CHAPTER XIV
THE NABOB MAKES AN IMPRESSION
It was a divided stream in which the current of our story flowed duringthe days that followed, and a quiet stream it seemed at first after thedash and sparkle of the summer. A week more and Kate was busy with herbooks again, beginning her last year in the Rushmore High School. TomSaxon was in school too, and Stella had flitted back to Boston, ready tosettle down in that pretty studio of hers, with her art and her pupils.Esther alone was at leisure, but even for her the time passed swiftly.Aunt Elsie gave her a willing share in the light work of the household,and her grandfather claimed her more and more as a companion in all hisgoings, and a listener to his tales in the lengthening evenings.
Then there were the visits to Aunt Katharine, and few were the days inwhich they were omitted. The sight of the girl always brought a smile tothe face of the lonely old woman. She was, if possible, more kind thanever, and yet, though Esther could not have explained it, she felt witha puzzled wonder that there was somehow a difference. Not for long hadAunt Katharine talked in the old passionate way of those peculiar viewswhich she held so dear and vital. She seemed less eager than once toimpress them, and Esther noted it, resenting more and more that fancy ofher sister's that the proud-spirited old woman would have taken undueadvantage of her influence, or have wished to put compulsion onanother's life and thought.
It was a pity Kate did not know the true state of the case. As it wasshe sent an anxious thought every now and then in the direction of AuntKatharine, and shook her fist, metaphorically speaking, in the face ofthose ideas which she imagined her to be always urging. In regard toanything else she refused to be solicitous over her sister, though Tom,who actually wrote a letter once a week for the first month, did hisbest to disturb her. The "nabob" was not only calling oftener thanever,--and this in the absence of Stella,--but the grandfather and Estherhad been invited to visit at his summer home in Hartridge, a visit whichthey had made, and, according to reports on their return, enjoyedimmensely.
"You can pay your money and take your choice, of course," Tom wrotederisively at the end of this interesting news, which he sent in advanceof Esther herself, "but it's ancestors _or_ Esther, you can count onthat. Maybe the young men out your way care more about theirgreat-great-grandfathers than they do about girls, but in this part ofthe country it would be safer to bet on the girl."
Kate sniffed at this, and responded promptly that the young men in herpart of the country, so far as she was acquainted with them, didn'ttrouble themselves about their great-great-grandfathers at all; and themental workings of one who gave his time to the business--as Mr. Hadleycertainly did in the earlier part of the summer--were beyond her. Towhich she added--what was clearly another matter--that even if Mr. Hadleyhad taken a fancy to Esther, it was by no means certain that she had afancy for him.
She waited with some impatience for Esther's account of the visit, andthe letter which came shortly certainly bore out Tom's impression thatshe had enjoyed it. It seemed that Mr. Hadley's father was extremelyanxious to meet Deacon Saxon, but being somewhat infirm of health andindisposed for so long a ride, had urgently begged the old gentleman tocome to him,--with his granddaughter, of course,--and the two had takenthe drive to Hartridge one day with all the pleasure in life. TheHadleys' summer home, Esther wrote, was perfectly beautiful, much moreso in outward aspect than the Boston house, with its straight brownfront, and inside it was apparently a bower of loveliness. Such simplebut elegant furnishings, such devices for making summer leisure redolentof rest and culture! Ah! It was a theme to inspire her pen, and she grewfairly eloquent over it.
It appeared, too, that Mr. Hadley had been more charming than ever, andhis family were delightful. There had been a married sister from Bostonthere on a visit who had been more than gracious to Esther, and hadassured her that she should count on seeing much of her during thewinter. Altogether, it seemed to have been an idyllic day. Kate read theletter aloud to the family, then laid it down without joining in thegeneral comment. She was half vexed that her sister should have had sogood a time, and she really wished that Mr. Philip Hadley were not quiteso agreeable.
But there were certain other people whose agreeable qualities she didnot find so exasperating. The sight of one of them, coming to the housethat afternoon in the edge of twilight, sent her flying out to meet himwith a cry of delight.
"Mort Elwell!" she exclaimed, almost running into his arms; "oh, but I'mglad to see you!"
"Well, you'd better believe I'm glad to see you," he replied. And thenthey clasped hands and beamed at each other for a minute like brotherand sister.
"My! how tall you're getting! Has Esther been growing like that thissummer?" he demanded, as they walked together to the house.
"The first question, of course," she replied, trying to pout. "I'm sureI can't tell. I don't believe there's any difference in me, only you'veforgotten how I looked when I went away."
Forgotten! Not he. He protested that he remembered just how high she hadcome above his shoulders when she stood on the threshing machine thatday last summer. And then they both laughed. How long ago it seemed,that harvesting at the farm!
"But it seems longer to us than to you, Mort, I know it does," said thegirl. "So much has happened to us, and we've seen so many differentplaces."
"I've seen a few places myself, if you please," he retorted, "andthere's more difference in them than you'd think, especially when itcomes to the eating. But there are other things, besides going around,to make time seem long to a body."
They welcomed him in the house with such affectionate cordiality asmight have been extended to one very dear and near of kin. Mrs.Northmore's eyes grew bright and moist at the sight of him; and thedoctor, who had stretched himself on the lounge five minutes before in astate of exhaustion, declaring that nothing short of a case of apoplexycould make him budge off it that evening, fairly bounded across the roomat the sight of Morton, and shook his hand with a heartiness suggestiveof exuberant vitality.
"When did you get home?" was the first question when the greetings wereover, and "When are you going away?" followed, without waiting foranswer.
"I just got in on the train this noon," said Morton, "and I'm goingto-morrow morning. Can't spend any time loafing, you know, for the termbegan a month ago, and I must get there now as soon as I can."
"And you'll have back work to make up the very first thing," said Mrs.Northmore. "It's too bad to work so hard all summer and then start intoyour studies at such a disadvantage."
"I think I can manage that all right," said the young man, confidently."I've got money enough to make the ends meet for a while, without doingany outside work, and it won't take me long to catch up."
"Well, don't make too brilliant a run, Mort," said the doctor, dryly. "Ihate to see a good proverb spoiled; and all work and no play ought tomake Jack a dull boy, if it doesn't."
"I rather think Jack's a dull boy to start with, if it knocks him out inone season," said the young man, laughing.
He was so modest, so manly, and his buoyant energy was so refreshing,that it was no wonder they all sat looking at him as if they had apersonal pride in his doings.
"But at least you won't have to teach school this winter," said Mrs.Northmore.
"Not unless somebody relieves me of what I've earned this summer," saidMorton, lightly. "In that case I'll speak for my old place again."
"I'll warrant they'd let you have it," said the doctor.
"Oh, they've made me the offer, already," said Morton; "besides, I holda first-grade certificate to teach in that county, and I might miss iton examination somewhere else."
"Not much danger of that, I fancy," said Mrs. Northmore, and the doctoradded, growling, "Those examinations are a good deal of a humbug. For mypart, I think a few oral questions put to a fellow straight out would beworth as much as all that written stuff." He had been a county examineronce himself, and had a painful remembrance of the "stuff," which, totell the truth, his wife had most
ly examined for him.
"I rather think an oral question that was put to me helped me in myexamination," said Morton, a gleam of amused remembrance coming into hiseyes. "Did I ever tell you about that? I had just finished one set ofpapers and gone up to the desk for another, when one of the examiners, adry, shrewd-looking old fellow, leaned over and put this question to me:'When turkeys are six and three-fourths dollars per dozen, how many maybe had for two dollars eighty-one cents and one-fourth?'"
"The mean thing!" ejaculated Kate. "He didn't expect you to figure thatout in your head, right then and there, did he?"
"He expected an answer," said Morton, "and do you know, as good luckwould have it, I hit it at the first shot, and gave it to him in aquarter of a minute. I told him _five_, and that was right."
"Well," gasped the doctor, "talk about lightning calculators!"
"But I didn't calculate it," laughed the young man. "I told you 'twasluck. You see I knew the answer, being turkeys, must be a whole number,and the sum named was less than half the price of a dozen, so itcouldn't be six, and I took the chances on five. The man that asked thequestion saw through it, of course, and I believe he sort of liked meafter that. But look here, who cares about county examinations or what Idid last winter? I want to hear about this summer, and how you liked NewEngland. Start in, Kate, and tell me everything."
"'Only that and nothing more?'" she said, lifting her hands. "Why, Iintend to give out my experiences sparingly, and embellish myconversation with them for the rest of my life. But we did have aglorious time--I'll tell you so much. And New England's great. If you'veany doubts on that point you may as well give them up right here andnow. It's funny, some of it, of course; the little fields, and the stonewalls, and the ox-teams--but you get used to those things, you know; andthe people are nice. It's the next best thing to living out here--itreally is--to live in the Old Bay State, as grandfather calls it."
And then, with an abandon which hardly tallied with her avowed intentionto keep some capital for future use, she threw herself into the doingson the old farm, the attractions of New England villages, and thedelights--oh! the delights of Boston and the sea, with his eagerquestions drawing her on and fresh items suggesting themselves at everyturn.
It lengthened itself into a long delicious evening, and after a littlethe young people had it all to themselves, for the doctor was calledoff, and not to a case of apoplexy either, only to a child who had put abutton into his ear; and a neighbor dropped in, to whose troubles Mrs.Northmore must give her sympathizing attention.
There was one subject on which the young man's interest showed itselfkeen at a score of points in the course of Kate's vivacious talk. DidEsther look at this and that as her sister did? Did she note thecontrasts with a touch of pride and pleasure in the ways at home? Wasshe wholly glad to stay behind? And might it not be longer than thewinter, much longer perhaps, before she would be at home again.
As to the last point Kate eagerly denied the danger. The other questionsshe answered more slowly, but with her usual frankness. Esther had beenmore in love with New England than herself; she had not criticisedthings--oh, dear, she had never quarrelled with anybody in behalf of hernative state; and she had been perfectly delighted with the invitationto stay, there could be no doubt of that. And then she was silent, herface lengthening a little, as she thought of the one who gave theinvitation.
The young man had listened with the closest attention while she talked,and he gave a little sigh when she finished. "I'm afraid I shan't knowas much about things that are happening there now as I did before youcame away," he said wistfully. "You were ever so good about writing tome, Kate. I haven't had but one letter since you came away."
His eyes wandered as he spoke to that letter with its well-known writinglying on the table, and it was not the first time since he came in thatthey had moved in that direction. Kate noted the hungry look, and feltmean.
"We had one to-day, and she is perfectly well," she said uneasily. Andthen she would have changed the subject but that Virgie, who was solittle given to conversation that her occasional contributions were themore dangerous, spoke up just then and said it was such an interestingletter, all about a visit Esther had made with grandfather; Kate hadread it to them all, and it was beautiful.
"Can't I hear it too?" said Morton, boldly.
There was no help for it now, and Kate walked soberly to the table.There were one or two passages she would certainly have left out, butVirgie, who had read it three times, would be likely enough to callattention to the omissions, and that would make the business worse. Soshe went straight through it, with a certain hardness of tone whenallusions were made to the charming qualities of Mr. Philip Hadley whichmade them all the more emphatic.
Morton Elwell's eyes did not move from her face as she read. Indeed,there was a tenseness about his expression at moments which suggestedthat he was holding his breath.
"So you see grandfather's taking her into all the gayeties," Kate saidrather nervously, as she laid down the letter. "She's a wonderfulfavorite with grandfather."
Morton drew his hand across his forehead. "This Mr. Hadley is the onewho went to the graveyard with her, isn't he? Esther wrote me aboutthat."
"Yes, only 'twas Stella he was with," said Kate. "Esther was withgrandfather."
The exact arrangement of the party was apparently not the main interestjust then for Morton. "And he showed you around Boston and Cambridge andthose other places afterward, didn't he?" he queried.
"Yes, we did a good deal of sight-seeing together," said Kate, and thenshe added hurriedly, "he and Stella are tremendously up in art, andthat's why he went to some places with us. He wanted to show her apicture in his own house for one thing. Maybe Esther wrote you aboutthat too."
"But he knows Stella's gone from your grandfather's now, doesn't he?"said the young man. There were apparently other things besides the priceof turkeys in regard to which he could draw quick deductions, and hiseyes searched Kate's at that moment with a look that was straight andkeen.
"I don't know but he does," she said almost pettishly.
There was a minute's silence, and somehow it occurred to Morton Elwelljust then that the hour was growing late.
"I must be going home," he said. "Aunt Jenny'll wonder what has becomeof me."
He said good night to Virgie, and stopped in the hall a minute for aword with Mrs. Northmore. Kate was beside him. "I'll go down to the gatewith you," she said, as she had said many a time before, and he seemedto expect it.
But when they were fairly beyond the porch, in the shadows of theshrubbery, he slipped his arm through hers, and said very quietly:"Kate, I wish you'd tell me the truth about this Mr. Hadley. He's comingto see Esther, of course. Is he in love with her?"
"I don't know that he is. I never saw a thing to make me think so," saidKate, with low vehemence. And then (for there was a frankness in herwhich would not let her stop there) she added: "Tom says he is; but Tommade up his mind to that right at the start, and he's the most obstinateboy I ever saw about his own opinions. He never changes his mind, nomatter what good reasons you may show him on the other side."
The idiosyncrasies of Tom Saxon were not interesting just then to MortonElwell. Kate heard him draw his breath hard before he said: "Of coursehe's in love with her. He's been seeing her all summer, and he couldn'thelp being. And she"--he paused for an instant before he added bitterly:"I understand it now. It's knowing _him_ that made her so willing tostay."
"Oh, no it isn't, Mort; indeed it isn't," said Kate, bringing him to astandstill with a compelling pressure on his arm. "If you kneweverything, you wouldn't say that. It was Aunt Katharine that made herstay. Oh, if you knew Aunt Katharine! She's a dreadfully strong-mindedwoman, and she's taken a terrible fancy to Esther. She'd like to makeher feel just as she does about woman's rights, and never marrying, andall that sort of thing. _She's_ the one, not Mr. Hadley at all, that hassuch an influence over Esther."
"Nonsense!" said Morton Elwell; and
he said it with a sharpness that foran instant made Kate almost afraid of him.
There was silence for a minute as they moved down the path. Then,with the sharpness gone out of his voice and the bitternessoverflowing it again, he said: "I don't wonder at it. He's rich andagreeable,--you wrote that yourself, Kate. He's all that's delightfuland cultivated,--she says so in the letter. He has everythingand--and time to be with her," he added, with a groan. "She can'thelp caring for him. I know it as if I were there to see."
They had reached the great horse-chestnut tree by the gate, and themoonlight came down through the half-leafless branches on the girl'sface lifted to his. "Oh, it won't be the way you think, Mort," shewhispered passionately. "Esther _can't_ care for Mr. Hadley. I'm sure,I'm sure she can't!"
"Why can't she?" he asked, and his face looked pale and stern.
She caught her breath with a sob. "Because--oh, Mort--because _you're_ somuch nicer!" she said, with an utter abandon. And then her head dropped,and a splash of tears fell on his coat-sleeve.
He stooped suddenly and kissed her; then, without even a good night,strode off down the road.
It lay before him straight and empty in the moonlight; and he followedit past the turn that led to his uncle's house, on and on, taking nonote of distance. This fear which had come to him so suddenly--it seemedalready not a possibility but a certainty, and it stalked at his side,keeping even step with his. He had no vanity to whisper that there wereother attractions besides those which fortune had bestowed so lavishlyon Mr. Philip Hadley. He had been too busy all his life, and such giftsas he had were too inherently part of his nature for him to turn anobservant eye upon them and mark their value. He seemed to himself ahomely, humdrum fellow beside this other who had stepped so lightly intoEsther Northmore's life. There was envy enough in his heart, Heavenknew; but it somehow withheld the thought that wealth was accidental,culture acquired,--poor things at best beside that inner something whichmakes the man. They were good gifts. He hoped to prove it for himself byand by, and that other something--How if Mr. Philip Hadley were rich inthat, too?
But was it fair, was it fair that he, to whom only a summer pleasuringhad brought acquaintance with Esther Northmore, should steal her awayfrom one who had loved her so long? His heart ran swiftly over the past,and a lump rose in his throat as memory brought back those early days.She was five years old, he seven, when he came to his uncle's house, alonesome, homesick boy. He remembered how she came across the fieldswith her mother, on that first afternoon, in her little red shoes andwhite apron, a dainty figure, with gentle ways and soft, loving eyes. Heremembered how she had slid her hand into his and whispered she wassorry his mother was dead. And then they had played together, he drawingher about in his little cart; and before he knew it the long day wasending and a sense of being at home had stolen into his heart. That wasthe beginning, and what friends they had been through the childish yearsthat followed! He remembered how he bought her a carnelian ring once atthe county fair. The ring had broken next day, and she had wept scaldingtears. Alas, there was no dime left to buy another, but he had promisedthat she should have a gold one sometime, with a shining stone at thetop, and she had been comforted with this, and promised to wait.
Ah, one could not bear such memories as this. He thrust it down andswallowed fiercely at the lump in his throat, which seemed his heartitself swollen to bursting. But other pictures came: the growing girl,so willing to take his help, so quick to give her own, so proud of allhis successes. They had gone through the district school side by side,he only a class ahead, though older, for his chance to begin had comelater than hers. How many times he had worked her problems for her, howoften he had gone over his boyish debates and speeches with her forlistener, on the way to school, or in her father's orchard when hischores were done, sure that he had made his pleading well when the tearssprang into her eyes, and the quick responsive color flushed and paledin her cheeks! What would any work he could do, or any triumph he couldever win, be worth to him if she had ceased to care?
There had been a difference in her,--he had marked it uneasily, slow ashe was in the steadfast loyalty of his own thoughts to guess at changein hers,--but he had said to himself it was because they had been aparttoo much, she at boarding school, he at college. It would all be as ithad been when they could see each other again in the old way. That theybelonged to each other was a thing he had held so simply and of coursethat the fear of losing her had never till now really entered his heart.
And then, with a passionate protest, he felt himself writing to her,telling her of his love and calling her back; but swift chilling doubtsovertook the impulse. If she had forgotten, slipped away from all thisof the past, could any word of his, across the cruel distance, call herback? He had no art with his pen, and what would the poor meagre page beworth beside the living presence of this new, delightful friend?
The bitterness gathered like a flood in his heart, and all its waves andbillows went over him. He knew nothing of the beauty of the night northe way he was taking. He had no sense of outward things, when his namewas called suddenly behind him.
"Mort Elwell! Well, upon my word! I thought 'twas you, and then Ithought it couldn't be. When did I ever catch up with you before, on astraight road, with you well in the start?"
The young man turned at the voice, and for a moment stared blankly atthe speaker. It was the New Light preacher, his friend of many years,his comrade in the labors of the early summer. The long loose figurebent eagerly toward him, and the sallow face shone in the floodingmoonlight. It was impossible, at any pass of melancholy, not to find amoment's pleasure in so warm a greeting.
"I declare I didn't hear you coming up," said the young man. "I wastaking my time to it, and wasn't looking for company."
"No, I reckon not," said the preacher, smiling. "It's toler'ble late, ifyou happen to know it, and you're a little out of your own bailiwick,aren't you?"
"Over in yours?" said Morton, noting for the first time how far he hadgone. "Well, it's rather late for you too, isn't it?"
"Yes," said the preacher; "but I've been over at old man Towner's. He'shaving one of his bad spells, and this time he won't pull through. Ireckon he'll be done with living here in a few days more."
"Well, it's something to be through with," said the young man. He hadspoken more to fill the pause than for anything else, but there was adreary note in his voice which fell strangely on the ear of the other.
"You, Mort!" he exclaimed, and his eyes searched the face of hiscompanion for a moment curiously. It looked tired and worn. "Justthrough your work?" he asked. "When did you get in?"
"Finished my job yesterday," said Morton, "and am here just long enoughto pick up my things. Shall go to-morrow morning."
"And start in for another stiff year's work," said the preacher. "Well,Mort, you've made a summer of it. I hope things'll ease up for yousometime, and they will, they will."
The young man lifted his head with an impatient movement. "I wish peoplewouldn't pity me for having to work," he said. "I don't care how hard Iwork. It's the easiest thing there is."
Some fine wrinkles had gathered in the preacher's forehead. "Yes," hesaid, with his eyes still on Morton's face. "It's a good deal easierthan wanting work and not getting it, for instance. Plenty of folkscould tell you that."
There was a touch of contempt mingled now with the impatience inMorton's voice. "I never was a bit afraid but I could get all the work Iwanted," he said. "Give me my head and hands, and I'll take care ofthat."
"And not be so proud of yourself for doing it maybe, when you get to myage," said the preacher. Then dropping into his bit of a drawl, headded: "But there _are_ things that ain't so easy to come by, eh, Mort?It's a fact, man. But 'Faint-heart never won fair lady,' nor anythingelse worth having."
A flush rose in Morton's face and he sent a quick look at the preacher.The shrewd gray eyes were looking at him kindly.
"And Stout-heart doesn't win them either, sometimes," he said bitterly.
<
br /> "Oh, it's chance, it's chance, the way things happen!"
The preacher laid his hand on the young fellow's shoulder. "No, Mort,"he said with a peculiar gentleness in his voice, "Stout-heart _doesn't_win them always. We fail of them sometimes with all our trying. Godknows how I've wanted some things I've missed. But there's one thing weneedn't miss,--the Lord himself stands to that,--courage to meet whatcomes, strength to go without, if we must, and not be broken by it."
The young man stopped in his walk and faced the other. "Strength!" hecried, almost fiercely. "To do without the things that make everythingelse worth having! Where is one to get it? You could hunt for work--I'dtake my chances on finding that--but _this_!"
He set his teeth hard, and the preacher felt the strong young figuregrow tense under his hand. He drew himself up, and his eyes held theboy's with a compelling earnestness.
"Where are you to get it, Mort?" he said solemnly. "From the One thatgave you what strength you've got. Do you think He bankrupted Himselfgiving you and me the little sense, the little power that's in us? Itell you there's more; there's _enough_ for every soul of us. Cry to Himfor it. Open your eyes and open your heart. It's here, it's there, it'sall around us. And it's ours for the having."
He stretched out his arms as he spoke with a wide reverent gesture, andhis plain awkward face looked noble as he lifted it toward the sky.
They stood together for a long still minute without speaking. He hadbroken in upon an hour of solitary wrestling; the older man knew it, andhe shrank back now from his intrusion. Suddenly he turned away. "It's alittle shorter for me across the fields, Mort, and I'll leave you here,"he said. "Good night, and God bless you."
It was past midnight when Morton Elwell opened the door of his uncle'shouse. A light was burning in the sitting room; and his aunt rose as heentered, dropping from her lap the work with which she had been fillingthe time while she waited.
"What, were you sitting up for me, Aunt Jenny?" he said, as she met him.
"It's a long time since I had a chance to sit up for you, Mort," shesaid tenderly. And then she added, with a gentle reproach in her voice,"Don't you think you ought to be taking a little more rest to-night,when you start so early to-morrow?"
"I'm going to bed right now," he said. Then he put his arm around herneck in the old affectionate way, as he added, "A fellow has a deal tobe thankful for that's had such an auntie as you are to take care of himall these years."
And with that manly word, and a little quiver at his lips, he mountedthe stairs to his own room.