long, long forgotten, will come like heavenly messengers, and with interest acc.u.mulated beyond the miser's compound gain. In the dark hour when clouds, blacker than the tempest's murky robe, shroud all the prospects of your earthly comfort, when hope of all deliverance that man may bring has gone, and your sickened heart turns away from earth, then shall you know that good deeds are not lost, even here below; and what your generous heart, inspired from above, devised to aid, to comfort, and to bless your fellows, has been a hidden treasure reserved against the time of deepest need.

William went joyfully on his way, he had unrolled his little treasure, and counted fifty dollars. How his heart blessed the n.o.ble man; what a spring of love and hope burst forth from it, sending a quickening influence through all his frame; how elastic his step; what a cheerful light sparkles from his eye. The prospect before him is no longer dark.

Immediately after pa.s.sing the house, the road wound gradually around the premises; on one side skirted by a clump of woods, and on the other by a heavy stone wall, surmounted by shrubbery, so thick that nothing could be seen through it. Suddenly a little gate opened, and Hettie came down the steps, her face wearing that sweet smile with which she had in days past always met him.

'I was afraid, William, that you would be past before I could get here, and I felt as if I must see you, just to say, good-by.'