_Ford_. They do say, if money go before, all ways do lie open.
_Fal_. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Somewhat to Winthrop's surprise, Clam came the next day to
remind him of his promise; very much in earnest to wear a
clean frock and have her dinner regular. She was duly bound,
and entered into clean service accordingly. The indentures
were made out to Miss Haye; but for the present Clam was put
to learn her business under somebody that knew it; and for
that end was finally sent to Mrs. Landholm. A week or two with
Mrs. Nettley proved to the satisfaction of both parties that
neither would much advantage the other. At Shahweetah, Clam,
as Mrs. Landholm expressed it, "took a new start," and got on
admirably. What much favoured this, was the fact that she
speedily became very much attached to the whole family; with
the single exception of Karen, between whom and herself there
was an unallayed state of friction; a friction that probably
served only to better Clam's relish of her dinner, while poor
Karen declared "she didn't leave her no rest day nor night."
"She's not a bad child, Karen," said her mistress.
"Which part of her 's good?" said Karen. "'Taint her eyes,
nor her fingers; and if the Bible didn't say there wa'n't no
such a fountain, I should think her tongue was one o' them
fountains that sent out at the same place both salt water and
fresh."
"Her fingers are pretty good, Karen."
"There's a two-sided will in 'em, Mrs. Landholm."
There was no two-sided will in Clam's first friend, nor in the
energies which were steadily bearing him on towards his aim.
Steadily and surely, as he knew. But his life in those days
had almost as little to tell of, as it had much to do. From
early morning till -- almost till early morning again, or till
a new day had begun to count the hours, -- every minute had its
work; yet the record of the whole could be given in very few
words, and those would not be interesting. How should the
record be, when the reality was not, even to himself. It was
all preparatory work; it must be done; but the interest of the
matter lay beyond, at that point whither all these efforts
tended. Meanwhile work and have patience, and work, -- was the
epitome of his life.
There were some breaks, but not many. Now and then a swift and
sweet run home, to live for a moment in the midst of all this
preparing to live; to rest among the home hearts; to breathe a
few breaths in absolute freedom; to exchange Mr. De Wort's
dusty office for the bright little keeping-room of the
farmhouse, and forget the business of the hard brick and stone
city under the shadow or the sunshine that rested on Wut-a-
qut-o. Then Winthrop threw off his broadcloth coat and was a
farmer again. Then Mrs. Landholm's brow laid down its care,
and shewed to her son only her happy face. Then poor Winifred
was strong and well and joyous, in the spite of sickness and
weakness and nervous ail. And then also, Clam sprang round
with great energy, and was as Karen averred, "fifty times
worse and better than ever."
But all faded and died away, save the sweet memory and
refreshment; that staid yet a little while. Winthrop went back
to his musty parchments and lonely attic; and the little
family at home gathered itself together for a new season of
duty-doing, and hope, and looking forward. The sunshine and
the shadow slept upon Wut-a-qut-o, as it did a little while
ago; but neither sunshine nor shadow was the same thing now,
for Winthrop was away.
He had lost perhaps less than they; though the balance was
struck pretty fair. But he was actively bending every energy
to the accomplishment of a great object. The intensity of
effort might swallow up some other things, and the
consciousness of sure and growing success might make amends
for them. Besides, he had been long fighting the battle of
life away from home, and was accustomed to it; they never got
accustomed to it. Every fresh coming home was the pledge of a
fresh parting, the pleasure of the one not more sure than the
pain of the other. If Winthrop had changed, in all these years
and goings and comings, it might have been different; if they
could have found that their lost treasure was less true or
strong or fair, than when they first let it go. But he was so
exactly the same Winthrop that they had been sorry for that
first time, that they could only be sorry again with the same
sorrow; -- the same, but for the lost novelty of that first
time, and the added habit of patience, and the nearer hope of
his and their reward.
So through the first winter and the first summer, and the
second winter and the second summer, of his city
apprenticeship, Winthrop wrought on; now with a cold room and
little fire in his chimney, and now with the sun beating upon
the roof, and the only hope of night's sea-breeze. But the
farmer's boy had known cold and heat a great while ago, and he
could bear both. He could partly forget both, sometimes in
literary unbending with Mr. Herder and his friends; and at
other times in a solitary walk on the Green overlooking the
bay, to catch the sea-breeze more fresh and soon, and look up
the river channel towards where the shadows lay upon Wut-a-
qut-o. And sometimes in a visit at Mr. Haye's.
Of late, in the second summer, this last sort of pleasure-
taking grew to be more frequent. Mr. Herder was less visited,
and Mr. Haye more. Winthrop was always welcome, but there was
no change in the manner of his being received. Unless perhaps
a little more graciousness on Elizabeth's part, and a trifle
less on Rose's, might be quoted.
So the sea-breezes blew through the dog-days; and September
ushered in and ushered out its storms; and October came, clear
and fair, with strength and health for body and mind. With
October came Rufus, having just made an end of his work in the
North country. He came but for a few days' stay in passing
from one scene of labours to another. For those few days he
abode with his brother, sharing his room and bed.
"Well, Winthrop, I've stuck to my choice," he remarked, the
second evening of his being there. The tone indicated the
opening of a great budget of thoughts. Winthrop was bending
over a parchment-coloured volume, and Rufus pacing up and down
the longest stretch of the little room.
"I am glad of it," said Winthrop, without looking up.
"I am not sure that I am."
"What's the matter?"
"I don't see that I gain much by it, and I certainly lose."
"What do you expect to gain?"
"Nothing but money, -- and I don't get that."
"It's safe, isn't it?"
"Yes, and so are winter's snows, in their treasury; -- and I
could as soon get it by asking for it."
"Let us hope it will come with the snows," said Winthrop, his
head still bent down over his book.
"You may talk; -- it is easy waiting for you."
"Query, how that would give me a right to talk," said Winthrop
turning over a leaf; -- "supposing it to be a fact; of which I
have some doubts."
"What have you been doing all to-day?"
"The usual routine -- which after all is but preparing to do."
"What has been the routine to-day?"
"You saw my breakfast and saw me get it. -- Then I went out. --
Then I read, according to custom."
"What?"
"Classics."
"Do you!"
"For awhile. The rest of the morning between engrossing deeds
and the Record Office. First half of the afternoon, or rather
a larger proportion, ditto; the rest to meet my friends
Messrs. Jones and Satterthwaite."
"Satterthwaite! -- what does _he_ want?"
"To read Greek with me."
"Greek! What has put that into his head? Bob. Satterthwaite!"
-- and Rufus threw back his head and laughed in a great state
of amusement. "What has put _that_ into his head? -- eh,
Winthrop?"
"I don't inquire. It puts money in my pocket."
"Not much," said Rufus.
"No, not much."
"What's the reason, do you think? What moves _him_ to woo the
Muses? -- I'm afraid it's because he thinks it is a preliminary
wooing he must go through before he can be successful in
another quarter."
And again Rufus laughed, in high delight.
"I have no business with that," said Winthrop.
"What are you doing now?"
"Studying law."
"Stop."
"What for?"
"To talk to me."
"It seems to me I have been doing that for some time," said
Winthrop, without looking off his book.
"But I haven't begun. Winthrop, -- I have a great mind to give
up this engineering business."
"To do what instead?"
"Why -- you know I shall have some money coming to me -- quite a
little sum; -- Mr. Haye has very kindly offered to put me in
the way of laying it out to good advantage, and eventually of
getting into another line of occupation which would at the
same time be more lucrative, less laborious, and would keep me
in the regions of civilization. -- And perhaps -- Winthrop --
something might follow thereupon, --"
"What?" said his brother looking up.
"Something --"
"More definite in your purpose than in your speech."
"Not my purpose, exactly," said Rufus, -- "but in possibility."
"There is no peg in possibility for a wise man to hang his cap
on."
"Perhaps I am not a wise man," said Rufus, with a very queer
face, as if his mind were giving an askance look at the
subject.
"That's a supposititious case I shall leave you to deal with."
"Why it's the very sort of case it's your business to deal
with," said Rufus. "If the world was full of wise men you'd
stand a pretty fair chance of starving, Governor. But
seriously, -- do you think it is unbecoming a wise man to take
any lawful means of keeping out of the way of that same devil
of starvation?"
"Do you mean to say that you are in any danger of it?" said
Winthrop looking up again.
"Why no, -- not exactly; taking the words literally. But one
may starve and yet have enough to eat."
"If one refuses one's food."
"If one don't! I tell you, I have been starving for these two
years past. It is not living, to make to-day only feed to-
morrow. Besides -- I don't see any harm in purchasing, if one
can, an exemption from the universal doom of eating one's
bread in the sweat of one's brow."
"I think it depends entirely on what one pays for the
purchase," said Winthrop.
"Suppose one pays nothing."
"One executes a most unaccountable business transaction."
Rufus stopped and looked at him, and then took up his walk,
and half laughing went on.
"Suppose we leave talking in the dark, and understand one
another. Do you know what I am driving at?"
"Have you set off?" said Winthrop, with again a glance which
seemed to add to Rufus's amusement.
"No," he said, -- "I am just waiting for you to give me leave."
"The reins are not in my hands."
"Yes they are. Seriously, Winthrop, do you know what we are
talking about? -- What do you think of my making suit to one of
these ladies?"
"I do not think about it."
"You do not conceive it would be any disfavour to either of
them to induce her to accept me, I suppose. -- What do you
say?"
"You are indifferent towards which of them the suit should
incline?" said Winthrop.
"Why, that's as it may be -- I haven't thought enough about it
to know. They're a pretty fair pair to choose from --"
"Supposing that you have the choice," said Winthrop.
"Do you know anything to the contrary? --Has anybody else a
fairer entrance than myself?"
"I am not on sufficiently near terms with the family to be
able to inform you."
"Do _you_ think of entering _your_ plough, Governor?"
"Not in your field."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I am not in your way."
"Shall I be in yours?"
"No," said his brother coolly.
"In whose way then?"
"I am afraid in your own, Will."
"How do you mean?" asked the other a little fiercely.
"If you are so intent upon marrying money-bags, you may chance
to get a wife that will not suit you."
"You must explain yourself!" said Rufus haughtily. "In what
respect would either of these two not suit me?"
"Of two so different, it may safely be affirmed that if one
would the other would not."
"Two so different!" said Rufus. "What's the matter with either
of them?"
"There is this the matter with both --that you do not know
them."
"I _do_ know them!"
"From the rest of the world; but not from each other."
"Why not from each other?"
"Not enough for your liking or your judgment to tell which
would suit you."
"Why would not either suit?" said Rufus.
"I think -- if you ask me -- that one would not make you happy,
in the long run; and the other, with your present views and
aims, you could not make happy."
"Which is which?" said Rufus, laughing and drawing up a chair
opposite his brother.
"Either of them is which," said Winthrop. "Such being the
case, I don't know that it is material to inquire."
"It is very material! for I cannot be satisfied without the
answer. I am in earnest in the whole matter, Winthrop."
"So am I, very much in earnest."
"Which of them should I not make happy?" -- Rufus went on. --
"Rose? -- She is easily made happy."
"So easily, that you would be much more than enough for it."
"Then it is the other one whose happiness you are afraid for?"
"I don't think it is in much danger from you."
"Why? --what then?" said Rufus quickly.
"I doubt whether any one could succeed with her whose first
object was something else."
Rufus drew his fingers through his hair, in silence, for about
a minute and a half; with a face of thoughtful and somewhat
disagreeable consideration.
"And with the other one you think he could?"
"What?"
"Succeed? -- one whose first object, as you say, was something
else?"
"With the other I think anybody could."
"I don't know but I like that," said Rufus; -- "it is amiable.
She has more simplicity. She is a lovely creature!"
"If you ask your eye."
"If I ask yours!" --
"Every man must see with his own eyes," said Winthrop.
"Don't yours see her lovely?"
"They might, if they had not an inward counsellor that taught
them better."
"She is very sweet-tempered and sweet-mannered," said Rufus.
"Very."
"Don't you think so?"
"Certainly -- when it suits her."
"When it suits her!"
"Yes. She is naturally rude, and politically polite."
"And how's the other one? isn't she naturally rude too?"
"Not politically anything."
"And you think she wouldn't have me?"
"I am sure she would not, if she knew your motive."
"My motive! -- but my motive might change," said Rufus, pushing
back his chair and beginning to walk the floor again. "It
isn't necessary that my regards should be confined to her
gracious adjunctive recommendations. --"
He walked for some time without reply, and again the leaves of
Winthrop's book said softly now and then that Winthrop's head
was busy with them.
"Governor, you are very unsatisfactory!" said his brother at
length, standing now in front of him.
Winthrop looked up and smiled and said, "What would you have?"
"Your approbation!" -- was the strong and somewhat bitter
thought in Rufus's mind. He paused before he spoke.
"But Governor, really I am tired of this life -- it isn't what
I am fit for; -- and why not escape from it, if I can, by some
agreeable road that will do nobody any harm?"
"With all my heart," said Winthrop. "I'll help you."
"Well? --"
"Well --"
"You think this is not such a one?"
"The first step in it being a stumble."
"To whom would it bring harm, Governor?"
"The head must lower when the foot stumbles," said Winthrop.
"That is one harm."
"But you are begging the question!" said Rufus a little
impatiently.
"And you have granted it."
"I haven't!" said Rufus. "I don't see it. I don't see the
stumbling or the lowering. I should not feel myself lowered by
marrying a fine woman, and I hope she would not feel her own
self-respect injured by marrying me."
"You will not stand so high upon her money-bags as upon your
own feet."
"Why not have the advantage of both?"
"You cannot. People always sit down upon money-bags. The only
exception is in the case of money-bags they have filled
themselves."
Rufus looked at Winthrop's book for three minutes in silence.
"Well, why not then take at once the ease, for which the
alternative is a long striving?"
"If you can. But the long striving is not the whole of the
alternative; with that you lose the fruits of the striving --
all that makes ease worth having."
"But I should not relinquish them," said Rufus. "I shall not
sit down upon my money-bags."
"They are not _your_ money-bags."
"They will be -- if I prove successful."
"And how will you prove successful?"
"Why!" -- said Rufus, -- "what a question! --"
"I wish you would answer it nevertheless -- not to me, but to
yourself."
Whether Rufus did or not, the answer never came out. He paced
the floor again; several times made ready to speak, and then
checked himself.
"So you are entirely against me, --" he said at length.
"I am not against you, Will; -- I am _for_ you."
"You don't approve of my plan."
"No --I do not."
"I wish you would say why."
"I hardly need," said Winthrop with a smile. "You have said it
all to yourself."
"Notwithstanding which assumption, I should like to hear you
say it."
"For the greater ease of attack and defence?"
"If you please. For anything."
"What do you want me to do, Will?" said Winthrop looking up.
"To tell me why I should not marry Miss Haye or Miss
Cadwallader."
"You not knowing, yourself."
"Yes -- I don't," said Rufus.
Winthrop turned over a few leaves of his book and then spoke.
"You are stronger, not to lean on somebody else's strength.
You are more independent, not to lean at all. You are
honester, not to gain anything under false pretences. And you
are better to be yourself, Will Landholm, than the husband of
any heiress the sun shines upon, at such terms."
"What terms?"
"False pretences."
"What false pretences?"
"Asking the hand, when you only want the key that is in it.
Professing to give yourself, when in truth your purpose is to
give nothing that is not bought and paid for."
Rufus looked very grave and somewhat disturbed.
"That's a very hard characterizing of the matter, Governor,"
said he. "I don't think I deserve it."
"I hope you don't," said his brother.
Rufus began again to measure the little apartment with his
long steps.
"But this kind of thing is done every day, Winthrop."
"By whom?" said Winthrop.
"Why! -- by very good men; -- by everybody."
"Not by everybody."
"By what sort of people is it not done?"
"By you and me," said Winthrop smiling.
"You think then that a poor man should never marry a rich
woman?"
"Never, -- unless he can forget that she is rich and he poor."
Rufus walked for some time in silence.
"Well," he said, in a tone between dry and injured, -- "I am
going off to the West again, luckily; and I shall have no
opportunity for the present to disturb you by making false
pretences, of any sort."
"Is opportunity all that you lack?" said Winthrop looking up,
and with so simple an expression that Rufus quitted his walk
and his look together.
"Why did you never make trial for yourself, Winthrop?" he
said. "You have a remarkably fine chance; and fine opening
too, I should think. You are evidently very well received down
yonder."
"I have a theory of my own too, on the subject," said
Winthrop, -- "somewhat different from yours, but still enough
to work by."
"What's that?"
"I have no mind to marry any woman who is unwilling to be
obliged to me."
Rufus looked at his brother and at the fireplace awhile in
gravity.
"You are proud," he said at length.
"I must have come to it by living so high in the world," said
Winthrop.
"So high?" -- said Rufus.
"As near the sun as I can get. I thought it was very near,
some time in August last."
Winthrop laid by his book; and the two young men stood several
minutes, quite silent, on opposite sides of the hearth, with
folded hands and meditative countenances; but the face of the
one looked like the muddy waters of the Shatemuc tossed and
tumbled under a fierce wind; the other's was calm and steady
as Wut-a-qut-o's brow.
"So you won't have any woman that you don't _oblige_ to marry
you!" Rufus burst out. "Ha, ha, ha! -- ho, ho, ho! --"
Winthrop's mouth gave the slightest good-humoured token of
understanding him, -- it could not be called a smile. Rufus had
his laugh out, and cooled down into deeper gravity than
before.
"Well!" -- said he, -- "I'll go off to my fate, at the limitless
wild of the West. It seems a rough sort of fate."
"Make your fate for yourself," said Winthrop.
"_You_ will," said his brother. "And it will be what you will,
and that's a fair one. And you will oblige anybody you have a
mind to. And marry an heiress."
"Don't look much like it -- things at present," said Winthrop.
"I don't see the way very clear."
"As for me, I don't know what ever I shall come to," Rufus
added.
"Come to bed at present," said Winthrop. "That is one step."
"One step towards what?"
"Sleep in the first place; and after that, anything."
"What a strange creature you are, Governor! and how
doubtlessly and dauntlessly you pursue your way," Rufus said
sighing.
"Sighs never filled anybody's sails yet," said Winthrop. "They
are the very airs of a calm."
"Calm!" said Rufus.
"A dead calm," said his brother laughing.
"I wish I had _your_ calm," said Rufus. And with that the
evening ended.