CLINTON ACADEMY.
At the close of the service, Mr. Carleton came around where Ray was
talking with Edward Lawton and his sister Daisy, and remarked, as he
laid his hand on the boy's shoulder:
"We were glad to hear your testimony to-night, Ray. We cannot help
believing with you, that the Master is strangely but surely leading you
along 'the way of holiness.' God grant it may be so. But come--you are
to go home with me to-night."
"I would like to do so, ever so much," replied Ray, giving his pastor a
look in which love and confidence and pleasure were all mingled; "but
Mr. Woodhull will expect me home, and I have been absent from the farm
so much lately. I think I shall have to decline your invitation this
time."
"Mr. Woodhull will not expect you to-night," answered Mr. Carleton,
with a mischievous look at Edward and Daisy, "for I told him some time
ago I should keep you with me to-night. There is an important matter
I wish to talk over with you. So get your horse and wagon, and Mrs.
Carleton and I will ride up to the parsonage with you."
Whatever the important matter was, Edward and Daisy evidently were not
ignorant of it, for they both laughed, and seemed, for some reason, to
be greatly pleased.
"Yes, Ray," Edward added, looking over to Mr. Carleton, who had turned
to speak with Mrs. Lawton, "and before you leave for Long Point farm in
the morning, remember that you are to come around and talk that same
important matter over with me."
Mr. Carleton shook his finger at Edward, who immediately relapsed into
silence. Daisy, however, her eyes fairly sparkling with some unknown
joy, added: "We shall certainly expect you, Ray." And then she turned
and walked off home with her mother and Edward.
Ray, completely mystified by these allusions, and suddenly recalling
Mr. Bacon's words on the Monday evening before, went off to the shed
for his horse and wagon, wondering what "important thing" was in store
for him, which seemed to give all the others so much joy.
But he did not long remain in ignorance of it, for as soon as the horse
had been cared for, and he and Mr. and Mrs. Carleton were comfortably
seated about the fire in the cosy sitting room at the parsonage, Mr.
Carleton asked:
"You have heard of the Clinton Academy, at Easton, Ray?"
Hadn't he? Wasn't that the very school he had desired to attend, but
had never expected to have the desire realized, even when saving up
his money, for the expense had seemed to be entirely beyond his reach?
Was it not there that both Mr. Greenough and Mr. Carleton had prepared
for college? Hadn't Mr. Phillips, the principal of the school, and
a college classmate of Mr. Carleton, visited Afton only the summer
before, and hadn't he seen him and talked with him? He had a catalogue
of that very academy, moreover, that the principal had sent him the
September before, and what a struggle it had been for him to give up
the idea of entering it then, no one but God and himself would ever
know. With glistening eyes, and with a great hope coming into his heart
that the "important matter" spoken of might have something to do with
his attending that school, Ray therefore replied:
"Yes, sir; you know I met Mr. Phillips, the principal, when he visited
you, and on his return home, he sent me a catalogue of the institution."
Mr. Carleton assented, in a way that seemed to imply, "Oh, yes, I knew
all about it before;" then he continued:
"Well, do you remember Mr. Swinburne, the old, white-haired gentleman
whom you met and talked with at the university grounds, when you were
in the city?"
"Yes, sir," replied Ray, almost breathlessly now.
"I got a letter from him," Mr. Carleton explained, "only a few days
after you met him, making inquiries about you. I thought it best not
only to tell him your history, but also to give him an account of your
manly resistance to a great temptation there that day. I soon received
a letter in answer to mine. In it he stated that a number of years
ago he established several scholarships at Clinton Academy, and had
reserved the right so long as he should live to name the young men who
should receive the income from them. This income is sufficient to pay
the tuition and the room rent at the academy, and leaves only the board
and incidentals to be met by the student himself. He closed his letter
by saying one of the scholarships became vacant at the close of the
last academic year, and has not as yet been assigned to any one, and he
should be glad to name you for it. I took the liberty to request him to
do so. Your entire expenses outside of what this scholarship provides
for cannot amount to over one hundred and fifty dollars for the year.
There will be many ways for you to help yourself during the school
term, as well as in the vacations. Friends here in Afton stand ready
to help where your own exertions fail to supply the necessary funds;
so really I think you may begin your academic course there immediately
after Thanksgiving."
"But you know I have lost one term; could I enter now and go on with
the class?" asked Ray, anxiously.
"We thought of all that," replied Mr. Carleton, "and that is why
we have not spoken to you about this before. We waited until Mr.
Greenough wrote to Mr. Phillips as to the outlook for you to enter
the winter term. He gave Mr. Phillips a list of the studies you had
completed, and he replied that you could very readily enter and go on
with the present freshman class, some of your studies being even in
advance of the first term there at the academy, while none are behind
it. There is then no objection on that score. The main question is, are
you ready to undertake it?"
"Just one thing more, Mr. Carleton," Ray said, with evident
embarrassment; "there is nothing unmanly in my accepting this aid?"
"I had expected that question, foolish as it is," replied Mr. Carleton,
with a laugh. "If it is unmanly, then I was unmanly, for I went through
Clinton Academy on one of those very scholarships. But, seriously,
where is it unmanly? You can go through the academy working your own
way without doubt. But you will have to stay out some in order to earn
the necessary funds. This interrupts your studies, and compels you,
we will say, to be six years in getting what otherwise you would have
gotten in four. Which is wiser, to lose those two years, or accept the
slight aid that will bring you along two years sooner to your life's
work? The town or State, one or both, must maintain our common schools;
our colleges and academies exist only because some friends have
liberally endowed them. There is no part of the education that comes
to us that has not been secured at less cost because of the help others
have afforded. It is simply a question of the amount of help we will
permit ourselves to receive. Thousands of our most useful men would
never have received an education at all had it not been for accepting
just the same kind of help that is now offered you."
"I guess the question was a foolish one," admitted Ray; "but I shall
feel all the better for your explanation, and I am very grateful to
all of you who have taken interest enough in me to arrange this thing.
I had scarcely thought it possible for me to go to Clinton Academy,
even while I was saving up my money to go to some school. It was a hard
struggle, too, for me to give up that money to George; but I knew it
was right, and I did it, believing that God would open the way for me
to get an education, and he has, even better than I planned." He was
silent a moment or two, as though in deep thought, then he added: "Who
would have supposed that just that meeting with Mr. Swinburne that day
would have led to this."
"Remember, too," said Mr. Carleton, with emphasis, "that it was
after you refused to accept the money those men offered you for your
education, and not before. When you had refused to accept an education
by dishonest means, God led you in his way, and opened for you this
door. So far as I can see, the education is within your reach, and in
an honest, manly way also."
"God's ways are better as well as higher than our ways," remarked Ray,
his eyes filling with tears of joy. "This, then, was what Edward Lawton
wanted to talk over with me. How I wish he was going too!"
"He is," answered Mr. Carleton, with a laugh; "that is what he wants to
talk over with you. His mother finds that she can, with economy, send
him, though he will have to help himself somewhat, and as Mrs. Lawton
will have much furniture to spare when she moves into her cottage, she
proposes to fit you boys out with everything to make your rooms at the
academy comfortable. There will not be a thing for you to provide in
that direction."
"Well, I don't know that I shall sleep any to-night under the
inspiration of this good news," said Ray, as he arose to be shown to
his room; and, indeed, his bright, sparkling eyes scarcely looked as
though they would need sleep for hours to come. "I believe I would
start for Long Point farm, late as it is, just to throw off this
exuberance of spirit, were it not that Edward wants to see me in the
morning."
"Which would be ignoring our hospitality entirely," remarked Mrs.
Carleton, with a laugh, as she bade him good-night.
The next morning Ray went around to Edward Lawton's, and so busy did
they at once become with their plans and with their selection of the
articles they would have sent to the academy for their use, that the
clock struck twelve, and Miss Daisy, bright and pretty in her morning
dress, entered the room to announce dinner before they were through.
"Why," Ray exclaimed, in consternation, "I ought to have been at Long
Point farm long before this. Really, you must excuse me." And his looks
showed how he hated to go.
"You needn't worry, Mr. Ray," said Daisy, with a graceful courtesy.
"Mr. Woodhull knew of this also, and he said if we would only let you
get home by night, he would have reason to thank us."
Ray needed no farther urging to remain. He found Mrs. Lawton kind and
motherly, and as she spoke of his and Edward's going to the academy,
Ray could not help thinking she could not be more interested if they
were both her own boys. And a little later, when he took his leave, she
seemed almost to echo his own thought, for she said:
"I want you to feel, Ray, that you are always welcome here; indeed,
count this as one of your homes. For I can never forget that but for
you I should not only now be bereft of husband, but of son also."
Ray found Mr. Jacob Woodhull at the farm when he arrived there, and
he soon ascertained that both he and his nephew were already well
acquainted with the new plans formed for him.
"We hate to lose you," Mr. George Woodhull said; "but we are anxious
for your advancement, and shall on that account even hasten your going.
Only remember, your vacations are to be spent right here. I'll pay you
more for the sight of your face than any one else will for a whole
week's work." And he turned away to hide his own deep feeling.
Later, Mr. Jacob Woodhull came around to the barn, where Ray was alone.
He helped the boy finish the few chores that remained to be done, and
then leaning back against the stanchion of one of the stalls, he asked:
"Do you remember, Ray, the night when you came over to my place and
offered to pay me for the damage you had done me?"
"Yes," replied Ray; "and I hope you think better of me to-night than
you did then."
"I certainly do," the old man replied, emphatically; "but do you
remember what I charged you then?"
"Why, twenty-five dollars," answered Ray.
"Exactly," assented Mr. Woodhull; "but, Ray, did it ever occur to you
that I charged you about five times more than I ought to have done?"
"No, indeed!" said Ray. "I was the prime mover in all those scrapes,
and I ought to have been made to pay dearly for them."
"Only your share," said the old man, sharply, "and I never regarded but
five dollars of that money as mine. The other twenty I invested for
you, and it is just wonderful how the Lord has multiplied it. I have
only been keeping it until I thought you would really need it, and when
my nephew told me how you had given all your money to help George, and
that you were going to the academy, I said, 'There, Jacob Woodhull,
that boy'll need that money now, if he ever does--at least, he'll need
a part of it;' so I've brought it down to you. This is only the first
installment, but perhaps it is all you'll need just now; the rest is
well invested, and when you want it, let me know. Here," and he took
out a roll of bills from his pocket, and extended it toward Ray.
"Not a cent of it belongs to me," said Ray. "You ought to have it all."
"It isn't mine, either, and I'll never touch a cent of it again. I
told the Lord you should have it when I invested it, and I'll leave it
here, and you can do what you are a mind to with it." And the kind but
eccentric old man threw the money on the floor, and walked out of the
barn.
Ray picked up the roll and counted the bills; there were five, and all
tens, making fifty dollars. He held them in his hand a few moments, and
then slowly put them into his pocket. He now had ample provision for
one term at the academy, and the best of it was--the Lord had provided
it all. Surely he had no cause to fear but that the divine presence and
guidance and blessing would go with him in this new undertaking.
On the Monday morning after Thanksgiving, though it was a day before
the winter term at Clinton Academy opened, Edward and Ray left Afton
for Easton, a small city in an adjoining State, and about fifty
miles back from the sea coast. The academy buildings, numerous and
spacious enough to accommodate over two hundred pupils, stood on a
high hill just outside of this city, and commanded a fine view of the
surrounding country. So famous was the school, however, that its ample
accommodations were employed to their fullest capacity by the students
who came crowding to its doors. Ray and Edward, consequently, as late
comers, were obliged to put up with a room on the fourth floor of one
of the older dormitories. But when they had unpacked and arranged their
furniture, which had already arrived, the room presented a home-like
appearance, not at all unattractive even to them. Well tired with their
exertions, they sat down in their room after supper for a much-needed
rest.
"I tell you what it is, Ned," said Ray, "we now begin a new career,
and it is just the time for us to adopt rules that shall govern us
throughout our whole academic course. What do you think?"
"I want to begin right, and keep right clear through to the end,"
answered Edward, thoughtfully. "Have you anything to suggest?"
"When I left the Forge for Long Point farm," answered Ray, "I
adopted some resolutions that have been a great help to me. I see
no reason why I should not re-adopt them now. I will read them to
you, and perhaps you can make some suggestion that will add to their
effectiveness." And he took from his pocket the rules he had written
long months before, and which we have already recorded.
Edward listened attentively, and, when Ray had finished, he remarked,
gravely:
"I guess, Ray, if we live up to these rules here at the academy, we
shall have all we want to do without adding others. But I'm willing to
adopt them, too. I tell you, I have a small frame in my trunk, and I'll
copy those off in my finest style; then we will frame them and hang
them just over our study table. There they'll be where we can see them,
and where others can see them, too. So we will keep them constantly in
mind, and show our colors at one and the same time. What say you?"
"A capital suggestion!" answered Ray, enthusiastically.
Edward, who was an unusually fine penman, now got out his writing
materials, and copied the resolutions, while Ray looked up the frame
and made that ready. In less than an hour the task was completed, and
the neatly written rules hung just above the study table.
"One thing more, Ned," said Ray, as he stepped down from the chair on
which he had stood to hang the frame.
"What is it, chum?"
"Let us now ask the Master to help us keep them."
"All right!"
And the two lads knelt there, and in turn asked their Saviour to help
them to make those resolutions a part of their daily lives, in their
studies, among their associates, and in whatsoever they should find to
do.
With this consecration of their young lives to Jesus, they began their
careers as students at Clinton Academy. Is it strange that the Master
drew near and looked down in gentle love upon them? What else could we
expect of One whose promise to his own is: "I will never leave thee,
nor forsake thee?"