reallest seeming dream; and half of this conversation would have
brought Fabens out of what but a day before seemed a splendid reality.
He went to his plough in the light of his awakened senses, and walked
all the way on the actual, sober ground. His gorgeous air castles
vanished like a train of fleeting clouds. A walk in the dirty furrow
seemed long before night, a very pleasant and refreshing pastime; and
he shuddered with shame more than once to think he had been so
extravagant in many of the thoughts, that were set afloat by the
merchant's offer. He came to himself that afternoon; and sitting down
to tea, with a glance first at the north meadow and the white ash
shade-trees blooming there; then at the east woods and orchard; then at
the blue fringes of the mountains lifted sublimely before him in the
south; then at the crystal Cayuga in the west and the green hills
sleeping beyond; he exclaimed, "I must agree with you, Julia; we have
views from our doors and windows as handsome as any I know of, and the
old farm still looks very good to me."
During that afternoon, however, Mrs. Fabens had been thinking of
Fairbanks and Frisbie, and it occurred to her that they might have said
something to her husband about selling his farm; and from that, her
mind returned to the borrowed notes. It had been her expressed desire
that he would not contract a liability for any one, of more than fifty
dollars, without security; and now she felt painfully curious to know,
if the former notes loaned had been all taken up, why they had not been
brought to her husband, that he might positively know that his
liability had ceased. But Fabens was so magnanimous he had thought it
unmanly to ask security of the merchant, or distrust the assurances of
men who had dealt so handsomely as they.
She wondered she had not remembered to inquire about the old notes
before, and was troubled till she could ask the question. At night she
introduced the subject. "It may be all right," said she, "but
something keeps whispering to me, that trouble awaits us. We have a
comfortable property, as much as anybody ought to desire I know, but we
have all worked hard and honestly to get it, and it would be hard to be
defrauded of a hundred dollars. I would rather give all we can spare
to the poor and needy, than to be defrauded of it."
"I confess to you, mother, what till this week I never felt," said
Fanny with emotion; "I begin to lose confidence. I fear father is
deceived. I don't like their coming so often. I don't like the way
they make so many presents. I don't like their asking for so many
notes, and I have heard too much of what begins to sound like flattery.
Oh, I hope father will not have trouble!"
"_I_ hope too, that I shall not have trouble," said Fabens with rising
agitation; "but you seem to wake me out of a singular dream. What
_have_ I been doing? Why have I given them power so to deceive and
defraud me, if they chance to have the wicked will? I must go and see
if all is well. I fear, I fear they deceived me! What have I done?"
Early the next morning Fabens set off to see Fairbanks. He designed
first to inquire if Fairbanks had preserved, and could produce the old
notes represented as paid, and next ascertain whether the last one left
him liable; and in his anxiety, and the wakefulness of his reason and
judgment, he gave no thought to the idea of quitting his fine old farm
for a merchant's life, except to wonder how such an idea had been
permitted to enter his head. A cool hour's ride brought him to the
village where Fairbanks traded, and his fears were in no wise relieved,
by finding the store still closed, and failing to obtain an answer to
his rap and call.
He stepped over to the tailor's shop across the way, and there he was
informed that the store was closed by a sheriff the day before, on an
old judgment from New York, and there were not goods enough on hand to
cancel the liability. That the neighborhood was all in excitement, for
astonishing things had come to light. That Fairbanks had obtained
money at the banks in considerable amounts on the endorsements of
several citizens; and still was owing for two or three crops of wheat
and other produce; besides leaving a large board bill unsettled; horse
hire, cigar and liquor bills, and hired help unpaid; and with Frisbie
had left the town, no doubt, never to return!
"What _shall_ I do?--Can it be possible?--Can I believe it? You amaze
me! How they did deceive me!" were the answers of Fabens to each
unwelcome item of this news.
"Then they run away in your debt, too, did they, Square?" asked the
tailor, as he finished the hurried tale of recent disclosures. "If
he's in debt to you, you've a plenty of company. A good many were took
in by the rascals. I begun to smell the rat after it was too late.
Each of 'em owes me now for a suit of Sunday clothes. When I set
pressing 'em off at midnight, I little thought they would be run-away
suits, and I was working so hard for nothing. But I must pocket the
loss, I suppose, and comfort me, remembering this is the first time a
rascal has bit me. How much did they owe you, Square, considerable?"
"I know not as I can say positively, that they owe me anything," said
Fabens, as soon as he could crowd in a word of reply to the talkative
tailor's question; "but it must be, I shall lose by them. I loaned my
note to Fairbanks, a few weeks agony [Transcriber's note: ago,
agone?]--my note at the bank for three hundred dollars. I expect I
shall have that to pay, and I know not how much more."
"Why, of all things! they've bit you hard, you may depend!" exclaimed
the astonished tailor.
"Is it possible that they are such deceivers?" asked Fabens, in an
agony of grief.
"They are dreadful creatures; there's no mistake about that, I guess,"
said the tailor.
"But they always looked honest and friendly," said Fabens.
"And so can old Bill Shazzar, and old Bill Zebub, look honest and
friendly too, when they want to come it on a fellow," said the tailor.
"Who next can we trust?" exclaimed Fabens, wounded as deeply by the
deception as by the loss. "Where was my reason? Where were my senses
all this while? Why didn't I take my wife's advice, when she gave it
with tears in her eyes? I dread to go to the bank and see how matters
are."
XXVI.
ANOTHER WEEK OF REALITY.
Before Fabens left town for Auburn, to inquire at the bank, concerning
his paper, an officer of the bank met him, having been to his house,
and followed him here, and he disclosed the fact that Fabens was liable
for a thousand dollars, not one of the old notes having been paid. "My
worst fears are realized!" cried Fabens, the cold sweat starting out in
beads on his forehead.
"Why was I so heedless? And is this all right, sir? Could you not
have warned me of my danger before it went so far? You must have known
that something was going wrong in that fellow's affairs; and why was I
kept in the dark to this hour?"
He was answered that the villains had managed so adroitly, they did not
suspect deception, till too late. "But we are not at all alarmed,
Squire Fabens, concerning the amount for which you are liable to us,"
said the gentleman. "We _know_ you are good and honest. We will give
you all reasonable time to cancel the notes. I regret sincerely, that
you have met such a loss, Squire Fabens. But there, a farmer should
never be liable for a trader. Let farmers endorse each other if they
will; they know each other's risks and resources. But they know little
of the risks and insecurities of trade, and less of the chances of
deception connected with it, and they should never endorse for traders,
or loan their notes. Hundreds of fine farms go in this way to pay
other people's debts."
"But must my farm go to pay those notes?" asked Fabens, turning still
whiter in the face, and sweating almost blood. "_My_ farm, that I have
worked so hard for? my comfortable home? Must it go, and leave us
destitute now as old age comes in sight? It is hard to think of these
things. And what will my poor wife say? and how can she endure this
trouble? I will pay the notes, if it takes all I have, and the coat
from my back, in the bargain; but I beg you don't sue me. I never was
sued in my life. Don't injure my character, or make me unnecessary
cost."
Everything proved just as they informed him, and he went home
heavy-hearted, to relate what he had heard. Mrs. Fabens and Fanny were
deeply grieved by the thought, that he stood so largely liable on
Fairbanks' account. But they bore the shock with a composure, which
comforted Fabens greatly; and such hopefulness had ever been the
blessing of them all, before another week, they had nearly recovered
from the first agitation, and begun to contrive how they should manage
to make the best of the misfortune.
It was nothing against their firm religious faith in overruling Good,
nor against their fortitude, or self-reliance, to say that at first
they yielded to agitations and griefs. It would have been unnatural in
them not to be moved. For the present it was a calamity which they
must suffer. Their old farm was dear to them, every acre of it. To
its woods and waters; to its fine pastures and green meadows; its
generous fruit-trees and grateful shade-trees, they were tenderly
attached, looking upon them with family affection; and how could an
item of that sweet home be spared? They doubted not but God would
control the event for good; but it could not displease him to behold
this feeling in his children. How could they adjust their faith to the
event and be resigned so suddenly? It was hard to bear the stroke. It
cut to the tender quick, and they shuddered and wept. It was hard to
think the unworthy should be agents, to bring the disguised blessing
which would follow such a woe. Hard to be deceived by those in whom so
many confided with such pure and magnanimous trust.
But they were not immoderate in their grief. The deception might have
been deeper, and the loss more alarming and great. And then what was
their grief at that hour, compared with the misery that must gnaw at
the hearts of the deceivers, as inseparable from their guilt. What
gift in the wide world would tempt them to exchange places with the
wretched creatures? What a thorny road of perdition must their way of
life be! How they must whiten and gasp, and what poignant pangs must
thrill them through and through when they remembered their villainous
deeds!
And then they remembered how thankful they should be, that the designs
of the criminals on Fanny had failed even of their first success, while
they wept to hear of the shame in which more than one poor victim had
been left; that they lost no confidence in George Ludlow; and none of
their family had been made less virtuous by them.
Fabens remembered his schemes of benevolence, and his project of a new
church and minister, without regret; but he crimsoned with blushing
shame, as he confessed the foolish idea to which they forced him to
listen, in regard to selling the old homestead and becoming a merchant.
"Just as though it could be possible for us to be as happy as we are,
in another sphere of life!" said he. "What in the world do I want to
make me happy and respectable, except more faith and goodness, and the
means to confer more good, that I did not possess before the scoundrels
came? I wonder that Matthew Fabens allowed them to make him such a
silly fool!" But it was long before he told them the dreams he
indulged in his Week of Castle Building.
They counselled together: with returning resignation and confidence,
they counselled.
"A thousand dollars!--a _thousand_!" said Fabens, with a long-drawn
sigh. "That is a large debt for me to owe--a large one! I must see
how I can settle it. I cannot bear to be in debt, even on another's
account. I must not sit down and give up. I cannot rest very well
till I do something to square it. He said they wouldn't sue me. I
never was sued, and I could not bear to be. But I have only about a
hundred dollars, and where can I raise the rest? The debt is a round
thousand in all."
"I do not know. It really looks dark before us after all," said Mrs.
Fabens. "A thousand dollars does not grow on every bush. I see no
way, but a slice of the farm must go, and a pretty large slice too; and
that will be very hard. How much is the whole farm worth?"
"It ought to fetch six thousand, five hundred," said Fabens. "Six
thousand I've been offered for it, time and again."
"I cannot bear to part with an inch of the farm--it is so dear to us,"
said Mrs. Fabens.
"How can we part with a rood or a tree," asked Fanny, with a sigh.
"Every tree seems one of the family, and every rood has transferred a
picture of its beauty to our hearts."
"But something must be done to wipe off the thousand dollars. The
hundred on hand will help; and where shall I raise the rest? They may
sue me, and sacrifice double the amount, if they have to wait too
long," said Fabens.
"O well, we shall have enough left after paying the thousand," said
Mrs. Fabens. "Any one will loan you nine hundred, and take a mortgage.
Then we should not have to sell a single rood. We could all turn to,
and raise it off from the farm in three or four years."
"I cannot bear to mortgage the farm," said Fabens. "I should then feel
in debt. I hate debts as I do sin and Satan. Hadn't we better sell
off a little strip joining Nimblet's, and stand free and clear once
more? It is handsome land, I know; my heart leans to it warmly, for I
have labored along there a good many pleasant days. But hadn't we
better let the pretty piece go? He has been at me these three years to
sell it; and he can pay for it all down. Wouldn't the farm be large
enough without that strip?"
"That may be best," said Mrs. Fabens. "I dislike debts and mortgages
as much as you. But the farm is so handsome with that green border,
and its lovely shade-trees!"
"That is the most beautiful fringe of fields on the farm," said Fanny.
"The trees are the finest;--think of those charming chestnuts, and how
their white blossoms sweeten the air in July! And the handsomest
walnuts and maples wave along there. And there is my lovely linden,
and mother's balm of Gilead. And how level the ground is; and how the
bluebirds and robins love to sing there!--But perhaps it may be best to
let it go, and be out of debt. We shall all feel so much better. You
cannot sell the loveliness of those fields, and he could no more buy it
than buy the songs of the birds, or the light of the blue skies. The
handsome prospect, the verdure, light, and song, are the property of
all who have eyes to see and hearts to enjoy them; and Mr. Nimblet will
take pains, I know, to make the fields more lovely, if he can."
"Then I may say to Mr. Nimblet, he can have the north fields?" asked
Fabens.
"O, wait a little while," said Fanny, "and see if we cannot keep them.
It looks so beautiful in the middle field in the spring, when the
dandelions blow; and the strawberries blossom; and the butter-cups wave
in the wind; and the bobolinks light on the red clover and sing;--there
would be more comfort in knowing it was all ours as we enjoyed the
sight!"
"But we cannot have everything, Fanny, as we wish in this world," said
Mrs. Fabens. "Let it go. I am willing, if you think best. As Fanny
says, the landscape will be ours as much as ever. And after all, how
much better off are we without that strip of land than many of our
neighbors! Think of the poor laborers and mechanics that Fairbanks
owes for work! How much more ought we to think of their loss than our
own!"
"Yes, but, how much good we could have done with that thousand
dollars," said Fabens; "giving some of it to the poor, and lending the
rest to worthy young men who are struggling against hope to get
something, and would be set on their feet by a little lift. But it is
of no use to cry for spilt milk."
"And what is this trouble, compared with the loss of poor little
Clinton, and our grief for him?" asked Mrs. Fabens.
"Dear me,--I would give the beauty of the world to see my brother
Clinton!" cried Fanny, her blue eyes sparkling with tears. "I cannot
remember seeing him; but how could I help loving him when you have said
so much about him, and wept so many sad hours for his loss? O what
would we not give to see Clinton? And how foolish it will be to mourn
for a small deception and a thousand dollars! _Don't_ let us mourn any
more for that!"
"Clinton!" said Fabens, kindling to a glow, and rising and pacing the
room. "Give all the world to see Clinton? I think we would, and we
would be rich and happy, if Clinton were alive and here, though we were
without money and handsome fields, and had no more than a bark shanty
to shelter our heads."
"Indeed we would!" added Mrs. Fabens, rocking more earnestly in her
chair. "And let us pay up the debt, sell the land and pay it, and
thank the Lord that he has been so good to us, and taught us how to
bear our troubles."
George Ludlow was present to sympathize and counsel, and he said "Let
the land go;" and Fanny repeated, "Let it go; we have all its beauty
pictured on our souls, and will possess it with our estate;" and before
the week was over, Mr. Nimblet had purchased the row of fields on the
north side of the farm, and the debt was paid, and happiness became,
for that misfortune, no stranger to the household.
XXVII.
SUNNY SKIES.
Time and reflection, mutual sympathy, and a happy knack of always
hoping for the best, completed their resignation, and prosperity and
peace once more attended their efforts and desires. The farm was found
quite ample in what was left, to employ them all, and satisfy their
hearts. In fact there was more land left than Fabens could manage
without much assistance, and more than a supply of all that heart could
wish.
They seemed to enjoy home and prosperity, and everything around them
better than before; for the loss and anxiety given them by Fairbanks
awakened a new appreciation of all good, and taught them to be more
thankful for what they could call their own. They also learned how to
exercise a will that conquered all misfortune, and rested in a faith
that overcame the world. As they looked back to early life, and
counted all the sorrows they had seen, though some had been heavy as
humanity can bear, they could not select one and say, it had not seemed
to soften their hearts, and open to their minds a sense of the goodness
of God and the mercy of every providence. "I can cry with David," said
Fabens, "it is good for me that I was afflicted, although it is
difficult, at all times to see in what way good out of evil may come."
After this, George Ludlow was employed to assist in managing the farm,
and the progress of time only quickened the increase of their love for
him. He grew manly still more in appearance, though to strangers he
was homely; he grew intelligent still more in mind, and his society in
that home was not its smallest joy.
And Fanny Fabens had now attained to full maturity, and she presented a
person and a mind that all admired and loved. Her form had a round and
erect development; and her step was as light, and her carriage as proud
as the colt's that ranged the hills. Her hair was a shaded and glossy
flaxen now, and her eyes were a darker blue. Her beauty was unchanging
as the Pleiades, in all situations; for whether she hetchelled flax in
the kitchen, or spun wool in the barn; whether peeling apples, or
piecing quilts; whether churning butter or dressing cheese; whether
gleaning wheat or picking berries; or dancing at a wedding, or singing
hymns at church; she was the same rosy, brisk and brightly smiling
creature; the same full, free and glad-hearted life; giving grace and
honor to labor; light and beauty to nature; joy and virtue to
amusements; peace and holiness to worship, and love and happiness to
home.
One day when Fabens happened to stop at the tailor's, in the village,
he thought to inquire into Frisbie's story, concerning the
handkerchief, which he would have them believe George Ludlow had
stolen. The tailor was positive in denying the truth of the whole
affair. It was false, he said, and much like many other lies they had
told.
The next time Fabens saw Troffater, he inquired if Tilly knew any evil
of George Ludlow, or if he ever warned Fairbanks and Frisbie against
him.
"They never said so much as boo, about 'im to me, nor I to them; that's
honest," said Troffater. "But I tell you, Fabens, I never thought a
great 'eal o' them scamps. I itched to give you a jog, when they come
so thick around you. You was green as a mess o' cowslops, or you'd a
seen what they was arter. I thought you'd git nipt a grain, or my name
wasn't Troffater. But I dasn't tell you what I thought on 'em. You
wouldn't a' b'lieved me, I ben such a witch with my word. I spose you
know the fellers have been heern from? They run out of all they
cabbaged here perty quick. Frisbie, they say, is jugged up in jail,
and there's better men sometimes hung than that Jock Fairbanks. I
guess some o' the gals are kindy sorry they sot their caps for 'em!
The Faddle gals, I guess, would give all their old shews, if they'd a'
kep away from the whelps. My gals is all in titters about it; and Beck
Teezle, says she, 'I wonder, says she, if Des and Luce Faddle, says
she, will feel above us now?' They couldn't git me to dew their dirty
Work, with all their ile and palaver. I bought a pitchfork on 'em,
once in hayin', and got a platter there when Josephyne was married, and
I paid 'em tew in mink skins; and that's all I had to dew with 'em.
You lost a good 'eal by 'em, didn't you, Square?"
"A thousand dollars," said Fabens. "It seemed a great sum to lose, at
first. It _was_ too much for me. But it has been a good lesson to me,
in many ways. The lesson perhaps will give me my money's worth."
"That _is_ a big _sum_ to _luse_, I swanny! I wish I had a jogged your
elbow a grain. I seen threw the cunnin' scamps the fust time. Didn't
you know, Square, that Fairbanks was gray as a wharf rat, when he let
his hair alone?" said Troffater.
"No, I did not. _He_ was not gray; his hair was a glossy black," said
Fabens.
"Ha! ha! ha! you was _greener 'n_ cowslops, or you'd a seen that was
all dye-stuff!" said Troffater. "Why, I seen the gray roots glisten
for half an inch, the fust time I seen 'im. But didn't you know 'im,
Square? He come from the Hudson."
"I never knew him till he came here," said Fabens.
"But, you've got a clean conscience," said Troffater. "If I had that,
I wouldn't lay wake o' nights, nor grow hatchet-faced a great 'eal. I
see your cheeks don't fall in, and nobuddy would spose by your looks
that you had a _great_ grist o' trouble. Wish I could look as
cheerful, and had a bit o' your pleasant peace o' mind."
"But you have forgotten one of my questions; I asked if you knew any
ill of George Ludlow," said Fabens.
"All I know, I can tell perty quick," said Troffater, and cooked his
quid, and spit through his teeth. "What do you know, Tilly?" asked
Fabens.
"I know an awful cuss hangs over the feller," said Troffater.
"How you talk! Curse! what do you mean?" asked Fabens, with emotion,
and a searching glance of his large and loving eye: "George Ludlow
under a _curse_?"
"Yis, under a cuss, an' may it please your honor," said Troffater.
"Who pronounced it?" asked Fabens.
"Scriptur!" said Troffater, drawing down his monkey brows over his
little, black-and-blue eyes, and looking wise as a magistrate.
"Scriptur pernounced the cuss."
"The Scripture!" exclaimed Fabens. "The Scripture pronounced a curse!
What do you mean? What does the Scripture say to condemn George
Ludlow?"
"A good 'eal, I guess," said Troffater. "The Scripture says--'_Woe_
unto him that all men speak well of;' and George Ludlow is the man!"
"O, you will be Tilly Troffater, as long as you live!" said Fabens.
"Why can you not be serious once in a while? You are getting to be an
old man, and such levity shocks one's reverence for your gray hairs.
But if that is all you know, I am sure you never spoke ill of the young
man."
"Not I, Fabens, not I," said Troffater, sobering down at this mild
rebuke. "He's a likely feller. _He'll_ dew wal enough, I'll warrant.
Tell Fan, for me, if she gits George Ludlow, _her_ fortin will be
_fixed_. A good many young bucks, that feels above him, might thank
the powers, if they knowed as much as he, and was half as likely. Wish
I had ollers did as wal as George, and my mind was peaceful as his'n.
But I must go hum. I calkilate to start on a journey to-morror, for
the Holland Purchase, and I've a little fixin' to dew."