"But to the first point — what should a man live for?"
"It's against the law to commit suicide."
"Pish!" said Rufus.
"Come tell us what you think, Wint'rop," said Mr. Herder.
"I think, sir, I should live to be happy."
"You do!" said the naturalist.
"And I think happiness should be sought in doing all one can, first for oneself, and then for other people."
"That will do," said Mr. Herder. "I agree wiz you."
"You are not apt to do first for yourself," said Rufus, with a tender sort of admission-making.
"I am not sure that first for oneself," said the naturalist musing.
"Yes sir — or could one ever do much for the world?"
"Dat is true; you are right!"
"Then at any rate one is to put other people's happiness before one's own?" said Elizabeth with a mixed expression of incredulity and discontent.
"It does not seem just reason, does it?" said Mr. Herder.
"It's what nobody acts up to," said Rose.
"O Miss Cadwallader," said Asahel, — "mother does it always!"
For which he was rewarded with an inexpressible glance, which lit upon nothing, however, but the huckleberries.
"Is that your doctrine, Mr. Winthrop?" said Elizabeth.
"No," he said smiling, — "not mine. Will you sit a little more in the corner, Miss Elizabeth? —"
Elizabeth took up her book again, and gave no token of attention to anything else, good or bad, till the boat neared the rocks of the landing at Shahweetah.
CHAPTER XI.
Thou art a dew-drop which the morn brings forth,
Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks,
Or to be trailed along the soiling earth.
WORDSWORTH.
One day in September it chanced that the house was left entirely to the womenkind. Even Asahel had been taken off by his father to help in some light matter which his strength was equal to. Rufus and Winthrop were on the upland, busy with the fall ploughing; and it fell to little Winifred to carry them their dinner.
The doors stood open, as usual, for it was still warm weather, and the rest of the family were all scattered at their several occupations. Miss Cadwallader on the bed, asleep; Karen somewhere in her distant premises out of hearing; Elizabeth sat with her book in the little passage-way by the open front door, screened however by another open door from the keeping- room where Mrs. Landholm sat alone at her sewing. By and by came in Winifred, through the kitchen. She came in and stood by the fireplace silent.
"Well, dear," said the mother looking up from her work, — "did you find them?"
The child's answer was to spring to her side, throw her arms round her neck, and burst into convulsive tears.
"Winifred!" — said Mrs. Landholm, putting an arm round the trembling child, and dropping her work, — "what ails you, dear? — tell me."
The little girl only clung closer to her neck and shook in a passion of feeling, speechless; till the mother's tone became alarmed and imperative.
"It's nothing, mother, it's nothing," she said, clasping her hard, — "only — only —"
The words were lost again in what seemed to be uncontrollable weeping.
"Only what, dear? — what?"
"Winthrop was crying."
And having said that, scarce audibly, Winifred gave way and cried aloud.
"Winthrop crying! — Nonsense, dear, — you were mistaken."
"I wasn't — I saw him."
"What was the matter?"
"I don't know."
"What made you think he was crying?"
"I saw him!" cried the child, who seemed as if she could hardly bear the question and answer.
"You were mistaken, daughter; — he would not have let you see him."
"He didn't — he didn't know I was there."
"Where were you?"
"I was behind the fence —I stopped to look at him — he didn't see me."
"Where was he?"
"He was ploughing."
"What did you see, Winifred?"
"I saw him — oh mamma! — I saw him put his hand to his eyes, — and I saw the tears fall —"
Her little head was pressed against her mother's bosom, and many more tears fell for his than his had been.
Mrs. Landholm was silent a minute or two, stroking Winifred's head and kissing her.
"And when you went into the field, Winifred, — how was he then?"
"Just as always."
"Where was Rufus?"
"He was on the other side."
Again Mrs. Landholm was silent.
"Cheer up, daughter," she said tenderly; — "I think I know what was the matter with Winthrop, and it's nothing so very bad — it'll be set right by and by, I hope. Don't cry any more about it."
"What is the matter with him, mamma?" said the child looking up with eyes of great anxiety and intentness.
"He wants to read and to learn, and I think it troubles him that he can't do that."
"Is that it? But mamma, can't he?" said his sister with a face not at all lightened of its care.
"He can't just now very well —you know he must help papa on the farm."
"But can't he by and by, mamma?"
"I hope so; — we will try to have him," said the mother, while tears gathered now in her grave eyes as her little daughter's were dried. "But you know, dear Winnie, that God knows best what is good for dear Governor, and for us; and we must just ask him to do that, and not what we fancy."
"But mother," said the little girl, "isn't it right for me to ask him to let Winthrop go to school and learn, as he wants to?"
"Yes, daughter," said the mother, bending forward till her face rested on the little brow upturned to her, and the gathered tears falling, — "let us thank God that we may ask him anything — we have that comfort — 'In everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving,' we may make our requests known unto him — only we must be willing after all to have him judge and choose for us."
The child clasped her mother's neck and kissed her again and again.
"Then I won't cry any more, mamma, now that I know what the matter is."
But Elizabeth noticed when Winthrop came in at night, how his little sister attached herself to his side, and with what a loving lip and longing eye.
"Your little sister is very fond of you," she could not help saying, one moment when Winifred had run off.
"Too fond," he said.
"She has a most sensitive organization," said Rufus. "She is too fond of everything that she loves."
"She is not too fond of you," thought Elizabeth, as Winifred came back to her other brother, with some little matter which she thought concerned her and him. "'Sensitive organization!' What queer people these are!"
They were so queer, that Elizabeth thought she would like to see what was the farming work with which their hands were filled and which swallowed up the daily life of these people; and the next day she proposed to go with Winifred when she went the rounds again with her baskets of dinner. Miss Cadwallader was glad of any thing that promised a little variety, so she very willingly made one.
It was a pleasant September day, the great heats gone, a gentler state of the air and the light; summer was just falling gracefully into her place behind the advancing autumn. It was exceeding pleasant walking, through the still air, and Elizabeth and her cousin enjoyed it. But little Winifred was loaded down with two baskets, one in each hand. They went so for some time.
"Winnie," said Elizabeth at last, "give me one of those — I'll carry it."
"O no!" said the little girl looking up in some surprise, — "they're not very heavy — I don't want any help."
"Give it to me; you shan't carry 'em both."
"Then take the other one," said Winifred, — "thank you, Miss Elizabeth — I'm just going to take this in to father, in the field here."
"In the field where? I don't see anybody."
"O because the corn is so high. You'll see 'em directly. This is the bend-meadow lot. Father's getting in the corn."
A few more steps accordingly brought them to a cleared part of the field, where the tall and thick cornstalks were laid on the ground. There, at some distance, they saw the group of workers, picking and husking the yellow corn, the farm wagon standing by. Little Winifred crept under the fence and went to them with her basket, and her companions stood at the fence looking. There were Mr. Landholm, and Asahel, Mr. Doolittle and another man, seen here and there through the rows of corn. Asahel sat by a heap, husking; Mr. Landholm was cutting down stalks; and bushel baskets stood about, empty, or with their yellow burden shewing above the top.
"I should think farmer's work would be pleasant enough," Rose remarked, as they stood leaning over the fence.
"It looks pretty," said Elizabeth. "But I shouldn't like to pull corn from morning to night; and I don't believe you would."
"O, but men have to work, you know," said Miss Cadwallader.
Winifred came back to them and they went on their way, but Elizabeth would not let her take the basket again. It was a pretty way; past the spring where Sam Doolittle had pushed Winthrop in and Rufus had avenged him; and then up the rather steep woody road that led to the plain of the tableland. The trees stood thick, but the ascent was so rapid that they could only in places hinder the view; and as the travellers went up, the river spread itself out more broad, and Shahweetah lay below them, its boundaries traced out as on a map. A more commanding view of the opposite shore, a new sight of the southern mountains, a deeper draught from nature's free cup, they gained as they went up higher and higher. Elizabeth had seen it often before; she looked and drank in silence; though to-day September was peeping between the hills and shaking his sunny hair in the vallies; — not crowned like the receding summer with insupportable brilliants.
"I am sorry papa is coming so soon!" said Elizabeth, after she had stood awhile near the top, looking.
"Why I thought you wanted to go home," said her cousin.
"So I do; — but I don't want to go away from here."
"What do you want to stay for?"
"It is so lovely! —"
"What is so lovely?" asked Miss Cadwallader with a tone of mischief.
Elizabeth turned away and began to walk on, an expression of great disgust upon her face.
"I wish I was blessed with a companion who had three grains of wit!" she said.
Miss Cadwallader's light cloud of ill-humour, it seldom looked more, came on at this; and she pouted till they reached the fence of the ploughed field where the young men were at work. Here Elizabeth gave up her basket to Winifred; and creeping through the bars they all made for the nearest plough. It happened to be Winthrop's.
"What's the matter?" said he as they came up. "Am I wanted for guard or for oarsman?"
"Neither — for nothing," said Elizabeth. "Go on, won't you? I want to see what you are doing."
"Ploughing?" said he. "Have you never seen it?"
He went on and they walked beside him; Winifred laughing, while the others watched, at least Elizabeth did minutely, the process of the share in turning up the soil.
"Is it hard work?" she asked.
"No, not here; not when the business is understood."
"Like rowing, I suppose there is a sleight in it?"
"A good deal so."
"What has been growing here?"
"Corn."
"And now when you get to the fence you must just turn about and make another ridge close along by this one?"
"Yes."
"Goodness! — What's going to be sown here?"
"Wheat."
"And all this work is just to make the ground soft for the seeds!"
"Why wouldn't it do just as well to make holes in the ground and put the seeds in?" said Miss Cadwallader; — "without taking so much trouble?"
"It is not merely to make the ground soft," said Winthrop gravely, while Elizabeth's bright eye glanced at him to mark his behaviour. "The soil might be broken without being so thoroughly turned. If you see, Miss Elizabeth, — the slice taken off by the share is laid bottom upwards."
"I see — well, what is that for?"
"To give it the benefit of the air."
"The benefit of the air! —"
"The air has a sort of enriching and quickening influence upon the soil; — if the land has time and chance, it can get back from the air a great deal of what it lost in the growing of crops."
"The soil loses, then?"
"Certainly; it loses a great deal to some crops."
"What, for instance?"
"Wheat is a great feeder," said Winthrop; "so is Indian corn."
"By its being 'a great feeder', you mean that it takes a great deal of the nourishing quality of the soil?"
"Yes."
"How many things I do not know!" said Elizabeth wistfully.
In the little pause which ensued, Winifred took her chance to say,
"Here's your dinner, Governor."
"Then when the ground is ploughed, is there anything else to be done before it is ready for the wheat?"
"Only harrowing."
Elizabeth mused a little while.
"And how much will the wheat be worth, Winthrop, from all this field?"
"Perhaps two hundred dollars; or two hundred and fifty."
"Two hundred and fifty. — And then the expenses are something."
"Less to us," said Winthrop, "because we do so much of the labour ourselves."
"Here's your dinner, Winthrop," said Winifred; — "shall I set it under the tree?"
"Yes — no, Winifred, — you may leave it here."
"Then stop and eat it now, Governor, won't you? — don't wait any longer."
He gave his little sister a look and a little smile, that told of an entirely other page of his life, folded in with the ploughing experience; a word and look very different from any he had given his questioners. Other indications Elizabeth's eye had caught under 'the tree,' — a single large beech tree which stood by the fence some distance off. Two or three books lay there.
"Do you find time for reading here in the midst of your ploughing, Mr. Winthrop?"
"Not much — sometimes a little in the noon-spell," he answered, colouring slightly.
They left him and walked on to visit Rufus. Elizabeth led near enough to the tree to make sure, what her keen eye knew pretty well already, that one of the books was the very identical old brown-covered Greek and Latin dictionary that she had seen in the boat. She passed on and stood silent by Rufus's plough.
"Well, we've come to see you, Rufus," said Miss Cadwallader.
"I thought you had come to see my brother," said he.
"I didn't come to see either one or the other," said
Elizabeth. "I came to see what you are doing."
"I hope you are gratified," said the young man a little tartly.
"What's the use of taking so much trouble to break up the ground?" said Rose.
"Because, unfortunately, there is no way of doing it without trouble," said Rufus, looking unspoken bright things into the furrow at his feet.
"But why couldn't you just make holes in the ground and put the seed in?"
"For a reason that you will appreciate, Miss Rose, if you will put on your bonnet the wrong way, with the front precisely where the back should be."
"I don't understand," — said the young lady, with something of an inclination to pout, Will's face was so full of understanding.
"It isn't necessary that you should understand such a business," he said, becoming grave. "It is our fortune to do it, and it is yours to have nothing to do with it, — which is much better."
"I have the happiness to disagree with you, Mr. Rufus," said
Elizabeth.
"In what?"
"In thinking that we have nothing to do with it, or that it is not necessary we should understand it."
"I don't see the happiness, Miss Elizabeth; for your disagreement imposes upon you a necessity which I should think better avoided."
"Which ploughs the best, Rufus?" said Rose; — "you or
Winthrop?"
"There is one kind of ploughing," said Rufus biting his lip, "which Winthrop doesn't understand at all."
"And you understand them all, I suppose?"
He didn't answer.
"What is the kind he does not understand, Mr. Rufus?" said
Elizabeth.
"Ploughing with another man's heifer."
"Why, what's that, Rufus? I don't know what you mean," said
Miss Cadwallader.
No more did Elizabeth, and she had no mind to engage the speaker on unequal terms. She called her cousin off and took the road home, leaving Winifred to speak to her brother and follow at her leisure.
"How different those two people are," she remarked.
"Which one do you like best?"
"Winthrop, a great deal."
"I know you like him the best," said her cousin wilfully.
"Of course you do, for I tell you."
"I don't. I like the other a great deal the best."
"He wasn't very glad to see us," said Elizabeth.
"Why wasn't he? Yes he was. He was as glad as the other one."
"The other one didn't care twopence about it."
"And what did this one care?"
"He cared, —" said Elizabeth.
"Well, I like he should — the other one don't care about anything."
"Yes he does," said Elizabeth.
"I shall give Mr. Haye a hint —that he had better not send you here another summer," said Rose wittily; — "there is no telling what anybody will care for. I wouldn't have thought it of you."
"Can't you be sensible about anything!" said Elizabeth, with a sort of contemptuous impatience. "If I had anybody else to talk to, I would not give you the benefit of my thoughts. I tell them to you because I have nobody else; and I really wish you could make up your mind to answer me as I deserve; — or not at all."
"You are a strange girl," said Miss Cadwallader, when they had walked in company with ill-humour as far as the brow of the hill.
"I am glad you think so."
"You are a great deal too old for your age."
"I am not!" said Elizabeth, who shading her eyes with her hand had again stopped to look over the landscape. "I should be very sorry to think that. You are two years older, Rose, in body, than I am; and ten years older in spirit, this minute."
"Does the spirit grow old faster than the body?" said Rose laughing.
"Yes — sometimes. — How pretty all that is!"
'That' meant the wide view, below and before them, of river and hill and meadow. It was said with a little breath of a sigh, and Elizabeth turned away and began to go down the road.
Winifred gave it as her opinion to her mother privately, after they got home, that Miss Haye was a very ill-behaved young lady.
CHAPTER XII.
The thing we long for, that we are,
For one transcendent moment,
Before the Present, poor and bare,
Can make its sneering comment.
Still through our paltry stir and strife
Glows down the wished Ideal,
And Longing moulds in clay what Life
Carves in the marble Real.
LOWELL.
Mr. Haye came the latter part of September to fetch his daughter and his charge home; and spent a day or two in going over the farm and making himself acquainted with the river. He was a handsome man, and very comfortable in face and figure. The wave of prosperity had risen up to his very lips, and its ripples were forever breaking there in a succession of easy smiles. He made himself readily at home in the family; with a well-mannered sort of good-humour, which seemed to belong to his fine broadcloth and beautifully plaited ruffles. Mr. Landholm was not the only one who enjoyed his company. Between him and Rufus and Miss Cadwallader and Mr. Haye, the round game of society was kept up with great spirit.
One morning Mr. Haye was resting himself with a book in his daughter's room; he had had a long tramp with the farmer. Rose went out in search of something more amusing. Elizabeth sat over her book for awhile, then looked up.
"Father," she said, "I wish you could do something to help that young man."
"What young man?"
"Winthrop Landholm."
"What does he want help for?"
"He is trying to get an education — trying hard, I fancy," said Elizabeth, putting down her book and looking at her father, — "he wants to make himself something more than a farmer."
"Why should he want to make himself anything more than a farmer?" said Mr. Haye without looking off his book.
"Why would you, sir?"
"I would just as lief be a farmer as anything else," said Mr. Haye, "if I had happened to be born in that line. It's as good a way of life as any other."
"Why, father! — You would rather be what you are now?"
"Well — I wasn't born a farmer," said Mr. Haye conclusively.
"Then you would have everybody stay where he happens to be!"
"I wouldn't have anything about it," said Mr. Haye. "That's what I want for myself —let other people do what they will."
"But some people can't do what they will."
"Well —Be thankful you're not one of 'em."
"Father, if I can have what I will, I would have you help this young man."
"I don't know how to help him, child; — he's not in my way. If he wanted to go into business, there would be something in it, but I have nothing to do with schools and Colleges."
Elizabeth's cheek lit up with one of the prettiest colours a woman's cheek ever wears, — the light of generous indignation.
"I wish I had the means!" she said.
"What would you do with it?"
"I would help him, somehow."
"My dear, you could not do it; they would not let you; their pride would stand in the way of everything of the kind."
"I don't believe it," said Elizabeth, the fire of her eye shining now through drops that made it brighter; — "I am sure something could be done."
"It's just as well undone," said Mr. Haye calmly.
"Why, sir?" — his daughter asked almost fiercely.
"What put this young fellow's head upon Colleges, and all that?"
"I don't know, sir! — how should I?"
"It won't last — it's just a freak to be a great man and get out of hob-nailed shoes — he'll get over it; and much better he should. It's much better he should stay here and help his father, and that's what he's made for. He'll never be anything else."
Mr. Haye threw down his book and left the room; and his daughter stood at the window with her heart swelling.
"He will be something else, and he'll not get over it," she said to herself, while her eyes were too full to let her see a single thing outside the window. "He is fit for something else, and he will have it, hard or easy, short or long; and I hope he will! — and oh, I wish father had done what would be for his honour in this thing! —"
There was a bitter taste to the last sentence, and tears would not wash it out. Elizabeth was more superb than ordinary that night at supper, and had neither smiles nor words for anybody.
A day or two after they were going away.
"Winthrop," she said at parting, (not at all by familiarity, but because she did not in common grant them a right to any title whatsoever) — "may I leave you my little Merry-go-round? — and will you let nobody have the charge of it except yourself?"
He smiled and thanked her.
"'Tisn't much thanks," she said; meaning thanks' worth. "It is I who have to thank you."
For she felt that she could not send any money to the boy who had taken care of her horse.
The family party gathered that night round the supper-table with a feeling of relief upon several of them. Mr. Landholm's face looked satisfied, as of a man who had got a difficult job well over; Mrs. Landholm's took time to be tired; Winthrop's was as usual, though remembering with some comfort that there would not be so many wantings of fish, nor so many calls upon his strength of arm for boat exercise. Rufus was serious and thoughtful; the children disposed to be congratulatory.
"It's good I can sit somewhere but on the corner," said
Asahel, — "and be by ourselves."
"It's good I can have my old place again," said Winifred, "and sit by Governor."
Her brother rewarded her by drawing up her chair and drawing it closer.
"I am glad they are gone, for your sake, mamma," he said.
"Well, we haven't made a bad summer of it," said Mr. Landholm.
His wife thought in her secret soul it had been a busy one. Winthrop thought it had been a barren one. Rufus — was not ready to say quite that.
"Not a bad summer," repeated Mr. Landholm. "The next thing is to see what we will do with the winter."
"Or what the winter will do with us," said Rufus after a moment.
"If you like it so," said his father; "but I prefer the other mode of putting it. I'd keep the upper hand of time always; — I speak it reverently."
Winthrop thought how completely the summer had got the better of him.
"My friend Haye is a good fellow — a good fellow. I like him. He and I were always together in the legislature. He's a sensible man."
"He is a gentleman," said Rufus.
"Ay — Well, he has money enough to be. That don't always do it, though. A man and his coat aren't always off the same piece. Those are nice girls of his, too; — pretty girls. That Rose is a pretty creature! — I don't know but I like t'other one as well in the long run though, — come to know her."
"I do — better," said Mrs. Landholm. "There is good in her."
"A sound stock, only grown a little too rank," said Winthrop.
"Yes, that's it. She's a little overtopping. Well, there will come a drought by and by that will cure that."
"Why sir?" said Rufus.
"The odds are that way," said his father. "'Taint a stand- still world, this; what's up to-day is down to-morrow. Mr. Haye may hold his own, though; and I am sure I hope he will — for his sake and her sake, both."
"He is a good business man, isn't he, sir?"
"There aint a better business man, I'll engage, than he is, in the whole city of Mannahatta; and that numbers now, — sixty odd thousand, by the last census. He knows how to take care of himself, as well as any man I ever saw."
"Then he bids fair to stand?"
"I don't believe anybody bids fairer. He was trying to make a business man of you, wa'n't he, the other day?"
"He was saying something about it."
"Would you like that?"
"Not in the first place, sir."
"No. Ah well — we'll see, — we'll see," said Mr. Landholm rising up; — "we'll try and do the best we can."
What was that? A question much mooted, by different people and in very different moods; but perhaps most anxiously and carefully by the father and mother. And the end was, that he would borrow money of somebody, — say of Mr. Haye, — and they would let both the boys go that fall to College. If this were not the best, it was the only thing they could do; so it seemed to them, and so they spoke of it. How the young men were to be kept at College, no mortal knew; the father and mother did not; but the pressure of necessity and the strength of will took and carried the whole burden. The boys must go; they should go; and go they did.
In a strong yearning that the minds of their children should not lack bread, in the self-denying love that would risk any hardship to give it them, — the father and mother found their way plain if not easy before them. If his sons were to mount to a higher scale of existence and fit themselves for nobler work in life than he had done, his shoulders must thenceforth bear a double burden; but they were willing to bear it. She must lose, not only, the nurtured joys of her hearthstone, but strain every long-strained nerve afresh to keep them where she could not see and could but dimly enjoy them; but she was willing. There were no words of regret; and thoughts of sorrow lay with thoughts of love at the bottom of their hearts, too fast-bound together and too mighty to shew themselves except in action.
The money was borrowed easily, upon a mortgage of the farm. President Tuttle was written to, and a favourable answer received. There was a foundation at Shagarack, as well as at Mannahatta; and Will and Winthrop could be admitted there on somewhat easier terms than were granted to those who could afford better. Some additions were made to their scanty wardrobe from Mr. Cowslip's store; and at home unwearied days and nights were given to making up the new, and renewing and refurbishing the old and the worn. Old socks were re-toed and refooted; old trousers patched so that the patch could not be seen; the time-telling edges of collars and wristbands done over, so that they would last awhile yet; mittens knitted, and shirts made. It was a little wardrobe when all was done; yet how much time and care had been needed to bring it together. It was a dear one too, though it had cost little money; for it might almost be said to have been made of the heart's gold. Poor Winifred's love was less wise than her mother's, for it could not keep sorrow down. As yet she did not know that it was not better to sit at her father's board end than at either end of the highest form at Shagarack. She knitted, socks and stockings, all the day long, when her mother did not want her; but into them she dropped so many tears that the wool was sometimes wet with them; and as Karen said, half mournfully and half to hide her mourning, "they wouldn't want shrinking." Winthrop came in one day and found her crying in the chimney corner, and taking the half-knit stocking from her hand he felt her tears in it.
"My little Winnie! —" he said, in that voice with which he sometimes spoke his whole heart.
Winifred sprang to his neck and closing her arms there, wept as if she would weep her life away. And Rufus who had followed Winthrop in, stood beside them, tear after tear falling quietly on the hearth. Winthrop's tears nobody knew but Winifred, and even in the bitterness of her distress she felt and tasted them all.
The November days seemed to grow short and drear with deeper shadows than common, as the last were to see the boys go off for Shagarack. The fingers that knitted grew more tremulous, and the eyes that wrought early and late were dim with more than weariness; but neither fingers nor eyes gave themselves any holiday. The work was done at last; the boxes were packed; those poor little boxes! They were but little, and they had seen service already. Of themselves they told a story. And they held now, safely packed up, the College fit-out of the two young men.
"I wonder if Shagarack is a very smart place, mamma?" said Winifred, as she crouched beside the boxes watching the packing.
"Why?"
Winifred was silent and looked thoughtfully into the box.
"Rufus and Governor will not care if it is."
"They needn't care," said Asahel, who was also at the box- side. "They can bear to be not quite so smart as other folks. Mr. Haye said he never saw such a pair of young men; and I guess he didn't."
Winifred sighed and still looked into the box, with a face that said plainly she would like to have them smart.
"O well, mamma," she said presently, "I guess they will look pretty nice, with all those new things; and the socks are nice, aren't they? If it was only summer — nobody can look nicer than Winthrop when he has his white clothes on."
"It will be summer by and by," said Mrs. Landholm.
The evening came at last; the supper was over; and the whole family drew together round the fire. It was not a very talkative evening. They looked at each other more than they spoke; and they looked at the fire more than they did either. At last Mr. Landholm went off, recommending to all of them to go to bed. Asahel, who had been in good spirits on the matter all along, followed his father. The mother and daughter and the two boys were left alone round the kitchen fire.
They were more silent than ever then, for a good space; and four pair of eyes were bent diligently on the rising and falling flames. Only Winifred's sometimes wandered to the face of one or the other of her brothers, but they never could abide long. It was Mrs. Landholm's gentle voice that broke the silence.
"What mark are you aiming at, boys? — what are you setting before you as the object of life?"
"What mark, mother?" said Rufus after an instant's pause.
"Yes."
"To make something of myself!" he said rising, and with that fire-flashing nostril and lip that spoke his whole soul at work. "I have a chance now, and it will go hard but I will accomplish it."
The mother's eye turned to her other son.
"I believe I must say the same, mother," he replied gravely. "I have perhaps some notion of doing, afterwards; but the first thing is to be myself what I can be. I am not, I feel, a tithe of that now."
"I agree with you — you are right, so far," answered the mother, turning her face again to the fire; — "but in the end, what is it you would do, and would be?"
"Profession, do you mean, mamma?" said Rufus.
"No," she said; and he needed not to ask any more.
"I mean, what is all this for? — what purpose lies behind all this?"
"To distinguish myself!" said Rufus, — "if I can, — in some way."
"I am afraid it is no better than that with me, mother," said Winthrop; "though perhaps I should rather say my desire is to be distinguished."
"What's the difference?" said his brother.
"I don't know. I think I feel a difference."
"I am not going to preach to you now," said Mrs. Landholm, and yet the slight failing of her voice did it — how lastingly! — "I cannot, — and I need not. Only one word. If you sow and reap a crop that will perish in the using, what will you do when it is gone? — and remember it is said of the redeemed, that their works do follow them. Remember that. — One word more," she said after a pause. "Let me have it to say in that day, — 'Of all which thou gavest me have I lost none'! —"
Not preach to them? And what was her hidden face and bowed head? — a preaching the like of which they were never to hear from mortal voices. But not a word, not a lisp, fell from one of them. Winifred had run off; the rest hardly stirred; till Mrs. Landholm rose up, and gravely kissing one and the other prepared to leave the room.
"Where is Winifred?" said her brother suddenly missing her.
"I don't know. I am sure she is somewhere praying for you."
They said no more, even to each other, that night.
Nor much the next day. It was the time for doing, not thinking. There was not indeed much to do, except to get off; but that seemed a great deal. It was done at last. Mrs. Landholm from the window of the kitchen watched them get into the wagon and drive off; and then she sat down by the window to cry.
Asahel had gone to ride as far as the mountain's foot with his father and brothers; and Winifred knelt down beside her mother to lean her head upon her; they could not get near enough just then. It was only to help each other weep, for neither could comfort the other nor be comforted, for a time. Yet the feeling of the two, like as it seemed outwardly, was far unlike within. In the child it was the spring flood of a little brook, bringing, to be sure, momentary desolation; in the mother it was the flow of the great sea, still and mighty. And when it grew outwardly quiet, the same depth was there.
They got into each other's arms at last, and pressed cheek to cheek and kissed each other many times; but the first word was Mrs. Landholm's, saying,
"Come — we had better go and get tea — Asahel will be back directly."
Asahel came back in good spirits, having had his cry on the road, and they all took tea with what cheerfulness they might. But after tea Winifred sat in the chimney corner gazing into the fire, very still and pale and worn-looking; her sober blue eyes intently fixed on something that was not there. Very intently, so that it troubled her mother; for Winifred had not strength of frame to bear strong mind-working. She watched her.
"What, mamma?" said the little girl with a half start, as a hand was laid gently and remindingly upon her shoulder.
"I should rather ask you what," said her mother tenderly.
"Rest, daughter, can't you?"
"I wasn't worrying, mamma."
"Wa'n't you?"
"I was thinking of 'They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'"
"Why, dear?"
"I am so glad I can wash mine, mother."
"Yes — Why, my dear child?"
"There are so many spots on them."
Her mother stooped down beside her and spoke cheerfully.
"What are you thinking of now, Winnie?"
"Only, mamma, I am glad to think of it," she said, nestling her sunny little head in her mother's neck. "I wanted yesterday that Will and Governor should have better clothes."
"Well, Winnie, I wanted it too — I would have given them better if I had had them."
"But mamma, ought I to have wished that?"
"Why yes, dear Winnie; it is a pleasant thing to have comfortable clothes, and it is right to wish for them, provided we can be patient when we don't get them. But still I think dear Governor and Will will be pretty comfortable this winter. We will try to make them so."
"Yes mamma, —but I wanted them to be smart."
"It is right to be smart, Winnie, if we aren't too smart."
"I wish I could be always just right, mamma."
"The rightest thing will be for you to go to sleep," said her mother, kissing her eyes and cheeks. "I'll be through my work directly and then you shall sit in my lap and rest — I don't want to sew to-night. Winnie, the good Shepherd will gather my little lamb with his arm and carry her in his bosom, if she minds his voice; and then he will bring her by and by where she shall walk with him in white, and there will be no spots on the white any more."
"I know. Make haste, mother, and let us sit down together and talk."
So they did, with Asahel at their feet; but they didn't talk much. They kept each other silent and soft companionship, till Winifred's breathing told that she had lost her troubles in sleep on her mother's bosom.
"Poor little soul! she takes it hard," said Karen. "She's 'most as old as her mother now."
"You must get her to play with you, Asahel, as much as you can," Mrs. Landholm said in a whisper.
"Why mamma? aint she well?"
"I don't know — I'm afraid she wont keep so."
"She's too good to be well," said Karen.
Which was something like true. Not in the vulgar prejudice, as Karen understood it. It was not Winifred's goodness which threatened her well-being; but the very delicate spirits which answered too promptly and strongly every touch; too strong in their acting for a bodily frame in like manner delicate.
CHAPTER XIII.
Mess. — He hath indeed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect me to tell you how. Leon. — He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Mr. Landholm came back in excellent spirits from Shagarack. The boys were well entered, Will Junior and Winthrop Sophomore, and with very good credit to themselves. This had been their hope and intention, with the view of escaping the cost of one and two years of a college life. President Tuttle had received them very kindly, and everything was promising; the boys in good heart, and their father a proud man.
"Aint it queer, now," he said that evening of his return, as he sat warming his hands before the blaze, "aint it queer that those two fellows should go in like that — one Junior and t'other Sophomore, and when they've had no chance at all beforehand, you may say. Will has been a little better, to be sure; but how on earth Winthrop ever prepared himself I can't imagine. Why the fellow read off Greek there, and I didn't know he had ever seen a word of it."
"He used to learn up in his room o' nights, father," said
Asahel.
"He used to carry his books to the field and study while the oxen were resting," said Winifred.
"He did! — Well, he'll get along. I aint afeard of him. He won't be the last man in the College, I guess."
"I guess not, father," said Asahel.
And now the months sped along with slow step, bringing toil- work for every day. It was cheerfully taken, and patiently wrought through; both at Shagarack and in the little valley at home; but those were doing for themselves, and these were truly doing love's work, for them. All was for them. The crops were grown and the sheep sheared, that Rufus and Winthrop might, not eat and be clothed, — that was a trifle, — but have the full good of a College education. The burden and the joy of the toilers was the same. There were delightful speculations round the fireside about the professions the young men would choose; what profound lawyers, what brilliant ministers, should come forth from the learned groves of Shagarack; perhaps, the father hinted, — statesmen. There were letters from both the boys, to be read and re-read, and loved and prided in, as once those of Rufus. And clothes came home to mend, and new and nice knitted socks went now and then to replace the worn ones; but that commerce was not frequent nor large; where there was so little to make, it was of necessity that there should not be too much to mend; and alas! if shirt- bosoms gave out, the boys buttoned their coats over them and studied the harder. There were wants they did not tell; those that were guessed at, they knew, cost many a strain at home; and were not all met then. But they had not gone to Shagarack to be' smart,' — except mentally. That they were.
They were favourites, notwithstanding. Their superiors delighted in their intellectual prominence; their fellows forgave it. Quietly and irresistibly they had won to the head of their respective portions of the establishment, and stayed there; but the brilliancy and fire of Rufus and the manliness and temper of his brother gained them the general good-will, and general consent to the place from which it was impossible to dislodge them. Admiration first followed elder brother, and liking the younger; till it was found that Winthrop was as unconquerable as he was unassuming; as sure to be ready as to be right; and a very thorough and large respect presently fell into the train of his deservings. The faculty confided in him; his mates looked up to him. There was happily no danger of any affront to Winthrop which might have called Rufus's fire disagreeably into play. And for himself, he was too universally popular. If he was always in the foreground, everybody knew it was because he could not be anywhere else. If Winthrop was often brought into the foreground, on great occasions, every soul of them knew it was because no other would have dignified it so well. And besides, neither Winthrop nor Rufus forgot or seemed to forget the grand business for which he was there. With all their diversity of manner and disposition, each was intent on the same thing, — to do what he had come there to do. Lasting eminence, not momentary pre- eminence, was what they sought; and that was an ambition which most of their compeers had no care to dispute with them.
"Poor fellows!" said a gay young money-purser; "they are working hard, I suppose, to get themselves a place in the eye of the world."
"Yes sir," said the President, who overheard this speech; — "and they will by and by be where you can't see them."
They came home for a few weeks in the summer, to the unspeakable rejoicing of the whole family; but it was a break of light in a cloudy day; the clouds closed again. Only now and then a stray sunbeam of a letter found its way through.
One year had gone since the boys went to College, and it was late in the fall again. Mr. Underhill, who had been on a journey back into the country, came over one morning to Mr. Landholm's.
"Good morning!" said the farmer. "Well, you've got back from your journey into the interior."
"Yes," said Mr. Underhill, — "I've got back."
"How did you find things looking, out there?"
"Middling; — their winter crops are higher up than yours and mine be."
"Ay. I suppose they've a little the start of us with the sun.
Did you come through Shagarack?"
"Yes — I stopped there a night."
"Did you see my boys?"
"Yes — I see 'em."
"Well — what did they say?" said the father, with his eye alive.
"Well — not much," said Mr. Underhill.
"They were well, I suppose?"
"First-rate — only Winthrop looked to me as if he was workin' pretty hard. He's poorer, by some pounds, I guess, than he was when he was to hum last August."
"Didn't he look as usual?" said the father with a smothered anxiety.
"There wa'n't no other change in him, that I could see, of no kind. I didn't know as Rufus was going to know who I was, at first."
"He hasn't seen much of you for some time."
"No; and folks lose their memory," said Mr. Underhill. "I saw the — what do you call him? — the boss of the concern — president! — President Tuttle. I saw him and had quite a talk with him."
"The president! How came you to see him?"
"Well, 'taint much to see a man, I s'pose, — is it? I took a notion I'd see him. I wanted to ask him how Will and Winthrop was a getting along. I told him I was a friend o' yourn."
"Well, did you ask him?"
"Yes I did."
"What did he say?" said Mr. Landholm, half laughing.
"I asked him how they were getting along."
"Ay, and what did he answer to that?"
"He wanted to know if Mr. Landholm had any more sons?"
"Was that all?" said the farmer, laughing quite.
"That was the hull he said, with a kind of kink of his eye that wa'n't too big a sum for me to cast up. He didn't give me no more satisfaction than that."
"And what did you tell him — to his question?"
"I? — I told him that two such plants took a mighty sight of room to grow, and that the hull county was clean used up."
"You did!" said Mr. Landholm laughing heartily. "Pretty well! — pretty good! — Have some tobacco, neighbour?"
"How is it?" said Mr. Underhill taking a bunch gravely.
"First-rate, — I think. Try."
Which Mr. Underhill did, with slow and careful consideration.
Mr. Landholm watched him complacently.
"I've seen worse," he remarked dryly at length. "Where did you get it, squire?"
"Nowhere short of the great city, neighbour. It came from
Mannahatta."
"Did, hey? Well, I reckon it might. Will you trade?"
"With what?" said Mr. Landholm.
"Some of this here."
"With you?"
"Yes."
"Well — let's hear," said the farmer.
"Don't you think the post ought to be paid?" said Mr.
Underhill, diving into some far-down pockets.
"Why, are you the post?"
"Don't you think that two sealed letters, now, would be worth a leetle box o' that 'ere?"
"Have you brought letters from the boys?"
"Well I don't know who writ 'em," said Mr. Underhill; — "they guv 'em to me."
Mr. Landholm took the letters, and with a very willing face went for a 'little box,' which he filled with the Mannahatta tobacco.
"Old Cowslip don't keep anything like this," Mr. Underhill said as he received it and stowed it coolly away in his pocket. "I mean to shew it to him."
"Will you stay to dinner, neighbour?"
"No thank 'ee — I've got to get over the river; and my little woman'll have something cooked for me; and if I wa'n't there to eat it I shouldn't hear the last of my wastefulness."
"Ay? is that the way she does?" said Mr. Landholm laughing.
"Something like it. A tight grip, I tell ye!"
And with these words Mr. Underhill took himself out of the house.
"Where's your mother, Asahel? call her and tell her what's here," said Mr. Landholm, as he broke one of the seals.
"Shagarack, Dec. 3, 1810.
"My dear parents,
"I take the opportunity of friend Underhill's going home to send you a word — I can't write much more than a word, I'm so busy. I never drove my plough at home half so industriously as now I am trying to break up and sow the barren fields of mind. But oh, this is sweeter labour than that. How shall I ever repay you, my dear father and dear mother, for the efforts you are making — and enduring — to give me this blessing. I feel them to my very heart — I know them much better than from your words. And perhaps this poor return of words is all I shall ever be able to make you, — when it seems to me sometimes as if I could spill my very heart to thank you. But if success can thank you, you shall be thanked. I feel that within me which says I shall have it. Tell mother the box came safe, and was gladly received. The socks &c. are as nice as possible, and very comfortable this weather; and the mittens, tell Winnie, are like no other mittens that ever were knit; but I wish I could have hold of the dear little hands that knit them for a minute instead — she knows what would come next.
"You bid me say if I want anything — sometimes I think I want nothing but to hear from you a little oftener — or to see you! — that would be too pleasant. But I am doing very well, though I do want to know that ma is not working so hard. I shall relieve pa from any further charge of me after this. I consulted the President; and he has given me a form in the grammar school to take care of — I believe pa knows there is a grammar school connected with the Institution. This will pay my bills, and to my great joy relieve my father from doing so any more. This arrangement leaves me but half of the usual study hours (by day) for myself; so you see I have not much leisure to write letters, and must close.
"Your affectionate son,
"Winthrop Landholm.
"I don't forget Asahel, though I haven't said a word of him; and give my love to Karen."
Mr. and Mrs. Landholm looked up with pleasant faces at each other and exchanged letters. She took Winthrop's and her husband began upon the other, which was from Rufus. Asahel and Winifred were standing anxiously by.
"What do they say?"
"You shall hear directly."
"Does he say any thing about me?" said Winifred.
But father and mother were deep in the precious despatches, and the answer had to be waited for.
"Shagarack College, Dec. 1810.
"My dear friends at home,
"This funny little man says he will take letters to you; — so as it is a pity not to cultivate any good disposition, Governor and I have determined to favour him. But really there is not much to write about. Our prospects are as bare as your garden in November — nothing but roots above ground or under — some thrown together, and some, alas! to be dug for; only ours are not parsnips and carrots but a particularly tasteless kind called Greek roots; with a variety denominated algebraic, of which there are quantities. At these roots, or at some branches from the same, Governor and I are tugging as for dear life, so it is no wonder if our very hands smell of them. I am sure I eat them every day with my dinner, and ruminate upon them afterwards. In the midst of all this we are as well as usual. Governor is getting along splendidly; and I am not much amiss; at least so they say. The weather is pretty stinging these few days, and I find father's old cloak very useful. I think Winthrop wants something of the sort, though he is as stiff as a pine tree, bodily and mentally, and won't own that he wants any thing. He won't want any thing long, that he can get. He is working confoundedly hard. I beg mamma's pardon — I wouldn't have said that if I had thought of her — and I would write over my letter now, if I were not short of time, and to tell truth, of paper. This is my last sheet, and a villainous bad one it is; but I can't get any better at the little storekeeper's here, and that at a horridly high price.
"As Governor is writing to you, he will give you all the sense, so it is less matter that there is absolutely nothing in this epistle. Only believe me, my dear father and mother and Winnie and Asahel, ever your most dutiful, grateful, and affectionate son and brother,
"Will. Rufus Landholm.
"My dear mother, the box was most acceptable."
After being once read in private, the letters were given aloud to the children; and then studied over and again by the father and mother to themselves. Winifred was satisfied with the mention of her name; notwithstanding which, she sat with a very wistful face the rest of the afternoon. She was longing for her brother's hand and kiss.
"Have your brothers' letters made you feel sober, Winnie?" said her mother.
"I want to see him, mamma! —"
"Who?"
"Governor. —"
It was the utmost word Winifred's lips could speak.
"But dear Winnie," said her mother sorrowfully, "it is for their good and their pleasure they are away."
"I know it, mamma, — I know I am very selfish —"
"I don't think you are," said her mother. "Winnie, remember that they are getting knowledge and fitting themselves to be better and stronger men than they could be if they lived here and learnt nothing."
"Mamma," said Winifred looking up as if defining her position,
"I don't think it is right, but I can't always help it."
"We have one friend never far off."
"Oh mamma, I remember that all the while."
"Then can't you look happy?"
"Not always, mamma," said the little girl covering her face quickly. The mother stooped down and put her arms round her.
"You must ask him, and he will teach you to be happy always."
"But I can't, mamma, unless I could be right always," said poor Winifred.
Mrs. Landholm was silent, but kissed her with those soft motherly kisses which had comfort and love in every touch of them. Soon answered, for Winifred lifted up her head and kissed her again.
"How much longer must they be there, mamma?" she asked more cheerfully.
"Two years," Mrs. Landholm answered, with a sigh that belonged to what was not spoken.
"Mamma," said Winifred again presently, trying not to shew from how deep her question came, "aint you afraid Winthrop wants something more to wear?"
And Mrs. Landholm did not shew how deep the question went, but she said lightly,
"We'll see about it. We'll get papa to write and make him tell us what he wants."
"Maybe he won't tell," said Winifred thoughtfully. "I wish I could write."
"Then why don't you set to and learn? Nothing would please
Governor so much."
"Would it!" said Winifred with a brightened face.
"Asahel," she said, as Asahel came in a few minutes after, "mamma says Governor would like nothing so well as to have me learn to write."
"I knew that before," said Asahel coolly. "He was talking to me last summer about learning you."
"Was he! Then will you Asahel? Do you know yourself?"
"I know how to begin," said Asahel.
And after that many a sorrowful feeling was wrought into trammels and pothooks.
CHAPTER XIV.
Bard. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! Nym. Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot; and for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. KING HENRY V.
"To Mr. Winthrop Landholm, Shagarack College.
"Dec. 10, 1810.
"My dear son,
"We received yours of the third, per Mr. Underhill, which was very gratifying to your mother and myself, as also Will's of the same date. We cannot help wishing we could hear a little oftener, as these are the first we have had for several weeks. But we remember your occupations, and I assure you make due allowances; yet we cannot help thinking a little more time might be given to pa and ma. This is a burdensome world, and every one must bear their own burdens; yet I think it must be conceded it is right for every individual to do what may be in his power towards making the lot of others pleasanter. This I am sure you believe, for you act upon it; and you know that nothing so lightens our load as to know that Will and Governor are doing well. It is a world of uncertainties; and we cannot know this unless you will tell us.
"My dear sons, I do not mean to chide you, and I have said more on this subject than I had any intention to do. But it is very natural, when a subject lies so near the heart, that I should exceed the allotted bounds.
"Winthrop, your mother is afraid, from something in Will's letter, that you are in want of an overcoat. Tell us if you are, and we will do our best to endeavour to supply the deficiency. I thought you had one; but I suppose it must be pretty old by this time. My dear son, we have all one interest; if you want anything, let us know, and if it can be had you know enough of us to know you shall not want it. We have not much to spare certainly, but necessaries we will try to procure; and so long as we need not groan about the present it is not my way to grumble about the future. We shall get along, somehow, I trust.
"I shall send this by post, as I do not know of any opportunity, and do not think it best to wait for one."
"Your loving father,
"W. Landholm.
"Winthrop and Will."
"My dear boys,