It is not well to dwell upon the second great affliction of Tom Gordon. He
was older now than when his mother died, and though bowed to the earth by
the loss of his cherished playmate, he was too sensible to brood over his
grief. Short as had been his stay at the home of Farmer Pitcairn, he had
made friends, and they were abundant with the best of counsel.
There is no remedy for mental trouble like hard work. There's nothing the
equal of it. When the dark shadow comes, apply yourself with might and
main to some duty. Do your utmost to concentrate your thoughts, energies,
and whole being upon it. Avoid sitting down in the gloom and bemoaning
your affliction. By and by it will soften; and, relying upon the goodness
of Him who doeth all things well, you will see the kindly providence which
overrules all the affairs of this life. With the gentle poet you will be
able to murmur:--
/P
"Sweet the hour of tribulation,
When the heart can freely sigh,
And the tear of resignation
Twinkles in the mournful eye."
P/
Jim Travers was laid away to rest in the beautiful country cemetery near
the home of Farmer Pitcairn, and between it and the town of Bellemore. In
due time a plain, tasteful shaft was erected to his memory, on which,
below his name, date of birth and death, were carved the expressive
words:--
"He was a tried and true friend."
It took a good deal of the earnings of Tom Gordon to erect this tribute to
the departed youth. Mr. Pitcairn and his wife insisted upon sharing a part
of the expense; and the youth could not refuse them, though he would not
permit it to be more than a trifle as compared with his own. The placing
of the shaft has led me to anticipate events somewhat.
Tom Gordon was approaching young manhood. He was a tall, sturdy boy, with
a fair education, and it was high time that he set to work at the serious
business of life. Providence had ordered that he should pass through more
than one stirring experience. He had knocked about the world a good deal
more than falls to the lot of most lads of his age, and had acquired
valuable knowledge. He had learned much of the ways of men, and had
undergone a schooling, rough of itself, but fitted to qualify him for the
rebuffs of fortune to which we must all become accustomed.
What should he do? This was the question which he often debated with
himself, as was befitting in a sensible youth, who feared the danger of a
mistake when standing at the "crossing of the ways."
Somehow he felt a strong dislike to going back to New York. He and Jim had
met with such rough treatment there that the memory was not pleasant. His
yearning was to stay in the neighborhood of Bellemore. The soothing flow
of the beautiful Hudson, the picturesque, restful scenery, and, above all,
the sweet, sad halo that lingered around the last abiding place of his
friend, held him to the spot, which would ever be a sacred one to him.
He could not fancy the life of a farmer, though nothing would have pleased
Mr. Pitcairn more than to have the strong, thoughtful boy prepare himself
to become his successor in the management of the thrifty and well-kept
place. While Tom was in this state of incertitude, Providence opened the
way, as it always does to the one who is waiting to accept the indication.
It was at the close of a mild day in early summer that he was sitting on
the front porch of his new home, talking with Mr. Pitcairn and his wife,
when a carriage stopped in front, and an elderly gentleman stepped down,
tied his horse, and opened the gate.
"Why, that's Mr. Warmore," said Farmer Pitcairn to his wife, as he rose to
greet his visitor, who walked briskly up the graveled path.
The appearance of the gentleman was prepossessing. He was tall and spare,
but with a benign expression of countenance. He was well dressed, wore
gold spectacles, and his scant hair and a tuft of whiskers on either side
of his cheeks were snowy white, while his features were regular. He must
have been an unusually handsome man in his younger days, and would still
attract admiration wherever seen.
He shook hands warmly with the farmer and his wife, and was introduced to
Tom, whom he treated with the same cordiality. The youth made haste to
place a chair at his disposal, for which Mr. Warmore thanked him, and
sitting down, crossed his legs, took off his hat, and wiped his perspiring
brow with his white silken handkerchief. The chat went on in the usual way
for a time, during which Tom discovered that the visitor showed
considerable interest in him. His eyes continually turned in his
direction, and he asked him a question now and then. The youth was too
modest to intrude in the conversation, but knew how to express himself
when asked to do so.
By and by the questions of Mr. Warmore became quite pointed. Once or twice
Tom was disposed to resent them; but reflecting that the gentleman was
much older than he, and could have no wrong purpose in thus probing into
his personal affairs, he replied promptly to all he asked.
Finally, when this had continued until it began growing dark, Mr. Warmore
said,--
"I wish to hire you to enter my store, how would you like it?"
The question was so unexpected that Tom was fairly taken off his feet. He
replied with a pleasing laugh,--
"How can I answer, when I never saw you before, and have no idea of what
your business is?"
"True, neither of us has seen the other until to-day; but I may say that I
have heard of you from our pastor, Dr. Williams, who conducted the
services of your young friend, that was buried a week ago."
"He cannot know much about me, though we have had several talks together."
"He talked, too, with Mr. Pitcairn here, as I did myself."
"Yes," said the farmer, "he asked me many questions about you, and so did
Mr. Warmore the other day when I was in his place."
"I keep the largest store in Bellemore. I have kept it for forty years, as
did my father before me. It is what may be called a combination
establishment. My father started it toward the close of the last century,
when a journey to New York meant a great deal more than it does to-day. So
he tried to provide the neighbors with everything they could need, such as
dry goods, groceries, hardware, farmers' implements, and, as I said, about
all that a large and growing family are likely to require. I have followed
in his footsteps, expanding the business, until now my clerks and
assistants number nearly a dozen. I am in need of a large, strong, wide
awake, active boy, who can write a good hand, and who is willing to begin
at the lowest round of the ladder and work his way up."
It was the personality of the man, rather than the business, which
attracted Tom Gordon. He liked Mr. Warmore so well that he secretly
resolve to go with him. But the youth was not lacking in diplomacy.
"How do you know I will suit you, Mr. Warmore?" he asked.
"I don't; no one can know how another will serve him until the trial is
made. You may not suit at all. Perhaps I won't keep you beyond a week.
That's a risk we must all take. I'm willing to take it. Are _you_ ready to
see how you like me and the business?"
"What is to be my pay?" asked Tom, still veiling his growing inclination
to accept the proposal of the merchant.
"Not much at first. Five dollars a week, which shall be made six at the
end of a month if you suit. An increase will be given at the end of every
half year; I don't say provided you earn it, for, if you don't, I won't
keep you. What do you say, young man?"
"I'll try it; when do you wish me?"
"To-day is Friday. Come Monday morning. Don't be later than eight o'clock.
Good-night, all."
Mr. Warmore had risen to his feet and raised his hat politely to all
three. The farmer, who had hardly spoken a word during the interview, also
arose and walked to the gate with his caller, where they talked for a few
minutes.
"Yes, I like his looks," remarked the merchant in a low voice, as he
untied his horse and flung the strap under the seat. "There is something
good in his face. He looks honest; he is well put together; he is not
afraid of work. Is he fully recovered from his injured leg?"
"I never saw one get well so quick. You wouldn't know that anything had
ever happened to him. Of course one would say that coming to my house in
the strange manner he did, I haven't had much chance to judge him. That
would be the case with a man, but a boy can't play the hypocrite for long.
My wife and I are very fond of him, and he will still be able to board
with us."
"There is no reason why he should not. It is hardly a mile from here to
the store, and it won't trouble him to walk it summer and winter. Now and
then, when we are busy, I shall have to keep him in the evenings, but from
what I hear, he has learned how to take care of himself. Well, Joseph, we
are liable to make mistakes, and it may be we have done so in this case,
but we'll chance it. Good-night again."
The merchant sprang lightly into his buggy, and drove down the road at a
rapid pace, while the farmer, gazing for a moment or two in the direction
of the cloud of dust, rejoined his wife and Tom on the porch.