CHAPTER IV. FRANK MAKES A PROPOSITION
When Frank woke the next morning the sun was shining into his window. He rubbed his eyes and tried to think what it was that occupied his mind the night before. It came to him in a moment, and jumping out of bed, he dressed himself with unusual expedition.
Hurrying down-stairs, he found his mother in the kitchen, busily engaged in getting breakfast.
“Where's father?” he asked.
“He hasn't come in from the barn yet, Frank,” his mother answered. “You can have your breakfast now, if you are in a hurry to get to studying.”
“Never mind, just now, mother,” returned Frank. “I want to speak to father about something.”
Taking his cap from the nail in the entry where it usually hung, Frank went out to the barn. He found that his father was nearly through milking.
“Is breakfast ready?” asked Mr. Frost, looking up. “Tell your mother she needn't wait for me.”
“It isn't ready yet,” said Frank. “I came out because I want to speak to you about something very particular.”
“Very well, Frank, Go on.”
“But if you don't think it a good plan, or think that I am foolish in speaking of it, don't say anything to anybody.”
Mr. Frost looked at Frank in some little curiosity.
“Perhaps,” he said, smiling, “like our neighbor Holman, you have formed a plan for bringing the war to a close.”
Frank laughed. “I am not quite so presumptuous,” he said. “You remember saying last night, that if I were old enough to take charge of the farm, you would have no hesitation in volunteering?”
“Yes.”
“Don't you think I am old enough?” asked Frank eagerly.
“Why, you are only fifteen, Frank,” returned his father, in surprise.
“I know it, but I am strong enough to do considerable work.”
“It isn't so much that which is required. A man could easily be found to do the hardest of the work. But somebody is needed who understands farming, and is qualified to give directions. How much do you know of that?”
“Not much at present,” answered Frank modestly, “but I think I could learn easily. Besides, there's Mr. Maynard, who is a good farmer, could advise me whenever I was in doubt, and you could write home directions in your letters.”
“That is true,” said Mr. Frost thoughtfully. “I will promise to give it careful consideration. But have you thought that you will be obliged to give up attending school.”
“Yes, father.”
“And, of course, that will put you back; your class-mates will get in advance of you.”
“I have thought of that, father, and I shall be very sorry for it. But I think that is one reason why I desire the plan.”
“I don't understand you, Frank,” said his father, a little puzzled.
“You see, father, it would require a sacrifice on my part, and I should feel glad to think I had an opportunity of making a sacrifice for the sake of my country.”
“That's the right spirit, Frank,” said his father approvingly. “That's the way my grandfather felt and acted, and it's the way I like to see my son feel. So it would be a great sacrifice to me to leave you all.”
“And to us to be parted from you, father,” said Frank.
“I have no doubt of it, my dear boy,” said his father kindly. “We have always been a happy and united family, and, please God, we always shall be. But this plan of yours requires consideration. I will talk it over with your mother and Mr. Maynard, and will then come to a decision.”
“I was afraid you would laugh at me,” said Frank.
“No,” said his father, “it was a noble thought, and does you credit. I shall feel that, whatever course I may think it wisest to adopt.”
The sound of a bell from the house reached them. This meant breakfast. Mr. Frost had finished milking, and with a well-filled pail in either hand, went toward the house.
“Move the milking:-stool, Frank,” he said, looking behind him, “or the cow will kick it over.”
Five minutes later they were at breakfast.
“I have some news for you, Mary,” said Mr. Frost, as he helped his wife to a sausage.
“Indeed?” said she, looking up inquiringly.
“Some one has offered to take charge of the farm for me, in case I wish to go out as a soldier.”
“Who is it?” asked Mrs. Frost, with strong interest.
“A gentleman with whom you are well—I may say intimately acquainted,” was the smiling response.
“It isn't Mr. Maynard?”
“No. It is some one that lives nearer than he.”
“How can that be? He is our nearest neighbor.”
“Then you can't guess?”
“No. I am quite mystified.”
“Suppose I should say that it is your oldest son?”
“What, Frank?” exclaimed Mrs. Frost, turning from her husband to her son, whose flushed face indicated how anxious he was about his mother's favorable opinion.
“You have hit it.”
“You were not in earnest, Frank?” said Mrs. Frost inquiringly.
“Ask father.”
“I think he was. He certainly appeared to be.”
“But what does Frank know about farming?”
“I asked him that question myself. He admitted that he didn't know much at present, but thought that, with Mr. Maynard's advice, he might get along.”
Mrs. Frost was silent a moment. “It will be a great undertaking,” she said, at last; “but if you think you can trust Frank, I will do all I can to help him. I can't bear to think of having you go, yet I am conscious that this is a feeling which I have no right to indulge at the expense of my country.”
“Yes,” said her husband seriously. “I feel that I owe my country a service which I have no right to delegate to another, as long as I am able to discharge it myself. I shall reflect seriously upon Frank's proposition.”
There was no more said at this time. Both Frank and his parents felt that it was a serious matter, and not to be hastily decided.
After breakfast Frank went up-stairs, and before studying his Latin lesson, read over thoughtfully the following passage in his prize essay on “The Duties of American Boys at the Present Crisis:”
“Now that so large a number of our citizens have been withdrawn from their families and their ordinary business to engage in putting down this Rebellion, it becomes the duty of the boys to take their places as far as they are able to do so. A boy cannot wholly supply the place of a man, but he can do so in part. And where he is not called on to do this, he can so conduct himself that his friends who are absent may feel at ease about him. He ought to feel willing to give up some pleasures, if by so doing he can help to supply the places of those who are gone. If he does this voluntarily, and in the right spirit, he is just as patriotic as if he were a soldier in the field.”
“I didn't think,” thought Frank, “when I wrote this, how soon my words would come back to me. It isn't much to write the words. The thing is to stand by them. If father should decide to go, I will do my best, and then, when the Rebellion is over, I shall feel that I did something, even if It wasn't much, toward putting it down.”
Frank put his essay carefully away in a bureau drawer in which he kept his clothes, and, spreading open his Latin lexicon, proceeded to prepare his lesson in the third book of Virgil's Aeneid.
CHAPTER V. MR. RATHBURN MAKES A SPEECH
Frank's seat in the schoolroom was directly in front of that occupied by John Haynes. Until the announcement of the prize John and he had been on friendly terms. They belonged to the same class in Latin, and Frank had often helped his classmate through a difficult passage which he had not the patience to construe for himself. Now, however, a coolness grew up between them, originating with John. He felt envious of Frank's success; and this feeling brought with it a certain bitterness which found gratification in anything which he had reason to suppose would annoy Frank.
On the morning succeeding the distribution of the prizes, Frank arrived at the schoolhouse a few minutes before the bell rang. John, with half a dozen other boys, stood near the door.
John took off his hat with mock deference. “Make way for the great prize essayist, gentlemen!” he said. “The modern Macaulay is approaching.”
Frank colored with annoyance. John did not fail to notice this with pleasure. He was sorry, however, that none of the other boys seemed inclined to join in the demonstration. In fact, they liked Frank much the better of the two.
“That isn't quite fair, John,” said Frank, in a low voice.
“I am always glad to pay my homage to distinguished talent,” John proceeded, in the same tone. “I feel how presumptuous I was in venturing to compete with a gentleman of such genius!”
“Do you mean to insult me?” asked Frank, growing angry.
“Oh, dear, no! I am only expressing my high opinion of your talents!”
“Let him alone, John!” said Dick Jones, “It isn't his fault that the teacher awarded the prize to him instead of you.”
“I hope you don't think I care for that!” said John, snapping his fingers. “He's welcome to his rubbishing books; they don't amount to much, anyway. I don't believe they cost more than two dollars at the most. If you'd like to see what I got for my essay, I'll show you.”
John pulled out his portemonnaie, and unrolled three new and crisp bank-notes of ten dollars each.
“I think that's pretty good pay,” he said, looking about him triumphantly. “I don't care how many prizes Rathburn chooses to give his favorite. I rather think I can get along without them.”
John's face was turned toward the door, otherwise he would have observed the approach of the teacher, and spoken with more caution. But it was too late. The words had been spoken above his ordinary voice, and were distinctly heard by the teacher. He looked sharply at John Haynes, whose glance fell before his, but without a word passed into the schoolroom.
“See if you don't get a blowing-up, John,” said Dick Jones.
“What do I care!” said John, but in a tone too subdued to be heard by any one else. “It won't do Rathburn any harm to hear the truth for once in his life.”
“Well, I'm glad I'm not in your place, that's all!” replied Dick.
“You're easily frightened!” rejoined John, with a sneer.
Nevertheless, as he entered the schoolroom, and walked with assumed bravado to his seat in the back part of the room, he did not feel quite so comfortable as he strove to appear. As he glanced stealthily at the face of the teacher, who looked unusually stern and grave, he could not help thinking, “I wonder whether he will say anything about it.”
Mr. Rathburn commenced in the usual manner; but after the devotional exercises were over, he paused, and, after a brief silence, during which those who had heard John's words listened with earnest attention, spoke as follows:
“As I approached the schoolroom this morning I chanced to catch some words which I presume were not intended for my ear. If I remember rightly they were, 'I don't care how many prizes Rathburn gives his favorite!' There were several that heard them, so that I can be easily corrected if I have made any mistake. Now I will not affect to misunderstand the charge conveyed by these words. I am accused of assigning the prizes, or at least, one of them, yesterday, not with strict regard to the merit of the essays presented, but under the influence of partiality. If this is the real feeling of the speaker, I can only say that I am sorry he should have so low an opinion of me. I do not believe the scholars generally entertain any such suspicion. Though I may err in judgment, I think that most of you will not charge me with anything more serious. If you ask me whether a teacher has favorites, I say that he cannot help having them. He cannot help making a difference between the studious on the one hand, and the indolent and neglectful on the other. But in a matter like this I ask you to believe me when I say that no consideration except that of merit is permitted to weigh. The boy who made this charge is one of my most advanced scholars, and has no reason to believe that he would be treated with unfairness. I do not choose to say any more on this subject, except that I have decided to offer two similar prizes for the two best compositions submitted within the next four weeks. I shall assign them to the best of my judgment, without regard to the scholarship of the writer.”
Mr. Rathburn spoke in a quiet, dignified manner, which convinced all who heard him of his fairness. I say all, because even John Haynes was persuaded against his own will, though he did not choose to acknowledge it. He had a dogged obstinacy which would not allow him to retract what he had once said. There was an unpleasant sneer on his face while the teacher was speaking, which he did not attempt to conceal.
“The class in Virgil,” called Mr. Rathburn.
This class consisted of Frank Frost, John Haynes, and Henry Tufts. John rose slowly from his seat, and advanced to the usual place, taking care to stand as far from Frank as possible.
“You may commence, John,” said the teacher.
It was unfortunate for John that he had been occupied, first, by thoughts of his rejected essay, and afterward by thoughts of the boat which he proposed to buy with the thirty dollars of which he had become possessed, so that he had found very little time to devote to his Latin. Had he been on good terms with Frank, he would have asked him to read over the lesson, which, as he was naturally quick, would have enabled him to get off passably. But, of course, under the circumstances, this was not to be thought of. So he stumbled through two or three sentences, in an embarrassed manner. Mr. Rathburn at first helped him along. Finding, however, that he knew little or nothing of the lesson, he quietly requested Frank to read, saying, “You don't seem so well prepared as usual, John.”
Frank translated fluently and well, his recitation forming a very favorable contrast to the slipshod attempt of John. This John, in a spirit of unreasonableness, magnified into a grave offense, and a desire to “show off” at his expense.
“Trying to shine at my expense,” he muttered. “Well, let him! Two or three years hence, when I am in college, perhaps things may be a little different.”
Frank noticed his repellent look, and it made him feel uncomfortable. He was a warm-hearted boy, and wanted to be on good terms with everybody. Still, he could not help feeling that in the present instance he had nothing to reproach himself with.
John went back to his seat feeling an increased irritation against Frank. He could not help seeing that he was more popular with his schoolmates than himself, and, of course, this, too, he considered a just cause of offense against him.
While he was considering in what way he could slight Frank, the thought of the boat he was about to purchase entered his mind. He brightened up at once, for this suggested something. He knew how much boys like going out upon the water. At present there was no boat on the pond. His would hold six or eight boys readily. He would invite some of the oldest boys to accompany him on his first trip, carefully omitting Frank Frost. The slight would be still more pointed because Frank was his classmate.
When the bell rang for recess he lost no time in carrying out the scheme he had thought of.
“Dick,” he called out to Dick Jones, “I am expecting my boat up from Boston next Tuesday, and I mean to go out in her Wednesday afternoon. Wouldn't you like to go with me?”
“With all the pleasure in life,” said Dick, “and thank you for the invitation.”
“How many will she hold?”
“Eight or ten, I expect. Bob Ingalls, would you like to go, too?”
The invitation was eagerly accepted. John next approached Henry Tufts, who was speaking with Frank Frost.
Without even looking at the latter, he asked Henry if he would like to go.
“Very much,” was the reply.
“Then I will expect you,” he said. He turned on his heel and walked off without taking any notice of Frank.
Frank blushed in spite of himself.
“Don't he mean to invite you?” asked Henry, in surprise.
“It appears not,” said Frank.
“It's mean in him, then,” exclaimed Henry; “I declare, I've a great mind not to go.”
“I hope you will go,” said Frank hastily. “You will enjoy it. Promise me you will go.”
“Would you really prefer to have me?”
“I should be very sorry if you didn't.”
“Then I'll go; but I think he's mean in not asking you, for all that.”
CHAPTER VI. MR. FROST MAKES UP HIS MIND
“Well, Frank,” said his father at supper-time, “I've been speaking to Mr. Maynard this afternoon about your plan.”
“What did he say?” asked Frank, dropping his knife and fork in his eagerness.
“After he had thought a little, he spoke of it favorably. He said that, being too old to go himself, he should be glad to do anything in his power to facilitate my going, if I thought it my duty to do so.”
“Didn't he think Frank rather young for such an undertaking?” asked Mrs. Frost doubtfully.
“Yes, he did; but still he thought with proper advice and competent assistance he might get along. For the first, he can depend upon Mr. Maynard and myself; as for the second, Mr. Maynard suggested a good man, who is seeking a situation as farm laborer.”
“Is it anybody in this town?” asked Frank.
“No, it is a man from Brandon, named Jacob Carter. Mr. Maynard says he is honest, industrious, and used to working on a farm. I shall write to him this evening.”
“Then you have decided to go!” exclaimed Frank and his mother in concert.
“It will depend in part upon the answer I receive from this man Carter. I shall feel if he agrees to come, that I can go with less anxiety.”
“How we shall miss you!” said his wife, in a subdued tone.
“And I shall miss you quite as much. It will be a considerable sacrifice for all of us. But when my country has need of me, you will feel that I cannot honorably stay at home. As for Frank, he may regard me as his substitute.”
“My substitute!” repeated Frank, in a questioning tone.
“Yes, since but for you, taking charge of the farm in my absence, I should not feel that I could go.”
Frank looked pleased. It made him feel that he was really of some importance. Boys, unless they are incorrigibly idle, are glad to be placed in posts of responsibility. Frank, though very modest, felt within himself unused powers and undeveloped capacities, which he knew must be called out by the unusual circumstances in which he would be placed. The thought, too, that he would be serving his country, even at home, filled him with satisfaction.
After a pause, Mr. Frost said: “There is one point on which I still have some doubts. As you are all equally interested with myself, I think it proper to ask your opinion, and shall abide by your decision.”
Frank and his mother listened with earnest attention.
“You are aware that the town has decided to give a bounty of one hundred and fifty dollars to such as may volunteer toward filling the quota. You may remember, also, that although the town passed the vote almost unanimously, it was my proposition, and supported by a speech of mine.”
“Squire Haynes opposed it, I think you said, father.”
“Yes, and intimated that I urged the matter from interested motives. He said he presumed I intended to enlist.”
“As if that sum would pay a man for leaving his home and incurring the terrible risks of war!” exclaimed Mrs. Frost, looking indignant.
“Very likely he did not believe it himself; but he was irritated with me, and it is his habit to impute unworthy motives to those with whom he differs. Aside from this, however, I shall feel some delicacy in availing myself of a bounty which I was instrumental in persuading the town to vote. Though I feel that I should be perfectly justified in so doing, I confess that I am anxious not to put myself in such a position as to hazard any loss of good opinion on the part of my friends in town.”
“Then don't take it,” said Mrs. Frost promptly.
“That's what I say, too, father,” chimed in Frank.
“Don't decide too hastily,” said Mr. Frost. “Remember that in our circumstances this amount of money would be very useful. Although Frank will do as well as any boy of his age, I do not expect him to make the farm as profitable as I should do, partly on account of my experience being greater, and partly because I should be able to accomplish more work than he. One hundred and fifty dollars would procure many little comforts which otherwise you may have to do without.”
“I know that,” said Mrs. Frost quickly. “But do you think I should enjoy them, if there were reports circulated, however unjustly, to your prejudice? Besides, I shall know that the comforts at the camp must be fewer than you would enjoy at home. We shall not wish to fare so much better than you.”
“Do you think with your mother, Frank?” asked Mr. Frost.
“I think mother is right,” said Frank, proud of having his opinion asked. He was secretly determined, in spite of what his father had said, to see if he could not make the farm as profitable as it would be under his father's management.
Mr. Frost seemed relieved by his wife's expression of opinion. “Then,” said he, “I will accept your decision as final. I felt that it should be you, and not myself, who should decide it. Now my mind will be at ease, so far as that goes.”
“You will not enlist at once, father?” asked Frank.
“Not for three or four weeks. I shall wish to give you some special instructions before I go, so that your task may be easier.”
“Hadn't I better leave school at once?”
“You may finish this week out. However, I may as well begin my instructions without delay. I believe you have never learned to milk.”
“No, sir.”
“Probably Carter will undertake that. Still, it will be desirable that you should know how, in case he gets sick. You may come out with me after supper and take your first lesson.”
Frank ran for his hat with alacrity. This seemed like beginning in earnest. He accompanied his father to the barn, and looked with new interest at the four cows constituting his father's stock.
“I think we will begin with this one,” said his father, pointing to a red-and-white heifer. “She is better-natured than the others, and, as I dare say your fingers will bungle a little at first, that is a point to be considered.”
If any of my boy readers has ever undertaken the task of milking for the first time, he will appreciate Frank's difficulties. When he had seen his father milking, it seemed to him extremely easy. The milk poured out in rich streams, almost without an effort. But under his inexperienced fingers none came. He tugged away manfully, but with no result.
“I guess the cow's dry,” said he at last, looking up in his father's face.
Mr. Frost in reply drew out a copious stream.
“I did the same as you,” said Frank, mystified, “and none came.”
“You didn't take hold right,” said his father, “and you pressed at the wrong time. Let me show you.”
Before the first lesson was over Frank had advanced a little in the art of milking, and it may as well be said here that in the course of a week or so he became a fair proficient, so that his father even allowed him to try Vixen, a cow who had received this name from the uncertainty of her temper. She had more than once upset the pail with a spiteful kick when it was nearly full. One morning she upset not only the pail, but Frank, who looked foolish enough as he got up covered with milk.
Frank also commenced reading the Plowman, a weekly agricultural paper which his father had taken for years. Until now he had confined his readings in it to the selected story on the fourth page. Now, with an object in view, he read carefully other parts of the paper. He did this not merely in the first flush of enthusiasm, but with the steady purpose of qualifying himself to take his father's place.
“Frank is an uncommon boy,” said Mr. Frost to his wife, not without feelings of pride, one night, when our hero had retired to bed. “I would trust him with the farm sooner than many who are half a dozen years older.”
CHAPTER VII. LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON
“Well, father, I've got some news for you,” said John Haynes, as he entered his father's presence, two or three days later.
“What is it, John?” inquired the squire, laying down a copy of the New York Herald, which he had been reading.
“Who do you think has enlisted?”
“I do not choose to guess,” said his father coldly. “If you feel disposed to tell me, you may do so.”
John looked somewhat offended at his father's tone, but he was anxious to tell the news. “Frost's going to enlist,” he said shortly.
“Indeed!” said the squire, with interest. “How did you hear?”
“I heard him say so himself, just now, in the store.”
“I expected it,” said Squire Haynes, with a sneer. “I understood his motives perfectly in urging the town to pay an enormous bounty to volunteers. He meant to line his own pockets at the public expense.”
“He says that he doesn't mean to accept the bounty,” continued John, in a tone which indicated a doubt whether Mr. Frost was in earnest.
“Did you hear him say that?” asked Squire Haynes abruptly.
“Yes, I heard him say so to Mr. Morse.”
“Perhaps he means it, and perhaps he doesn't. If he don't take it, it is because he is afraid of public opinion. What's he going to do about the farm, while he is gone?”
“That is the strangest part of it,” said John. “I don't believe you could guess who is to be left in charge of it.”
“I don't choose to guess. If you know, speak out.”
John bit his lip resentfully.
“It's that conceited jackanapes of his—Frank Frost.”
“Do you mean that he is going to leave that boy to carry on the farm?” demanded Squire Haynes, in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Well, all I can say is that he's more of a fool than I took him to be.”
“Oh, he thinks everything of Frank,” said John bitterly. “He'll be nominating him for representative next.”
The squire winced a little. He had been ambitious to represent the town in the legislature, and after considerable wire-pulling had succeeded in obtaining the nomination the year previous. But it is one thing to be nominated and another to be elected. So the squire had found, to his cost. He had barely obtained fifty votes, while his opponent had been elected by a vote of a hundred and fifty. All allusions, therefore, recalling his mortifying defeat were disagreeable to him.
“On the whole, I don't know but I'm satisfied,” he said, recurring to the intelligence John had brought. “So far as I am concerned, I am glad he has made choice of this boy.”
“You don't think he is competent?” asked John, in surprise.
“For that very reason I am glad he has been selected,” said the squire emphatically. “I take it for granted that the farm will be mismanaged, and become a bill of expense, instead of a source of revenue. It's pretty certain that Frost won't be able to pay the mortgage when it comes due. I can bid off the farm for a small sum additional and make a capital bargain. It will make a very good place for you to settle down upon, John.”
“Me!” said John disdainfully. “You don't expect me to become a plodding farmer, I trust. I've got talent for something better than that, I should hope.”
“No,” said the squire, “I have other news for you. Still, you could hire a farmer to carry it on for you, and live out there in the summer.”
“Well, perhaps that would do,” said John, thinking that it would sound well for him, even if he lived in the city, to have a place in the country. “When does the mortgage come due, father?”
“I don't remember the exact date. I'll look and see.”
The squire drew from a closet a box hooped with iron, and evidently made for security. This was his strong-box, and in this he kept his bonds, mortgages, and other securities.
He selected a document tied with red ribbon, and examined it briefly.
“I shall have the right to foreclose the mortgage on the first of next July,” he said.
“I hope you will do it then. I should like to see them Frosts humbled.”
“THEM Frosts! Don't you know anything more about English grammar, John?”
“Those Frosts, then. Of course, I know; but a feller can't always be watching his words.”
“I desire you never again to use the low word 'feller,'” said the squire, who, as the reader will see, was more particular about grammatical accuracy than about some other things which might be naturally supposed to be of higher importance.
“Well,” said John sulkily, “anything you choose.”
“As to the mortgage,” proceeded Squire Haynes, “I have no idea they will be able to lift it. I feel certain that Frost won't himself have the money at command, and I sha'n't give him any grace, or consent to a renewal. He may be pretty sure of that.”
“Perhaps he'll find somebody to lend him the money.”
“I think not. There are those who would be willing, but I question whether there is any such who could raise the money at a moment's warning. By the way, you need not mention my purpose in this matter to any one. If it should leak out, Mr. Frost might hear of it, and prepare for it.”
“You may trust me for that, father,” said John, very decidedly; “I want to see Frank Frost's proud spirit humbled. Perhaps he'll feel like putting on airs after that.”
From the conversation which has just been chronicled it will be perceived that John was a worthy son of his father; and, though wanting in affection and cordial good feeling, that both were prepared to join hands in devising mischief to poor Frank and his family. Let us hope that the intentions of the wicked may be frustrated.
CHAPTER VIII. DISCOURAGED AND ENCOURAGED
In a small village like Rossville news flies fast. Even the distinctions of social life do not hinder an interest being felt in the affairs of each individual. Hence it was that Mr. Frost's determination to enlist became speedily known, and various were the comments made upon his plan of leaving Frank in charge of the farm. That they were not all favorable may be readily believed. Country people are apt to criticize the proceedings of their neighbors with a greater degree of freedom than is common elsewhere.
As Frank was on his way to school on Saturday morning, his name was called by Mrs. Roxana Mason, who stood in the doorway of a small yellow house fronting on the main street.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mason,” said Frank politely, advancing to the gate in answer to her call.
“Is it true what I've heard about your father's going to the war, Frank Frost?” she commenced.
“Yes, Mrs. Mason; he feels it his duty to go.”
“And what's to become of the farm? Anybody hired it?”
“I am going to take charge of it,” said Frank modestly.
“You!” exclaimed Mrs. Roxana, lifting both hands in amazement; “why, you're nothing but a baby!”
“I'm a baby of fifteen,” said Frank good-humoredly, though his courage was a little dampened by her tone.
“What do you know about farming?” inquired the lady, in a contemptuous manner. “Your father must be crazy!”
“I shall do my best, Mrs. Mason,” said Frank quietly, but with heightened color. “My father is willing to trust me; and as I shall have Mr. Maynard to look to for advice, I think I can get along.”
“The idea of putting a boy like you over a farm!” returned Mrs. Roxana, in an uncompromising tone. “I did think your father had more sense. It's the most shiftless thing I ever knew him to do. How does your poor mother feel about it?”
“She doesn't seem as much disturbed about it as you do, Mrs. Mason,” said Frank, rather impatiently; for he felt that Mrs. Mason had no right to interfere in his father's arrangements.
“Well, well, we'll see!” said Mrs. Roxana, shaking her head significantly. “If you'll look in your Bible, you'll read about 'the haughty spirit that goes before a fall.' I'm sure I wish you well enough. I hope that things'll turn out better'n they're like to. Tell your mother I'll come over before long and talk with her about it.”
Frank inwardly hoped that Mrs. Roxana wouldn't put herself to any trouble to call, but politeness taught him to be silent.
Leaving Mrs. Mason's gate, he kept on his way to school, but had hardly gone half a dozen rods before he met an old lady, whose benevolent face indicated a very different disposition from that of the lady he had just parted with.
“Good morning, Mrs. Chester,” said Frank cordially, recognizing one of his mother's oldest friends.
“Good morning, my dear boy,” was the reply. “I hear your father is going to the war.”
“Yes,” said Frank, a little nervously, not knowing but Mrs. Chester would view the matter in the same way as Mrs. Mason, though he felt sure she would express herself less disagreeably.
“And I hear that you are going to try to make his place good at home.”
“I don't expect to make his place good, Mrs. Chester,” said Frank modestly, “but I shall do as well as I can.”
“I have no doubt of it, my dear boy,” said the old lady kindly. “You can do a great deal, too. You can help your mother by looking out for your brothers and sisters, as well as supplying your father's place on the farm.”
“I am glad you think I can make myself useful,” said Frank, feeling relieved. “Mrs. Mason has just been telling me that I am not fit for the charge, and that discouraged me a little.”
“It's a great responsibility, no doubt, to come on one so young,” said the old lady, “but it's of God's appointment. He will strengthen your hands, if you will only ask Him. If you humbly seek His guidance and assistance, you need not fear to fail.”
“Yes,” said Frank soberly, “that's what I mean to do.”
“Then you will feel that you are in the path of duty. You'll be serving your country just as much as if you went yourself.”
“That's just the way I feel, Mrs. Chester,” exclaimed Frank eagerly. “I want to do something for my country.”
“You remind me of my oldest brother,” said the old lady thoughtfully. “He was left pretty much as you are. It was about the middle of the Revolutionary war, and the army needed recruits. My father hesitated, for he had a small family depending on him for support. I was only two years old at the time, and there were three of us. Finally my brother James, who was just about your age, told my father that he would do all he could to support the family, and father concluded to go. We didn't have a farm, for father was a carpenter. My brother worked for neighboring farmers, receiving his pay in corn and vegetables, and picked up what odd jobs he could. Then mother was able to do something; so we managed after a fashion. There were times when we were brought pretty close to the wall, but God carried us through. And by and by father came safely home, and I don't think he ever regretted having left us. After awhile the good news of peace came, and he felt that he had been abundantly repaid for all the sacrifices he had made in the good cause.”
Frank listened to this narrative with great interest. It yielded him no little encouragement to know that another boy, placed in similar circumstances, had succeeded, and he just felt that he would have very much less to contend against than the brother of whom Mrs. Chester spoke.
“Thank you for telling me about your brother Mrs. Chester,” he said. “It makes me feel more as if things would turn out well. Won't you come over soon and see us? Mother is always glad to see you.”
“Thank you, Frank; I shall certainly do so. I hope I shall not make you late to school.”
“Oh, no; I started half an hour early this morning.”
Frank had hardly left Mrs. Chester when he heard a quick step behind him. Turning round, he perceived that it was Mr. Rathburn, his teacher.
“I hurried to come up with you, Frank,” he said, smiling. “I understand that I am to lose you from school.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Frank. “I am very sorry to leave, for I am very much interested in my studies; but I suppose, sir, you have heard what calls me away.”
“Your father has made up his mind to enlist.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you are to superintend the farm in his absence?”
“Yes, sir. I hope you do not think me presumptuous in undertaking such a responsibility?”
He looked up eagerly into Mr. Rathburn's face, for he had a great respect for his judgment. But he saw nothing to discourage him. On the contrary, he read cordial sympathy and approval.
“Far from it,” answered the teacher, with emphasis. “I think you deserving of great commendation, especially if, as I have heard, the plan originated with you, and was by you suggested to your father.”
“Yes, sir.”
The teacher held out his hand kindly. “It was only what I should have expected of you,” he said. “I have not forgotten your essay. I am glad to see that you not only have right ideas of duty, but have, what is rarer, the courage and self-denial to put them in practice.”
These words gave Frank much pleasure, and his face lighted up.
“Shall you feel obliged to give up your studies entirely?” asked his teacher.
“I think I shall be able to study some in the evening.”
“If I can be of any assistance to you in any way, don't hesitate to apply. If you should find any stumbling-blocks in your lessons, I may be able to help you over them.”
By this time they had come within sight of the schoolhouse.
“There comes the young farmer,” said John Haynes, in a tone which was only subdued lest the teacher should hear him, for he had no disposition to incur another public rebuke.
A few minutes later, when Frank was quietly seated at his desk, a paper was thrown from behind, lighting upon his Virgil, which lay open before him. There appeared to be writing upon it, and with some curiosity he opened and read the following:
“What's the price of turnips?”
It was quite unnecessary to inquire into the authorship. He felt confident it was written by John Haynes. The latter, of course, intended it as an insult, but Frank did not feel much disturbed. As long as his conduct was approved by such persons as his teacher and Mrs. Chester, he felt he could safely disregard the taunts and criticisms of others. He therefore quietly let the paper drop to the floor, and kept on with his lesson.
John Haynes perceived that he had failed in his benevolent purpose of disturbing Frank's tranquillity, and this, I am sorry to say, only increased the dislike he felt for him. Nothing is so unreasonable as anger, nothing so hard to appease. John even felt disposed to regard as an insult the disposition which Frank had made of his insulting query.
“The young clodhopper's on his dignity,” he muttered to himself. “Well, wait a few months, and see if he won't sing a different tune.”
Just then John's class was called up, and his dislike to Frank was not diminished by the superiority of his recitation. The latter, undisturbed by John's feelings, did not give a thought to him, but reflected with a touch of pain that this must be his last Latin recitation in school for a long time to come.