MONASTERY FARM
Billy Sparrow stood leaning against the gate post, looking down upon the
river three hundred yards away. He and his two helpers had been
cultivating corn and tobacco through a long June day; and now the sun was
going down, and he was making his plans for tomorrow's work. Billy had
just closed his fourth year as master of Monastery Farm. Billy was an
Englishman from Durham County, having attended school in Barnard's Castle
three years, with an additional two and a half years spent at the
agricultural college in Darlington. He then married the girl of his
choice and for four years superintended his father's farm; then, with
their one child, three years old, set sail for America to seek his
fortune, and four weeks later landed in New York.
Billy had letters of recommendation from the Wesleyan minister, Dr.
Walsh, his father's physician, and old Squire Horner. But in vain did
Billy present these credentials as he tramped the streets--nobody seemed
to need his services in a city containing millions of people. Billy's
capital was getting low and he was becoming discouraged. From one of
those profitless tramps he was returning one evening when he observed the
word "parsonage" on a door plate. He had always had a friend in a
preacher in his native town; why not make the acquaintance of this one?
Perhaps he might tell him of some sort of employment. Without stopping to
think further he pulled the bell. In a moment or two he found himself in
the presence of a young man, one but little older than himself, and the
stranger was invited inside, feeling very much at home with the preacher.
After quite a lengthy conversation the preacher remarked: "You are a
farmer; New York is no place for you. I would advise you to go out into
the country; and, by the way, I believe I saw, a day or two since, an
advertisement for a man to take charge of a farm."
After some search on the part of the minister the paper containing the
announcement was found. Billy, having eagerly read the advertisement,
thanked the minister, pushed the paper into his pocket, and speedily left
the house. He returned to the humble apartment that he had secured, and
as the little family partook of their frugal evening meal, his wife
Nancy, addressing her husband, said: "I think we had better get out of
this expensive city, somewhere into the country, where it is cheaper
living, and where you may find something to do more to your liking."
"Well, Nancy," replied Billy, "this is the second time today that this
advice has been given me, for," he added, pulling the newspaper from his
pocket, "a minister gave me a paper in which there is an advertisement
for a farmer, and advised me to look into it. Here it is," and he read
as follows:
"WANTED--A FARMER. Wanted, competent man, not afraid of work, to take
charge of a farm of two hundred acres in ---- County, New York. A good
house to live in, and good wages to the right man. References required.
Apply by mail or in person to J. M. Quintin, Centerville Landing, ----
County, New York."
"Why," exclaimed Nancy, "I believe that is providential."
After pondering the subject awhile Billy wrote to Mr. Quintin, enclosing
his credentials, and mailed the letter immediately.
In less than a week he received the following reply:
"William Sparrow, Esq., New York.
"I have just received your application for the position on Monastery Farm
in answer to my advertisement. In replying I want to be candid with you.
In a word, unless you are an expert farmer your application cannot be
considered. If, therefore, you have any doubts about being able to meet
the requirements, there is no need for further correspondence. This is a
first-class farm and must be worked by first-class methods. The opening
is an especially good one for the right man. Perhaps you had better come
up and see the place, and give us a chance to see you. Come by boat to
Centerville Landing. Let me know the time of your arrival, should you
decide to come, and someone will meet you.
"J.W. QUINTIN, Trustee."
Billy read this letter with somewhat mixed feelings. There was no
mistaking its meaning. This man spoke out. Its very brusqueness
disconcerted the unsophisticated young man. His experience was quite
limited. He had managed his father's one-hundred-acre farm several years,
and it had paid very well. But he had always had his father's advice; of
which he would be deprived in this his greater work. He read the letter
to Nancy, and she was similarly impressed.
Finally Billy remarked: "I will find the preacher and ask his advice,"
and without further words he started to Washington Square, where his
newly-found friend lived.
He was ushered into the library. He had never seen so many books before
in one place. While he was glancing around in his surprise, the preacher
entered. "Good evening, Mr. Sparrow," he said. "How are you? Have you
found any employment yet?"
Billy handed him the letter which had brought him there, saying: "I
received this letter today, and, if you please, I should like to have
your advice about it."
The preacher opened the letter, and as he did so gave a little start.
Then he smiled as he glanced down at the signature. He finished reading
with a decidedly happy expression on his face, and Billy asked: "Can you
tell me about this place, and of the man?"
"O, yes," was the ready reply, "I know both the place and the man; the
fact is, that is my county, and Quintin is my friend. I never had a
better friend than Jerry Quintin. I always spend my vacation there. I
lived there from the time I was ten years old until I was twenty-three,
and always go there in summertime for a few weeks' rest--occupying my old
room, eating with the boys, and roaming in the woods; I know every tree
and bypath; yes, and many a swim have I had in the old river. Jerry
Quintin," he continued, "as we used to call him. Why, I've known him
since I was a child. Do you want to hear about him? Well, when he was a
youth, not quite out of his teens, Mr. Thorndyke gave the land on which
the Monastery stands, Quintin was made chairman of the board of
trustees, and treasurer also. He has handled every dollar of the funds,
superintended the erection of all the buildings, the laying off of the
Monastery Park, and had charge of the farm; and through all the years no
auditing committee had ever found an inaccuracy in his accounts.
Foresight, sagacity, rectitude are synonymous terms with the name of
Quintin. True as gold is Jerry Quintin. He always means what he says, and
says just what he means. Let me assure you, there is no truer man in the
Empire State than this same Quintin."
A few days later Sparrow found himself set ashore at Centerville Landing
at an early hour in the morning. The first thing he saw was a plainly
dressed man sitting in a buckboard who, as Sparrow approached, accosted
him with the words: "Mr. Sparrow, good morning. Glad to see you. Expected
to see an older man. Get in, we will go round and get some breakfast and
afterward go out to the farm."
After breakfast they drove along the river road, behind an excellent team
of bay horses, for a distance of about two miles, and drew up in front of
a large brick house.
"This is our farm, Mr. Sparrow. We will drive on to the farm and come
back to the house later."
Everything indicated thrift and prosperity. There was a great barn and
stables, a capacious warehouse, out-buildings of all sorts, corn houses,
hayricks, and a building for wheat, while nearby was a shed full of
modern agricultural machinery. They walked through the stables; five fine
horses occupied the stalls, while close at hand were not fewer than a
dozen Jersey cows.
Mr. Quintin was busy describing everything--and he knew all about
everything: buildings, their uses and cost; the horses, as he stroked the
nose of each--breed, age, peculiarities. Each cow and heifer he knew by
name and age. The machinery--he was familiar with its make and use as
well as its cost. If his eyes had been bandaged, apparently he could have
described everything on Monastery Farm.
They next drove back to the farmhouse. It was a substantial brick
building, containing twelve spacious rooms, furnished with plain, rather
old-fashioned furniture, and set back from the river road about three
hundred yards; it was surrounded by a well-kept lawn, and in all
respects, the place was inviting and homelike.
"Mr. Sparrow," said Quintin, "this farm contains two hundred and two
acres of arable land, good land, no better, in fact, in the country.
Besides, we have twenty acres of wooded land and a tenant house. This
machinery is the best that we could find. We have two men--Giles and
Ephraim; they are the best hands we know of, for Mr. Rixey trained them
from their boyhood; there are no better. Mr. Rixey was our farmer
twenty-six years. He died last November. Let us now have a look at the
Monastery."
Half a mile away they came to it, a large five-story brick building in
the midst of native oak trees; a wide driveway led up to the front door,
while in front was a sparkling fountain. Another, a smaller building,
occupied a site near by, and constituted the president's residence. The
whole was inclosed with a tall iron fence.
Years before our story begins this land (three hundred acres) was donated
by Richard Thorndyke, a wealthy Episcopalian, for a training school for
clergymen, to which gift was added as an endowment fund one hundred
thousand dollars on the condition that the church should erect suitable
buildings. Thorndyke Theological Seminary was its original name; but, as
the students as well as the teachers were all men, the people soon began
to call it the Monastery, and in the course of years this became its
common title; and the farm became known far and wide as Monastery Farm.
This institution had from its inception found peculiar favor with the
church as well as with the people, and the buildings were speedily
erected. Two men at first were enough to do the teaching, as at the
beginning there were only seventeen pupils, several of these students
earning their tuition by working upon the farm. But at the time to which
this story points one hundred and seventy-two students and nine
professors composed the faculty besides the president, and the school was
known as Monastery Classical and Theological College.
This inexperienced young Englishman as he saw all this became dismayed.
This was too great an undertaking. He depreciated his own ability. This
was altogether too big a job. He remembered that Nancy called it
providential, but surely she was mistaken. What could he do with all
that machinery? True, he had successfully managed his father's
one-hundred-acre farm, but this farm was twice as large. There were
likewise oxen on the place, and he had never handled a yoke of oxen.
No; he would take the night boat home. Surely something more suitable
would turn up.
He almost regretted having seen the advertisement. However,
notwithstanding his lack of self-confidence, he presented to Mr. Quintin
the letter which the preacher in New York had given him to be delivered
to that gentleman.
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Quintin as he read, "this is from one of our best
boys; you know him, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ah, Charlie is as true as steel, Charlie is."
"He says better words of you, Mr. Quintin," remarked Billy.
"Indeed! What does he say?"
"He says you are true as gold."
"Well, I doubt whether that is better. That is Charlie's way of showing
his appreciation. But steel is better than gold. I don't know of any
useful thing made of gold; but what could we do without steel?"
They drove away from the Monastery and stopped in front of the
farmhouse. Then Mr. Quintin, in quiet tones, asked: "Well, Mr. Sparrow,
what do you think of Monastery Farm? Would you not like to live in that
good old house? I am authorized to pay the right man seven hundred
dollars a year, besides house rent, garden, milk, etc. What do you think
of such a chance?"
"Mr. Quintin," replied the other, slowly, "I am afraid that it is too
much of an undertaking. I fear that my experience is too limited. It
would perhaps be better for me to look for a lighter job. I am a farmer,
Mr. Quintin, and love the work. For four years I have managed my father's
small farm, and have succeeded in making some money. But this work needs
a man of more experience. Everything is on a larger scale, and I fear I
am not experienced enough for so large an undertaking."
Mr. Quintin was an astute reader of men and had formed a favorable
opinion of this modest young man. "How old are you?" he asked.
"I am twenty-six years old next month," was the reply.
"I'm afraid you are in danger of making a mistake. You may never have an
opportunity like this again. The crops for the season are all in, and the
two men on the place understand everything, and during this year you can
familiarize yourself with the machinery, cattle, and all other necessary
details. My advice to you is to take hold and feel that you are master of
the situation as you soon will be."
Quintin, in fact, was so favorably impressed with this young man of
twenty-six that Billy was finally persuaded to take charge of Monastery
Farm, and in two weeks the new farmer and his young wife and child were
comfortably located in the old farmhouse. And time had proven that
Quintin had made no mistake in this selection. Each year had enhanced his
opinion of the character and ability of Sparrow; the great farm had never
been so productive, the cattle had never been more thrifty, and the
revenue had never been as large.
Four years had passed, and well might Billy feel quite satisfied as he
stood there in his shirt sleeves at the close of a certain day looking
out over the farm. While he was thus engaged a young man, tall and
slight in appearance and apparently not much more than twenty years of
age, approached. He was lithe and seemingly agile; a thin, brown beard
covered his face, which was cheery indeed, as was the smile which shone
through two big brown eyes. His clothing was well worn, and upon his
shoulders or back was something resembling a soldier's knapsack, while
in his hand he carried a knotty stick. Halting at the gate, where
Sparrow and Nancy and the boy stood, the stranger saluted them with a
courteous bow. "Good evening," he said, "may I inquire how far it is to
the next village?"
"Not more than two miles," was the answer.
"Is there a tavern in the village?" was next asked.
"O, yes, two of them," was Billy's response.
"I'm looking for work," said the stranger. "Do you think I shall be able
to find something to do in the village?"
"What sort of work do you want?" queried Billy with a smile.
"Anything that is honest," was the prompt reply. "What I don't know I can
learn. I want to settle down, at least for a while."
"Well, now," replied Billy, "you don't look as if you could do much on a
farm. If you could, I might give you a job, at least for a week or two;
only farmers or carpenters are needed through this part of the country.
Could you plow corn or saw wood?"
"Well," was the response, "I don't think that I could plow corn, but I
could saw wood, hoe in the garden, do chores, or feed stock."
As they talked the stranger unbuckled his knapsack, and set it down on
the horse block.
"Where are you from?" asked Sparrow in a somewhat abrupt tone.
"I'm from--from--well, from every place, from New York last."
"Where are you headed for?"
"Well, sir, to be honest with you, I suppose you might call me a tramp.
I'm hunting for a place to settle down in, as I seem to be without
friends, so one place is as good as another for me."
It was now nearly dark, and the kindly heart of Nancy prompted her to
ask him if he were hungry, to which he replied that he had eaten
nothing since morning. "I had a good breakfast," he added, "at a place
called Tipton."
"Why," ejaculated Billy, "Tipton is twenty-two miles away."
The good wife had slipped away, and presently returned, inviting him to
enter and have something to eat. As they entered the cozy dining room,
turning to Mrs. Sparrow, the young man said: "My name is Edwards--Carl
Edwards; I am an Englishman, and have been in this country only six
weeks. I am trying to find some employment."
Billy, learning from Nancy that the stranger was a countryman of his,
after he had eaten his supper, engaged him in conversation concerning the
old country, during the course of which he learned that they were from
the same county--he, Billy, from Barnard Castle, and Edwards from the
city of Durham, which places were not more than forty miles apart. Of
course Billy would not turn his countryman out to seek a lodging. So he
was invited to remain for the night, which invitation the young man
gladly accepted.
Next morning the stranger was found at the woodpile, busily engaged in
cutting wood for the cook stove. Billy found him thus working as he
returned from feeding the stock. It was a sultry morning in June and the
perspiration was streaming freely down the young man's face. It was
evident that this was harder work than he had been used to.
"You had better go slow for a while, Edwards, until you get toughened to
it," remarked Sparrow.
Just then was heard the sound of the bell calling them to
breakfast. Strange as it may seem, no more words about work passed
between the two men.
Immediately after breakfast the newcomer found a hoe and spent the day in
hoeing potatoes and corn in the garden. Cutting wood, bringing water to
the house, feeding the poultry, assisting in feeding the horses, mules,
and cows, until, before the end of a week, both Billy and Nancy wondered
how they possibly got along before he came. An extensive bed of
watercress had been discovered on the edge of a stream that ran through
the farm and each morning the table was supplied, and a fine bouquet of
wild roses and other woodland flowers was found in front of Nancy's
plate, while their odor filled the breakfast room.
Another change had come in to this kind and simple-hearted family.
Tom--little Tom, now seven years old and the sunbeam of the
farm-house--had begged to have his cot put into the room occupied by the
stranger. Up to this time Nancy had been compelled to wash and dress the
lad; but now he arose when Edwards arose, washed and dressed himself, and
went downstairs, remaining by the side of his new friend until called to
breakfast, when he would bring in a dozen or more fresh eggs.
So the summer weeks passed by; no word had been spoken about wages. The
young man was now known by the familiar name of Carl. He was recognized
as the general utility man of the farm. Giles and Ephraim, the two
helpers, hired by the year, went twice a month on Saturday evening to
Centerville, where Mr. Quintin paid them their wages. But Carl had so far
received nothing, and his clothes became very much worn and their renewal
was becoming quite an apparent necessity. One Saturday afternoon Billy
invited Carl to go with him to Centerville, and there he was fitted out
with a good supply of everything he needed in the way of clothes. So
great was the change on his return that at first the keen-eyed little Tom
was not able to recognize him, but a moment later exclaimed: "Ah, Carl, I
always knew you were a gentleman."