and draw away my ashes. So I blocked off the wheels with my axe, from
the butt of a black oak tree, and backed home boards for a box, three
miles, from the nearest saw-mill. It did me good service, and I sold
it for a price when I bought my first wagon. But we all took a world
of comfort; and what was pleasanter work than putting up log heaps and
brush heaps in the cool of the night, and seeing them blaze again on
our clean sweet fallows?"
"A feast on bear's meat and metheglin, at Aunt Polly's," cried Colwell.
"Picking bushels of wild strawberries, big as your thumb," added Mrs.
Colwell.
"And going four miles to raisins," added Thomas Teezle.
"And five miles to weddins, once in a while," added Mrs. Teezle.
"To those very times we are indebted," said Fabens; "to its tugging
labors and hard privations, its trials, and griefs, we are indebted for
much of the fulness of heart, and breadth of character we now possess,
and the comforts we are taking on our handsome farms. We took muscle
and might from nature; we rounded out our life; we learned to shift for
ourselves, and feel for our neighbors; and the earth crowned our labors
with such harvests, we grew hopeful and brave. We all of us learned
things that cannot be found in books. Books have their value, and it
is very great. They teach us to take the hip-lock of nature, and lead
us cross-lots to success; they increase and elevate the pleasures of
our vocation; a taste for them, is itself a blessing that sweetens our
leisure hours, attracts us from temptations, and will gladden our old
age. But of the two, a large and wise experience is better, and comes
well before them."
As he concluded these words, the hour of the clock was told, and the
company were served to warm pumpkin-pie, that was a luxury to taste,
and refreshment to remember. Then the young people had a play and a
dance on the green, and the old people exchanged good wishes, and all
went their ways, leaving the Fabenses happier for that reunion of
neighborly hearts, than for the multiplied piles of corn they left
glowing in the moonlight.
XXII.
GEORGE LUDLOW AND ALMON FRISBIE.
George Ludlow was introduced in a former chapter; Mrs. Fabens and her
daughter discussed his character and life. They spoke of him as poor,
and dependent on his own hands for a living for the family; as despised
by certain young people in Summerfield who happened to stand above
need; and yet as manly and capable; a lover of nature and books. I
need say nothing of his person, except that he was homely to a stranger
and handsome to a friend. I need say little more of his past history
than this; he had labored for Fabens for a few weeks, and now a mutual
regard quite ripened to affection, was rising between him and Fanny.
George well knew her worth and happy fortune; he remembered that he was
poor in what the world called riches; yet, possessing a manly
self-respect, he considered himself as made in no way inferior on
account of his poverty; and observing that she reciprocated freely any
regard he gave her, he had the boldness at last to declare his
affection, and intimate the happiness it would pour into his heart and
life, some day to possess her as his wife; and it was not in her will,
nor in that of her parents, to return one word of discouragement;
although it was an opinion of theirs, to which he freely responded,
that the final decision should be deliberately weighed, and the union
set over to a time at which they would be better prepared for a happy
bridal and a happy life.
But the impressions left by Fairbanks on the mind of Fabens, after the
conversation in the harvest field, tended only to strengthen the Squire
in the opinion that his wife had misjudged the gentlemanly merchant;
and to elevate Fairbanks the more in his confidence and esteem. And
returning to the house that evening, Fanny remarked to her mother, that
she must have judged, too hastily: "for much as I have tasked my powers
of discernment," said she, "I cannot detect the first design or word,
which would lead me to suspect that Mr. Fairbanks is deceptive. True,
he rather addresses himself to one's self-esteem, and is open, and
ardent for a comparative stranger; but it must be a manly way of his,
which he forgets to hold in reserve; and I believe he is a gentleman.
I am sure, too, mother, that I have not allowed myself to feel
flattered by his words; nor could I ever regard him as nearer than a
friend. A true friend to us I believe he is. A face expressing so
much open goodness; a bearing so instinctively affable, could not
belong to a bad man."
Fairbanks was too clear-sighted not to read and know the hearts with
which he was making acquaintance; and his well-considered plans
suffered nothing for want of diligence on his part, in being brought to
a fulfilment. Nor did he stand or act alone.
Almon Frisbie was his clerk and confidant, and talked of a friendship
that began long before they left the Hudson; and he was prompt at any
moment to receive his counsels in sacred trust, and go on all his
errands. He was ardent and unreserved in expressing his love for
Fairbanks; and Fairbanks was free and fond in the good things he said
of Frisbie; and the people of Summerfield were very happy with such
valued acquisitions to their society; and enjoyed the pleasantest hours
whenever they numbered the merchant and clerk among their guests.
Promptly at the time agreed on, Frisbie came with the money to pay for
the delivered wheat-crop; paid the entire sum in Spanish milled
dollars; and spent an agreeable evening, discussing character, hearing
Fabens's history from before the time of his settlement there; and
giving incidents of his own life, and his adventures and experiences,
with Fairbanks.
It was a pleasant hour. This was the second winter they were enjoying
their new house, and the change and contrast could not be forgotten.
The new house stood on a gentle eminence, a quarter of a mile from the
road, and within a distant view of the lake, which was beautiful in
summer. There was a fine selection of all the forest trees that once
flourished on the farm, in front of the house, which had been
transplanted there twelve years before, in preparation of shade and
beauty for the dooryard; and though their verdant honors had been shed
in autumn, they reminded the hearts within of their guardian presence,
by the whisperings of love they blent with the winter blast.
The house was a high story and a half, and stood thirty-five by thirty
on the ground. It had a north room and south room, with bedrooms
attached; it had four chambers, two large and two small, above; and a
kitchen, a tea-room, and wood-house in the rear. It was painted white
without, with a coal-black border on the tops of the chimneys, and had
blinds of Paris green. It had white walls and oak-grained doors and
casings in the south room, and white walls, doors and casings in the
north room. The north room was Fanny's, and the spare bed was spread
with a blue and white carpet-coverlet, spun with her own hand, and
woven in Auburn prison; and it was hung with snow-white curtains, which
she spun and wove. She had a stove in the north room, and a fire-board
behind, covered with trees, watered with a silver lake, and stocked
with a herd of deer, three of which were drinking from the lake.
In the south room was another bed; and that was hung with checkered
curtains; and there was an ample fireplace; and that was the family
room. There sat the company when Frisbie made his call.
Fabens was advanced in life, and yet he looked young, as if time had
taken a ten years' rest. Mrs. Fabens had grown round and robust; but
had not shed her blooms; while Fanny had become perfectly straight, and
her hair was two shades darker; her eyes had still more lustre; her
countenance still more life, and her voice still more music; while her
step was more elastic, and her form was more nature.
A prodigal walnut fire glowed gloriously before them; butternuts and
chestnuts were tasted, and a large dish of rosy Spitzenbergs passed
around; and while Fabens and Frisbie kept up a running talk, Mrs.
Fabens and Fanny enjoyed the hour, as one sat knitting fringe-mittens
in the corner, and the other plied her dexterous needle piecing a
bed-quilt in snow-balls by the stand; and seeming to contend with the
walnut fire, which should give forth the liveliest, warming smile, and
fill up all the room with the most comfort, joy, and peace.
"Yes, I have known Fairbanks, known him like a brother, since we were
little boys at school," said Frisbie. "We began our A B C's together,
when Mary Sanford taught school; and I remember we said, 'A,' 'B,' 'C,'
'D,' and so on, in a loud voice, both at a time. And that Mary
Sanford--you did not know her, did you, Squire? She taught in the same
district five years; and it was said, she impressed much of her own
noble heart on her pupils (though of this, perhaps, it does not become
_me_ to speak;) but she married a false villain at last, and now she
lives poor and deserted, they say, away out on the White Woman's Tract,
beyond the Genesee river, with a family of children to support.
"And my heart has ached for many lovely girls who have thrown
themselves away to such scoundrels. Her husband was brought up in the
neighborhood too, and everybody thought George Lowry was a very pink of
virtue. That made it seem so strange. Well, as I was going to say,
Fairbanks always seemed a brother to me; and if there could be any
fault in his treatment, he has trusted me too largely, and given me to
share too many of his gifts and gains. But there, you never saw such a
fellow in your life!"
"In what particular?" asked Fabens; while Mrs. Fabens took a quicker
rock in her chair and scratched her forehead with her knitting needle;
and Fanny paused from her piecing to hear.
"I mean in his confidence in men, and his free-heartedness, giving away
what he has. He would share his last crust with an enemy, and he is so
up and down honest himself, he believes the whole world honest and pure
also."
"But he seems to be a good judge of character," said Fabens, "and I
should think he would not be often deceived. I see he notices heads
and dispositions pretty narrowly."
"He _is often_ deceived," said Frisbie, "and he has met losses and
crosses enough to make a few of his black hairs turn white. But I tell
him it's owing to his putting too much confidence in men. He thinks
everybody is honest because he is. His mother used to tell him, when
he was a little boy, that he would always be poor, he was so confiding
and free-hearted."
"There is a good deal in that," said Fabens, "and it is very true, as I
have found it. Men that can be trusted most, are commonly most
trusting, while the false and guilty are always on the lookout for
rogues. How is Fairbanks' business now? He has met no losses in
Summerfield, I hope."
"O, no, no! I did not refer to anything that had taken place since he
came to this town," said Frisbie. "Of all the world, this is just the
place for Fairbanks, and I tell him so. Where all are honest as one's
self, there can be no trouble. He never was doing so well, by half, as
now, I dare say. His business is large already, and his collections
are remarkably prompt. They seem here to like him, about as well as he
likes them."
"He seems to attend to his business pretty closely; I like that in
him," said Fabens.
"Attend to business? Ay! if you could see all the time, how he attends
to business, Squire; how he searches and foots his legers every day,"
said Frisbie; "how he keeps things moving and straight, and pays his
notes before they come due, you would say he could not help prospering,
and you would back him for any amount he would ask. But, here, it is
nine o'clock, already, and I must face this cold storm, that has come
up since I came."
"Don't hurry away yet," said Fabens. "There is nothing to call you
home. Stay all night, we will be glad to have you, and you shall have
an early start in the morning."
"O, I _must go to-night_," said Frisbie, and he took his cloak, and
concluded the conversation--"_I must go to-night_. I told Fairbanks, I
would be home before ten, and he knows what to depend on. We keep our
word with each other. Come over and see us, Squire. We have a fine
room fitted up now, in the store, where we can entertain our friends.
Fairbanks is _always_ glad to see you. He thinks Squire Fabens about
east, and his family too! He would feel more freedom to visit you, if
you would call on him oftener. I never saw a man who thought more of
seeing his friends. And so far from home as we are, you must remember
that our friends here stand in the place of the absent and dear."
Frisbie departed, and Fabens expressed the liking he had taken to the
fellow, and the increased esteem he must confess for Fairbanks.
"I am sure," said Fanny, laying aside her work, but not her smiles,
that outshone the walnut fire, nor that presence of blissful life, that
filled up all the warm room; "I am sure, there cannot be much deception
in them. We would detect it in some way, if there was."
"Do you esteem either of them as you do George Ludlow?" asked Mrs.
Fabens.
"No, I do not in all respects," answered Fanny. "My esteem for him, as
for them, increases. And the way the Faddle girls treat George, makes
me think all the more of him, and desire to make him happy. Then I
admire his sentiments and tastes, and his love of labor. Still I would
be glad to number Mr. Fairbanks and Mr. Frisbie among my friends. Was
the man named Lowry or Ludry that he said married his teacher? It
sounded so much like Ludlow, it startled me."
"It was Lownsly, Lowry, or something like it," answered Mrs.
Fabens.--"There are some things which seem fair, and even generous in
them, it is true. And Fairbanks has a way of looking very meek and
innocent; and one of two things is certain: he must be unacquainted
with the world, and incapable of a thought of deception, or else he is
an arch and dissembling rogue. But there are some expressions about
his eyes that I cannot like; and I think there is a little blarney
about them both. I may be wrong; I hope I am, and if I am, that I may
be forgiven. It is unpleasant to be haunted by these suspicions. But
there, I could help breathing as well."
Upon this, Fabens went to his barn to look after his cattle and see if
any would be likely to suffer in the storm; and finding all in
comfortable quarters, he returned, saying, "I wish I could know that
everybody in the world had as happy a home as we have to-night. I
could then rest more warmly and sweetly. It is bitter cold night, and
I fear many will suffer. I am glad I made the wood-bee for poor
Troffater. His family can have the comfort of warm fires this winter.
The neighbors turned out well, and a good big pile of beech and maple
lies at his door. I shall sleep better for that."
They enjoyed their devotions, Fabens praying that God would bless His
beloved poor, and all who were suffering and needy; while He kept their
own hearts from unjust judgments, from deception and evil; and they
were soon wrapped warmly and well in the slumbers of the night.
XXIII.
FAIRBANKS, FRISBIE, AND FABENS.
Not another month expired before Fairbanks paid a visit to Squire
Fabens, and conversed a whole evening on topics that could not but
interest the family; and Mrs. Fabens confessed he had never appeared so
well to her mind before; and that if there were art and insinuation in
his manner that time, it was so skilfully managed and deeply concealed
she could not discover it.
Still something impressed her with the conviction that it would be
quite as well not to rely too much on his integrity, until he was
better known; and by no large trusts committed to his honor, to tempt
him to an act of vice. But Fabens and Fanny could harbor no
suspicions; while for the latter, Fairbanks showed more regard on this
occasion than would have been compatible with a knowledge of her
engagement to Ludlow, and respect for the sanctity of plighted love.
Still, it appeared his unthinking way of indulging hearty friendship;
and indeed it rather augmented than diminished Fanny's regard for him.
When about to return, Fairbanks remarked that he had been engaged
beyond present preparations in the purchase of produce of late, and had
expended more of his money than he calculated in the beginning; and if
the Squire would lend him fifty dollars he should have it back again in
a fortnight. The money was handed him without hesitation; and just a
week from that time, Frisbie came and paid it, saying that Fairbanks
always felt distressed when he could not take up his notes, and pay
borrowed money before he agreed to. He spent another evening; and
among other questions, he inquired, in an innocent way, if they knew
George Ludlow.
"We know him very well. Why, what of him?" returned Fabens.
"O, nothing," answered Frisbie; "nothing. I happened to think of him
just now; that is all. I believe Fairbanks saw him for the first time
in your harvest-field last summer. He would not have remembered it, if
Ludlow had not had occasion to mention the circumstance in connection
with another affair the other day."
"Then you have seen something of him, have you?" inquired Fabens.
"O, but little, sir, very little indeed," said Frisbie. "He came the
other day to trade out a due-bill, and--I believe Fairbanks is well
enough satisfied about him now. We were not certain that you knew him
very well."
"There was no difficulty with him, I presume?" said Fabens, not
indifferently.
"O, no, nothing of any consequence whatever; nothing that we would
breathe abroad, or wish to remember," said Frisbie, with a meekened
look.
"May I ask if anything dishonorable on his part?" inquired Fabens. "We
have supposed him one of our best young men--one of the _very_ best in
town; and we have known him from a child."
"I am sorry I mentioned his name: I see it disturbs you," said Frisbie.
"I would not weaken one's confidence in another for anything in the
world--unless I had the weightiest reason. And this was nothing of
importance, for one of his friends to know."
"But may _we_ not know it, and be relieved of our anxiety?" asked
Fabens, with rising emotion.
"Why,--yes, I would as lief _you_ would know it as not," said Frisbie.
"_You_ will say it was a trifling affair, and little worth minding
after all. Hundreds of young men do the same, and never repeat it, and
are just as well thought of, too, by a good many people. Temptations
lie in wait to ensnare us all; and the greatest wonder is, not that now
and then one becomes criminal, but that so many people, good as you and
I, Squire Fabens, do not oftener step aside from virtue's way."
"But we thought George Ludlow the last to be tempted. He is certainly
a most respectable young man. His very looks bespeak an innocent
heart. I seldom meet him without desiring to exclaim as Jesus did at
the approach of young Nathanael--'Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom
there is no guile!' And then he is so industrious and regular," said
Fabens warmly.
"I am very glad you think and feel as you do. It is truly refreshing
to witness such confidence in men. And I told Fairbanks that George
looked as though he worked hard, and wanted to be respected."
"But tell me, what of his error, Mr. Frisbie? I insist upon knowing."
"You shall know, Squire Fabens. I would as lief _you_ would know as
not; you will not breathe it where it can hurt Ludlow. You know we are
bound to lift up the fallen--not to crush them."
"But he has not fallen, I hope! What was his error?"
"Do not let it trouble you, Squire, do not let it trouble you at all.
I think just as much of him, far's I know, as ever I did. The
crime--if crime _you_ would call it, is this: he came to our store to
trade out a due-bill, as I said, and after he had gone, we missed a
pocket-handkerchief."
"He or some one else may have taken it by mistake," interrupted Mrs.
Fabens, rocking her chair in agitation.
"That is very likely, as I told Fairbanks," said Frisbie. "And it is
best for us to think so. We had better judge ten guilty persons
innocent, than condemn one innocent man. It was a _silk_
pocket-handkerchief; and as it lay on the counter just before he left,
Fairbanks thought Ludlow must have taken it; and following him over to
the tailor's shop, where he left his bundle, I opened it, and found a
handkerchief, just like ours, wadded up and tucked into one end of the
wrapping paper. _Little_ things sometimes indicate more than we wish
to believe. But then he looked a little honest, when he came in, and
said he knew not how on earth it got there."
"I don't believe he did know," said Fabens. "How easy it would have
been for you; or whoever put up the goods, to have put that in by
mistake."
"Just so I told Fairbanks," said Frisbie; "and it must have got there
in some such way. It was crumpled up so, my first thought was that it
was tucked in by stealth. I inquired of our new customer, Captain
Troffater--I believe they call him Captain, I very confidentially named
the circumstance to him, and he said it _might_ be a mistake of ours;
but he did not know about it, and it was best for merchants to keep a
sharp lookout, when they did not know who was in their store. But
there, as--"
"I will not believe George stole it," interrupted Fabens earnestly.
"He is incapable of such an act; and it is much more reasonable to
believe it was done up by mistake."
"I have brought home things several times in that way, and nobody
suspected _I_ meant to steal," said Mrs. Fabens. "The clerks confessed
their hurry, and their liability to make mistakes, when I returned
them."
"We do make such mistakes too often, as I told Fairbanks; and it must
be he took it in that way," concluded Frisbie. "At any rate, I had
rather believe so, and have you _all_ believe so, than believe him
guilty. I am sure I would not harm the fellow; and I would not weaken
your confidence in him. I am always so grieved myself to know that a
person is not as good as I believed him to be, I would not attempt to
convince any one of confidence misplaced for the world--unless I had
the weightiest reason. Yet, I confess it grieves me still more to see
confiding people deceived, they feel so bad after it."
Upon this, Frisbie rose and repeated his invitation to Fabens, to go
over and see them, saying, as he left the door, that "he hoped
Fairbanks would not be an old bachelor always, but get him a good wife,
and have a home, and live like somebody, that ladies and gentlemen
might visit him. But what do you think he says, when I jog him on the
subject? That there is only one girl in Summerfield he could like well
enough to marry, and I point in a certain direction, and tell him I can
guess who he means!
"Fairbanks is getting notional like all old bachelors. His mother
taught him some of it. She thought so much of him when she kept house
for him on the Hudson, she dared not let him stay away from home over
night, for fear he would have the croup.
"He grows more and more particular in his choice of friends, and sets a
higher and higher mark for the young lady of his choice. I tell him he
is too particular. But he must have his notions; and I will say this
for Fairbanks, whoever gets him, will get a prize worth setting her cap
for. His mother always said, if he hadn't a happy and loving home, it
wouldn't be his fault."
Frisbie left, and while Fanny's quince-blossom blushes all rallied to
her cheeks and mounted to her forehead at the allusion in his last
words, they all wondered why any one could suspect George Ludlow of
crime, on evidence so trivial; and they thought none the less of him,
or the merchant, or the clerk.
In the course of a few weeks, Fairbanks and Frisbie came again, and
Fairbanks borrowed a hundred dollars, spent a pleasant evening, and
evinced a still warmer regard for Fanny Fabens. A week before the
money was to be paid, he returned and said, he had it all with him, and
if the Squire wished to make immediate use of it he would insist on
paying it over; at the same time intimating the great obligation it
would confer on him to permit him the use of it a few weeks longer;
getting an extension of time till he could return from New York, and
obtaining the loan of Fabens' note, payable to his order at the bank,
for a hundred and fifty dollars.