wisdom, and universal benevolence. With a fine, showy person that was
in itself the guaranty of unimpeachable respectability, he had gone on
in life, and come to hold the position of an oracle; not on account
of anything he ever said, but because of a general way that he had of
looking as if he could on all occasions say a great deal if he chose,
which is a sure way to attain the distinction of being considered
remarkably well-informed, though it is one that is greatly neglected
of late years. The world laughs at witty people, and despises them;
and 'Squire Tupper was a bright example of the truth that it takes a
thoroughly dull man to be profoundly respected.
He now saluted the cousins with grave urbanity, and deliberately placed
his stately form in the arm-chair, taking a fresh cut of tobacco as
a preliminary to business. If Molly had enough of mother Eve about
her to cause her to peep and listen behind the door, we don't know
as it concerns us. We don't say she did; but would be slow to take
the responsibility of declaring that she didn't. Young ladies, who
may chance to peruse this veracious history, are at liberty to decide
this point according to their own estimate of the temptation, and the
average feminine power of resistance.
Jack plunged desperately into the middle of the subject, and then tried
to swim out toward the introduction.
"We thought we'd stop in, sir, this evening, as we've made up our minds
to do a certain thing; and it seemed as if we--I mean I--felt as if I
should like to have it done, and over with."
"I see, I see," replied the 'squire, with the utmost consideration for
Jack's embarrassment, and the delicate nature of his errand. "You've
spoken to Molly about it, I suppose?" he added, encouragingly.
"Why, no. Didn't think it was worth while, as you was at home,"
answered Jack.
"Ah, I see! Jes' so, jes' so! Very thoughtful in you, Jack,--very,
indeed." The 'squire paused, and took a pinch of snuff, nodding his
satisfaction, and proceeded: "It's highly gratifying to me, Jack, to
see you so thoughtful as to come to me first on this business; though
it isn't what all young men would do. I'm glad to see that you respect
the parental relation, and respect my feelings, though you've no
parents of your own; still you've had an excellent bringing up by your
Aunt Betsy, and I've tried, in my humble way, to do what I could."
(Graceful self-abasement was one of the 'squire's strong points.)
"And now I say you've acted just right, because I am better capable
of judging what is for Molly's good than she can be herself; and, of
course, I'm the person to be first consulted; and it's most creditable
and gratifying"--
"Why, it isn't about Molly, at all!" cried Jack in bewilderment.
O happy, doting pride of fatherhood! What a falling off was there, and
what blankness, followed by confusion, overspread 'Squire Tupper's
countenance, as the nature of his blunder and its extreme awkwardness
became apparent to his puzzled faculties.
"No--no--certainly not--not in the least!" gasped he, catching after
his dignity, as a man drowning grasps at straws.
"We came to see if you could attend to making out our wills, this
evening," said Philo.
The 'squire looked from one to the other with such dazed incredulity
that both the young men applied themselves to explanations which
brought his senses back into the world of facts.
"Yes, yes, certainly,--very creditable and prudent in you to wish to
make things all snug before you go. Excellent idea; though you're both
rather youngish to be doing such business. Still it's highly gratifying
to see you take it up in this way,--certainly,--just let me get the
materials." And the 'squire plunged with great eagerness into the
subject, briskly opening an old-fashioned secretary, and setting out
upon the table a heavy stone inkstand, a sand-box, some large sheets
of paper, and a bunch of quills; and then, being quite restored to his
accustomed equilibrium, begged them in the most impressive magisterial
manner, to state their wishes, and commenced making his pen, while
Philo explained the subject-matter of the conversation previously
recorded.
"I see, I see!" said the 'squire, deliberately, when he had elaborated
the point of the quill, and tried it repeatedly on his thumb-nail. And,
without further ado, he drew his chair to the table, and headed the
page in a large, round hand: "_The Last Will and Testament of Philo
Avery_;" following it up with the regular formula for such cases made
and provided.
"_In the name of God, Amen._
"I, Philo Avery, of the town of New London and state of Connecticut,
being of sound mind and memory, and considering the uncertainty of this
frail and transitory life, do, therefore, make, advise, publish, and
declare this to be my last will and testament," etc.
Scratch--scratch, went the 'squire's pen, interrupted only by
occasional dips into the ink, while the two testators sat and looked
on in unwinking silence, and the tall candles flared and sputtered
as their sooty wicks dropped down into the tallow. Hardly had this
happened when Molly tripped shyly into the room, bringing a pair of
silver snuffers on a little tray, and with one dexterous nip relieved
each smoking luminary of its incumbrance, at the same moment casting
her demure eyes upon the page which her father was now covering with
sand. If she was not ignorant of the old gentleman's palpable blunder
(and remember the narrator takes no responsibility on that point), she
was certainly very innocent and unconscious, and, as Jack looked at
her, he anathematized his own stupidity in not taking the opportunity
which the 'squire had so temptingly opened for him, and determined that
he would rectify the omission speedily.
Meanwhile, the quill travelled over another broad page, and the
documents were ready for the signatures. And then it was necessary
that Molly and the hired-man should be called in as witnesses, and the
former made very wide eyes of wonderment (little budget of deceit!)
when she learned the nature of the papers, and wrote her name in a
tiny, cramped hand, with many little quirks like the legs of spiders,
and this was supplemented by the laborious autograph of Silas Plumb,
the teamster, a young man of limited education and bushy hair.
And when all this was done, the cousins exchanged the wills, and
tucked them into their respective side-pockets, feeling greatly
relieved, and the 'squire, after receiving his fee in a benevolent,
deprecating manner, as if it was quite a trial to his feelings, but
must be undergone as a duty, brought out some excellent port wine, and
pledged them both in liberal glasses, with wishes for their prosperous
voyage and safe return. And at the mention of this sorrowful topic,
poor Molly's spirits suffered such charming timid depression, and
were affected to such a degree that when Philo took leave, it was
necessary for Jack to lag behind, and finally allow him to go away
alone, since nothing else would serve to restore the languishing damsel
to comparative cheerfulness. At this interval of time, and without
the advantage of being an eye-witness, it would be a vain attempt for
anybody to undertake a minute account of how, standing in the low
"stoop," with its little round posts like drumsticks, and huge tubs of
thrifty, rough-leaved plants, Molly made herself perfectly irresistible
with her shy regrets, and how, when her grief and apprehension at
once welled up from her heart to her face, in the midst of bashful
palpitations and broken sobs, her proud little head wilted weakly
over on Jack's shoulder, and she begged him not to go sail-ail-ailing
away, and be drownd-ed-ed--and have that horrid old will-ill-ill for
his sole memento. Neither would it be easy to portray how Jack soothed
and petted, with all the little endearments that are such delightful
realities for the moment, but so silly and absurd to remember, and
finally, when nothing else would answer, committed himself past all
remedy, as what man could help doing, with such a dainty little figure
leaning close, and the sweetest of mournful faces buried in his collar.
And then, there were more tears and kisses, and at the end a long,
quiet talk of all that should be realized when that one voyage was
over, and he should be ready to resign his sea-faring life.
At last Jack tore himself away from all these enchantments, and
rushed home for a couple of hours of delicious dreamy tumbling about
in bed before daylight, which seemed to come much sooner than he had
calculated, and aroused him to complete his preparations for departure.
Everybody knows what a queer, altered aspect certain actions and
feelings take after one night, and the dawning of the clear, practical
light of the next day. Ideas that have seemed most urgent and actual
will at such times appear extremely unreal and visionary, and be
quite eclipsed in interest by the trifles that come in between and
demand immediate attention. Jack found it so, in the hurry and bustle
of the next day, what with the preparations for sailing, and all the
little matters that such a start involves. The doings of the previous
night seemed quite distant and foreign to his own personality; and it
needed the big-folded document, with its formal phraseology and crisp
rattle, to convince him that the acts of the evening before had not
been a rather memorable dream. Once, in the course of the day, he
took out the will, read it hastily over, and then tucked it away in a
little brass-bound box, that answered for him the same purpose that a
Herring's Patent does for prudent young men of the present day.
But however it might be about the wills, and the chances that the Great
Reaper should overtake either of the cousins before the return-voyage,
Molly was a present and delightful reality; and that very evening Jack
made her another visit, justified 'Squire Tupper's presumption of the
former occasion, and amid Molly's tears and kisses, and big sighs and
little sobs, wished most heartily that the Sally Ann had made her
cruise, and that the future programme was ready to be carried into
effect. But then, he might be lucky enough to pay for waiting; and if
anything should happen to Philo in the interval,--of course, he hoped
there wouldn't, poor fellow; but accidents will happen, and if anything
so sad should occur, why, then he would be in a position to keep Molly
in the style she deserved and was accustomed to; and to buy out a share
in some nice little craft, that should bring home to them treasures as
rich, after their kind, as those that the ships of Tarshish brought to
King Solomon. But all this was mere conjecture, and Jack renounced it
with a feeling of reproach for having indulged it even for a moment.
The next day the Skylark sailed, Philo starting away from the old
house with his chest on a wheelbarrow, and leaving Aunt Betsy on the
doorstep, with her lips pressed very tight, and all the grim fatalism
of her religious faith making stern struggle against the natural
motherly instincts of her heart. For she did love Philo; and even the
reflection that he wasn't going to wait upon Jack, according to his
established usage, was lost in genuine grief for his departure.
Jack rowed out to the ship with him; and it would be doing both an
injustice to ask whether the cordial regrets of their separation were
mingled with any remembrance on the part of either, that in case they
should never meet again, one of them would be a few hundred dollars
richer for the death of the other.
* * * * *
On the morning of May 5th, 1805, the Sally Ann sailed out of New London
harbor. On the evening of September 12th, 1808, she dropped anchor in
the very spot which she had left three years and four months before.
The first object, aside from the familiar shore, that met Jack's
recognition, as they sailed up the bay, was the ship Skylark, arrived
just six weeks previously, and the first man he saw, as he stepped on
land, was his Cousin Philo. There could hardly have been a more cordial
greeting than that which the bystanders witnessed; and yet a close
look into the heart of each might have disclosed a shade of something
strangely inconsistent with the outward semblance of happiness that
both wore.
For three years is a long time for some thoughts and impulses to
mature in, and day after day out at sea, with only the monotony of
the ever-undulating waves, and the easily exhausted resources of
variety to be found on shipboard, give great opportunity for brooding,
and such speculations as come naturally to people who are idle and
isolated. Seeds of the devil's planting possess a peculiarly vital
and fructifying property and are sure to come to maturity sooner or
later. One can easily imagine the thoughts that might have come to
these two young men in the long, solitary watches, come perhaps like
suggestions from the world outside, wafted on the wings of the wind,
or caught up in chance hints and scraps of sailor talk, but coming
nevertheless straight from the God of mammon, and, with their slow
canker working a steady and sure corruption. And yet, neither had
probably ever allowed these thoughts to take any such positive form as
to be capable of recognition. They were always, even in the moments of
their strongest domination, veiled in some perfectly innocent mental
expression, such as _if_ anything should happen, or _supposing_ such
an affliction,--meditations which the most sensitive conscience could
not possibly challenge, but which had a way of creeping in upon the
minds of these two far oftener than they would have done, but for the
existence of the wills.
Philo had an inborn love of lucre that was strong enough to give spice
and fascination to these ponderings of possibilities, while Jack was
constantly under the stimulus of his fondness for Molly, and desire to
make a handsome provision for her. And by these means, this indefinite
_if_, acknowledged at first only as a remote and dreaded contingency,
gradually took to itself substance, and began to figure in the plans
and projects of each as if it were almost a positive certainty. Always,
however, with the proviso that it was a very sad possibility, to be
devoutly deplored and hoped against, but still accepted and treated
as an actuality. And such an effectual devil-trap did this _if_
prove to be, that this meeting of the two cousins was, in the hidden
consciousness of each, in the nature of an unexpected shock that made a
sudden scattering of many schemes and purposes, all based, to a great
extent upon that wicked and fallacious _if_. And while all this was
lurking under the demonstrative warmth and gladness of their greeting,
probably no greater surprise nor horror could have befallen either
than to have had the veil of his self-deception for one moment lifted,
and to have had a single glimpse at the truth within him, or a single
intimation of the lives that they two should lead through the next half
century under the evil consciousness of that ever impending _if_.
But nothing of this supernatural character befell them, and after a few
warm greetings among the crowd on the pier, Jack hastened toward the
town. There were some changes in the familiar streets; buildings newly
built or altered, signs changed, and a barber's pole freshly painted.
All these he observed carefully as he walked on. When he came in sight
of 'Squire Tupper's, the radiant, blushing face of Molly disclosed
itself for an instant at the window, and speedily reappeared in a
flutter of delicious expectancy at the half-open door, for the news
of the arrival was already all over town. She gave a series of little
screams as Jack, with such a big black beard, and so very brown, came
up and saluted her with a strong bearish hug and a general smell of
whale-oil.
For Jack was considerably altered by reason of a certain manly
reticence that seemed to have grown on with his whiskers, in place
of the old boyish dash and frankness. Molly had become steady and
womanly, too, and now saw with vast pride the dignified way in which
Jack deported himself, how he met the 'squire's gracious welcome with
equal ease and affability, and talked of his voyage and its adventures
in such a quiet, modest way as showed him to be every inch a hero. And
when, after a short stay, he spoke of Aunt Betsy, and would not prolong
her waiting, Molly was quite resigned to let him go, contenting herself
with dwelling upon his improved looks, and indulging in charming little
maidenly reveries that centred in the anticipated joys and splendors
of a certain day which she had settled in her own mind as not far
distant.--Alas, Molly! Indulge your reveries, poor girl. Dream on,
and let your dreams be sweet. Play over and over in anticipation your
pretty little drama of white dresses and bridesmaids and wedding-cake,
and make it all as gay as possible, for little else shall you have by
way of reward for your many months of constancy to Jack Avery, save
his occasional attentions and the satisfaction of being for years the
wonder and mystery of all the gossips in town. Yes; for years. It may
as well be said now as any other time. The day when Molly's dreams
should be realized withdrew itself from time to time, and at length
took up its permanent position in the distant horizon of uncertainty.
"Colts grew horses, beards turned gray," but Molly Tupper was not
merged in Molly Avery, and there were no prospects of that consummation
more than had appeared for the last--well--we wont say how many years.
For tender and devoted as Jack was for a long time, there was a change
in him, that brought something of constraint and reserve between them,
and, with all her delicate feminine tact, she could never lead him
into any direct avowal of his wishes on the subject. And since Molly
was the very paragon of maidenly modesty and trusting devotion, she
came to indulge the conviction that Jack knew best, and had some wise
though inscrutable reason for delaying matters. And in time, even
those indefatigables, the village gossips, wearied of wondering and
surmising, at their perennial tea-parties, and the whole thing settled
down into a discouraging calm.
And yet Jack had no design of doing an injustice. He was really fond
of Molly, and fully intended to marry her. But for that ever-present
_if_, and the complications it involved, the event would have taken
place in due time. His reflections sometimes took a very painful turn,
as he pondered the subject. Here was this beautiful, affectionate girl,
to whom he had long been pledged, waiting his time with all the truth
and constancy of her loving nature. And here he was, living a dreary
and almost hopeless bachelor life, and standing in the way of any
advantageous match which might be otherwise open for her acceptance.
But, in case of his marriage, the will arrangement must be broken up,
and he should have the mortification of making that suggestion to
Philo; which seemed an almost impossible thing to do, for not a word
with reference to it had ever passed the lips of either since the
night when the agreement was made, and both had come to regard it with
something like a superstitious dread, as a theme whose discussion might
portend some fatal result.
And then, again, thought Jack, life was such an uncertainty, and a few
months of waiting might make a vast difference. Suppose, in his foolish
haste, he should throw up the will arrangement, and marry Molly, and
it should turn out, after all, that a little delay would have improved
their condition so much. Though life insurance was still unknown, and
its cool calculations and scientific averages would have been then
regarded as the extreme of impiety, and its risks as a wicked tempting
of Providence, Jack had made out in his own mind a tolerably accurate
table of averages, which showed quite conclusively against his cousin's
chances for longevity. It is hardly to be supposed that Philo had
neglected the same satisfactory proceeding, or that his results were
very different.
And thus this corrupting temptation, that is the root of all evil, had
crept upon these two noble young hearts distorting and defiling them
with its slow taint. And even now, either of them might truthfully have
questioned,--
"What shall I be at fifty,
If nature keeps me alive,
If life is so cold and bitter,
When I am but twenty-five?"
It would be too dreary a task to follow them year by year. Let us make
leaps and take glimpses at them by intervals.
_Twenty-five._ What we have seen.
_Thirty._ Aunt Betsy, weak and childish for many months, has gone to
her long home, with a final admonition to Philo that he must make Jack
the object of his best watch and care for the entire period of his
natural life.
Molly is still pretty, though a little thin and with a perceptible
sharpening of the elbows. Her color is not quite so high, nor her
figure so plump. She keeps house for the 'squire, with devotion and
good management that are the admiration of the town; continues to love
and trust in Jack with unabated fervor, though some young women, whom
she remembers to have held in her arms when they were babies in long
clothes, are long since married and have babies of their own. Still
she receives the sometime visits of her laggard lover with the same
grace and sweetness, confident that it will all come right in time; has
dropped the old familiar "Jack" for "John" or "Mr. Avery," which is a
hint that we ought to do so, too.
That unfathomable individual has been for some time a partner in a
grocery establishment, carrying on a good business, and realizing
fair profits; devotes much of his leisure to revising the imaginary
insurance table, and has brought it down considerably closer; maintains
a great regard for his Cousin Philo, and has much affectionate
solicitude for his health; gives occasionally to various benevolent
objects; is extremely regular in all his habits, and is generally
regarded as a very nice young man, who has turned out much better than
was expected of him.
Philo has purchased a farm in an adjoining town, and is improving it
with great care; is considered rather "near" in his dealings, and is
generally quite distant and reserved. Suspicions are entertained that
he has been disappointed in love, though nobody pretends to know the
particulars; always takes a great interest in his Cousin John, whom
he suspects of a tendency to dropsy. John, on his part, thinks Philo
consumptive.
_Thirty-five._ No great variation.
Both the farmer and the grocery-man are moderately prosperous; though
neither ventures much into speculation, because each is mindful of
possibilities in the future that will give great additional advantages.
The insurance table has been reduced to one of the exact sciences.
Molly, poor girl, has faded a shade or two. She still keeps house, and
raises an annual crop of old-maid pinks and pathetic-looking pansies,
together with sage and rosemary and sweet marjoram, which she dries
and puts in her closets and drawers, in order that their delicate,
homelike fragrance may keep out the moths and pervade her apparel.
But, as she moves so briskly and cheerfully about her little tasks, or
bends over some bit of sewing or other ladycraft, grave doubts intrude
themselves; and, if she were one whit less patient and self-forgetful,
she would sometimes throw aside all these little occupations, and,
like Jephthah's daughter, bewail her virginity. And, as she sits on
Sunday mornings in church, alone in the pew except the 'squire,--now
an old man who takes incredible quantities of snuff and drops the
hymn-book,--as she sits thus, and watches the happy matrons, no older
than she, coming in one by one, with their manly husbands and groups
of rosy children, there comes up, sometimes, a great rising in her
throat, which she is fain to subdue by taking bits of her own preserved
flag-root, which she carries always in her pocket. Or, when she sees
some pretty bride arrayed in the customary fineries, she sighs a
little, as the thought that she has lost her best bloom comes uneasily
to the surface; and then she sometimes looks timidly around to see if
Mr. Avery has come to church. But Mr. Avery isn't often there; the
insurance table takes up a good deal of his attention on Sundays.