“Where are you going, pop?” asked Robert, as Mr. Wycliff drove into the
yard, with a horse and carriage, one fine morning.
“Going to take you and ma for a little ride into God’s country,”
replied the father.
“But I thought everywhere was God’s country,” replied the little fellow
in surprise.
“Surely,” replied the father. “All this beautiful world is the Lord’s,
but He seems to have given the greater part of the land about here to
the Baldwins, or perhaps it would be more nearly correct to say that
He has allowed them to grab it. I expect to take you to-day to see a
place, which seems to me to be more especially God’s country, because
He has not allowed one man, or one family, to get possession of all of
it.”
“And you think it is a better country?”
“Indeed I do, in some respects.”
After passing out of the paper-manufacturing village of Papyrus,
eastward, they came to a big, deserted, wooden mill, with many
tumble-down houses near it.
“Say, pop, what village is this?”
“Sodom.”
“And what is that old stone mill beyond?”
“That is Gomorrah.”
“Quite a place for Bible names,” broke in Mrs. Wycliff. “Those ruins of
another old stone mill, also broken down and deserted, I suppose are
Babylon?”
“Exactly so, my dear, and farther up stream we shall pass Tyre and
Sidon, also broken down and deserted. This entire river-valley along
here is often called the Valley of Desolation.”
“Who owns it?” asked Mrs. Wycliff.
“The Baldwins, who bought it, for a very little, from the Quiet Valley
Woolen Company.”
“Why don’t the Baldwins build paper-mills here?”
“I cannot tell you. It has always seemed to be the Baldwin policy
to build up the other end of the town, at the expense of this end.
Certainly the Baldwins have played the part of the ‘dog in the
manger,’ in regard to East Papyrus. They will neither build mills here
themselves, nor will they sell the property so that anyone else can
build here. The Wessons, who own the paper-mills at Papyrus Center,
would have built mills here, giving employment to a large number of
people, if they could have secured the property. The Baldwins have
already made plans for robbing East Papyrus of her water-power, which
is all that this end of the town has left.”
“But how can they do that?”
“Very easily. The water-power can be transformed into electricity,
and then the electricity can be transferred by wire, to the Baldwin
Mills, at the west end of the town. The plans are already made. It will
increase the dividends of the Baldwin Mills, which already pay enormous
profits, but it makes the prospect for rebuilding East Papyrus much
blacker than before.”
“But wouldn’t it be better for the town of Papyrus to have all its
mills rebuilt and running at a fair profit, than to have a part of them
running at an immense profit?” protested Mrs. Wycliff.
“Certainly; it is not the good of the town, but the enrichment of the
Baldwins, which is to be considered. These shrewd financiers rarely
spend a dollar, unless they feel sure that it will come back, leading
several other dollars with it.”
“But they gave that beautiful big building to the town, pop,” put in
Robbie.
“Yes. It cost the Baldwins one hundred thousand dollars, and it has
cost the town twice that.”
“How is that, pop?”
“In taxes lost. The Assessors say:--‘we must tax the Baldwins lightly,
because they are so generous to the town.’ Some of the Baldwin
properties are not assessed for more than one-third value, an enormous
loss to the town in taxes.”
Soon they left the valley, and began to climb the mountain, still going
eastward.
“Wild flowers, pop. Please hold up, and let me get some.” The boy
soon returned to the carriage, with his hands full of the blossoms
of the coltsfoot, white, blue, and yellow violets, bell-flowers, and
wake-robins. As they ascended the mountains, they found the trailing
arbutus and the spring-beauty, which had bloomed earlier in the valleys.
A beautiful farm was reached.
“Who owns this?” asked Mrs. Wycliff.
“Thomas Bothan. He has retired from business, and spends some of his
time here. I hope I may find him.” Then, for the first time, he told
his wife of the last day at Beauna Vista,--how Sharp and Bothan had
conspired to keep back a part of his wages on Bothan’s old debt. He had
not dared to tell her at the time.
He soon found Mr. Bothan.
“I want a receipt in full,” he said, as he produced the money due
Bothan, and then, taking leave of him, he added:--“The last debt I owe
will be paid to-day, and I have paid every debt as fast as I was able
to do so. You would have received yours just as promptly, had you not
tried to take the bread away from my family to get it.”
For a distance their route lay through a grand old forest of large
trees. The boy was jubilant as he saw, first a striped squirrel, then a
red one, then a gray, and then:--
“Oh, look quick, pop; what was that? It looked like a squirrel, but it
flew, or rather it sailed, from one tree to another.”
“A flying squirrel.”
“And there’s a rabbit. Oh, now I begin to see why you call this God’s
country.”
About noon they reached their destination, the farm of Phillips Porter,
in Sprucemont, where they were expected, and where a substantial meal
was awaiting them.
“You have been very patient with me,” said Wycliff, as he paid Porter
about one hundred dollars, the last debt he owed. Mr. Porter told again
to-day, (and he seemed to enjoy telling it,) the story of how he came
to leave Papyrus.
“It was many years ago, and Mack Baldwin, father of the present
generation of paper-makers, was in control, although Zechariah and
David were young men then, just learning the business. The Baldwins
were not then so completely in control of the town of Papyrus as they
are now. Captain Bolton Wesson, who built the paper-mills at Papyrus
Center, was a broader and better man than Mack Baldwin, and the two
were often opposed to one another in town-affairs.
“Captain Wesson wanted the town-hall located at the Center, the natural
and proper place for it, but Mack Baldwin demanded that it be built at
the West End, the part of the town which he owned. At the approaching
town-meeting, every employee of Mack Baldwin was warned to vote for
locating the hall at the West End. At the town-meeting Baldwin had
spotters to take the names of any of his employees who voted against
him. I was working in his mill then, but I voted for building the hall
at the Center. Next morning I was called into the mill-office, where
I met Mack Baldwin and his sons, Zechariah and David. David is the
present Congressman.
“Mack Baldwin handed me my pay, at the same time calling me a vile
name. Now, in those days I had never met a man who could handle me,--”
“They are not plenty, even now,” said Wycliff, interrupting him.
“Perhaps not; but in those days I looked at such things in a different
light from what I do now. Since then I have learned the gospel of
forbearance, and to-day I almost despise mere brute force; but in those
days I did not allow anyone to call me a vile name, and Mack Baldwin
had scarcely spoken the word when he lay on the floor at my feet. The
two sons interfered, but they followed their father in double-quick
time. I had the three wolves in a heap, in their own den, in much less
time than I am telling you of it. Then the book-keepers interfered and
followed their employer.”
“But I was terribly frightened when I heard of it,” said his wife. “I
thought Phillips would have to go to jail. We were only engaged then.”
“Of course I was arrested,” continued Mr. Porter, “and taken before the
district court at Elmfield. Judge Tuttle, who presided over that court,
had been a colonel in the Union army, and lost a leg at Gettysburg.
He despised Mack Baldwin, who made a million out of the government’s
distress, by gambling in stocks in Wall Street. The Judge listened
patiently while all the evidence was given, although there seemed to
me to be a far-away look in his eyes, as if he were thinking of the
days when he and Captain Wesson were fighting for the Union, while Mack
Baldwin was making a fortune out of the war at home.
“‘Mack Baldwin,’ said the Judge, ‘you discharged the accused because
he did not vote as you ordered him to, did you not?’ Baldwin could
not deny it. ‘And you called him a vile name, to boot?’ continued the
Judge. Baldwin admitted it.
“‘Discharged,’ thundered Judge Tuttle, as if he were again giving
orders on the battle-field, and picking up his hat and cane, he stumped
out of the courthouse to dinner, while there were roars of applause in
the room which he had left.
“Captain Wesson was in the courtroom, so as to go bail for me if
necessary, and I never saw a man more pleased than he was. He offered
me work, if I wanted, but the girl I had left behind me, here in the
country, didn’t want to live in Papyrus, so I bought this farm, and
I have never been sorry I did so. We are comfortably off here, and
I do not have to ask how I shall vote. Many of the mill-hands in
Papyrus are little better than slaves when it comes to voting. Under
the Australian ballot, they may vote for the men they prefer for
town-officers, but not for town-appropriations and other measures,
without making themselves liable to the wrath of their employers. The
Baldwins never ceased their ancient policy of discharging and driving
out of town, if possible, any of their workmen who opposed their policy
in town-affairs by voice or vote.”
In the afternoon the entire party of Porters and Wycliffs drove to
Twin Mountain, near by, there being a wood-road, almost to the summit,
nearly as good as the average mountain highway.
Sixty miles eastward was Mount Wachusett, seen to-day very dimly, and
only visible at all in the clearest weather. Nearer, guarding the
Connecticut Valley, were Mount Tom and Mount Holyoke.
“Say, pop, what mountain is that? It looks like a pyramid from here.”
“That is Monadnock. What state is it in, Robbie?”
“In New Hampshire,” answered the boy, proud to exhibit his knowledge
of the geography of the states hereabouts.
“And there, very dim, scarcely more than a blue line in the west, are
the Catskills and Adirondacks. I don’t believe you remember where they
are.”
“Surely I do. What did I go to school for? They are in New York.”
“And that beautiful mountain close by. Can you tell the name of the
highest mountain in our own state?”
“Greylock, or Saddle Mountain.”
“We have a view here of portions of New York, Connecticut, New
Hampshire and Vermont, besides a large portion of Massachusetts.”
“And this mountain-top is to be sold very cheap,” said Mr. Porter. “Mr.
Daniels, the owner, is in California, in poor health, and has directed
me to sell it for fifteen hundred dollars. There are three hundred
acres in the farm, one hundred acres being heavy wood and timber, one
hundred and fifty acres pasture, and fifty acres good tillage land. The
house is comfortable, and the barn excellent. But I hardly need to tell
you, as you are familiar with farms about here. Only for its location,
so far from railroad, it would bring many times the price asked. As
it is, it is the best bargain I know of. I would be glad to pay two
hundred and fifty dollars for fifty acres of the pasture, which joins
mine, but I don’t want the whole.”
“What do you say, ma?” asked Wycliff of his wife. “It’s the best
bargain I’ve heard of in many a day. We’re not obliged to live on it,
you know, we can rent it.”
“Buy it if you think best,” replied his wife. “We may be glad to use it
for a summer home, if we are prospered.”
“I’d like to live here the whole year,” said Robbie. “It must be fine
coasting here in the winter.”
“We get snow in July from the Bear’s Den,” said Mrs. Porter.
“I will take the farm at fifteen hundred dollars, and you may have the
fifty-acre tract on your own terms,” said Wycliff.
Just then Robbie, who had wandered a few rods in advance of the rest
of the party, came running back.
“Oh, ma, come quick! Here are some deer, just like those we used to
see on Mrs. Colt’s grounds, in Hartford. Pop is right. This is God’s
country, all right.”
Sure enough, there at the foot of the bluff were a half dozen of the
beautiful creatures.
“They seem to understand that the law protects them,” said Mrs. Porter.
“Sometimes they come into the barnyard with the cattle.”