GOOD ADVICE.
The next day after the husking, when Manson resumed his studies at the
academy, a new and serious ambition kept crowding itself into his
thoughts. Some definite shape of what the object of a man's existence
should be would in spite of all efforts mix itself with his algebra, and
form an extra unknown quantity, still more elusive. He tried to put it
out of his mind, but the captivating air castle would not down. Of
course Liddy formed a central figure in this phantom dwelling, and to
such an extent that he hardly dared to look at her when they met in the
recitation room for fear she would read his thoughts. Occasionally,
while studying he would steal a look across the schoolroom at her
well-shaped head with its crown of sunny hair, but her face was usually
bent over her book. She had always treated him with quiet but pleasant
friendliness at school, and he, understanding her nature by degrees,
had come to feel it would annoy her if he were too attentive. His
newborn ambition he felt must be absolutely locked in his own heart for
many years to come, or until some vocation in life and the ability to
earn a livelihood for two could be won.
For the entire week his castle building troubled him in a way, as a
sweet delusion, but a detriment to study, and then he resolved to put it
away. "It may never come, and it may," he said to himself, "but if it
does it will only be by hard work." He had never felt satisfied to
become a farmer like his father, but what else to apply himself to he
had no idea. He knew this was to be his last term at the academy, and
that he must then turn his attention to some real occupation in life. He
had been in the habit of calling upon Liddy nearly every Sunday evening
for the past year, and to look forward to it as the one pleasant
anticipation of the week. He felt she was glad to see him, and what was
of nearly as much comfort, that her father was, as well. He resolved
when a good chance came to ask Mr. Camp's advice as to some choice of a
profession.
When he called the next Sunday evening, which happened to be chilly,
Liddy met him with her usual pleasant smile and invited him into the
parlor, where a bright fire was burning. She wore a new and becoming
blue sacque, and he thought she never looked more charming. He had
usually spent part of the evenings in the sitting-room with the family,
but this time he felt he was considered as Liddy's especial company and
treated as such.
"I have noticed a cloud on your face several times the past week," she
said, as soon as they were seated. "Has your algebra bothered you, or is
the barn dance troubling your conscience?"
"I have been building foolish air castles," he replied, "for one thing,
and trying to solve a harder problem than algebra contains, for another.
The husking dance does not trouble me. I would like to go to one every
week. Do you feel any remorse from being there?"
"No," she answered, "I do not; and yet I heard this week that some one
over in town who is active in the church said it was a disgrace to all
who were there. I wish people thought differently about such things. I
enjoyed the dance ever so much, but I do not like to be considered as
acting disgracefully. Do you?"
"I presume you will be so considered," he responded, with a shade of
annoyance on his face, "if you go to dances in this town. I wish the
busybodies of that church would mind their business."
He made no further comment regarding the dance, but sat looking gloomily
at the fire.
"What ails you to-night?" asked Liddy, finally breaking the silence;
"you seem out of sorts."
"I am all right," he replied, with forced cheerfulness. "I have been
trying to solve the problem of a future vocation when I leave school
next spring, and I do not know what to do."
Liddy was silent. Perhaps some intuitive idea of what was in his mind
came to her, for, although he had never uttered a word of love to her
except by inference, she knew in her own heart he cared for her and
cared a good deal.
"Come, Charlie," she said at last, "don't worry about a vocation now.
It's time enough to cross bridges when you come to them. Do you know,"
she continued, thinking to take his mind from his troubles, "that I have
discovered why Mr. Webber does not like me? It's simply because I do not
flatter him enough. I have known for a long time I was not a favorite of
his, and now I know why. You know what a little bunch of mischief Alice
Barnes is. She whispers more than any other girl in school, and makes
more fun of him, and yet she is one of his prime favorites. Well, one
day last week, at noontime, while she was talking with three or four of
us girls, he came along, and she up and asked him if he wouldn't read
'The Raven' the next Wednesday afternoon when, you know, we all have
compositions, and then she winked at us. He took it all right, and you
ought to have heard the self-satisfied way in which he said: 'Certainly,
Miss Barnes. I shall be very happy to read it for you.' The way he
strutted across the schoolroom after that! Lida Stanton said he reminded
her of a turkey gobbler."
Manson laughed.
"Webber doesn't like me, either," he said, "and never has from the
first. I don't care. I came to the academy to learn, and not to curry
favor with him. Willie Converse is another of his pets and is cutting up
all the time, but he never sees it, or makes believe he does not."
The discussion of school affairs ended here, for even Manson's evident
dislike of the principal was not strong enough to overcome the mood he
was in. He sat in glum silence for a time, apparently buried in deep
thought, while Liddy rocked idly in her low chair opposite. The
crackling fire and the loud tick of the tall clock out in the hall were
the only sounds.
At last he arose, and going to the center table, where the lamp stood,
he took up a small daguerrotype of Liddy in a short dress, and looked at
it. The face was that of a young and pretty girl of ten, with big,
wondering eyes, a sweet mouth, and hair in curls.
"That was the way you looked," he said finally, "at the district school
the day I wrote a painful verse in your album and you gave me a lock of
hair. How time flies!"
"You are in a more painful mood to-night," responded Liddy, glad to talk
about anything. "You have the worst case of blues I ever saw;" and then
she added, after a pause, and in a low voice: "It makes me blue, too."
Manson made no reply, but sat down again and studied the fire. The
little note of sympathy in her voice was a strong temptation to him to
make a clean breast of it all; to tell her there and then how much he
loved her; what his hopes were, and how utterly in the dark he was as to
any definite plans in life. The thought made his heart beat loudly. He
looked at Liddy, quietly rocking on the opposite side of the fireplace.
A little touch of sadness had crept into her face, and the warmth of the
fire had lent an unusual color to her cheeks and a more golden gleam to
her hair. As he looked at the sweet picture his courage began to leave
him. "No, not yet," he said to himself, "she will think me a fool."
"Let's pop some corn," said Liddy suddenly, still anxious to say
anything or do anything to break what seemed to her his unhappy train of
thought; "the fire is just right."
She waited for no answer, but stepped quickly into the kitchen and
returned with a long-handled popper, three small ears of popcorn, and a
dish.
"There," she said, cheerfully, "you hold the popper while I shell the
corn. I am going to make you work now, to drive away the blues. I
believe it's the best medicine for you."
There is no doubt she understood his needs better than he supposed, for
with the popping of the corn the cloud upon his face wore away. When it
came time to go Liddy rested her hand a moment on his arm and said, in a
low voice: "Charlie, we have known each other for a good many years, and
have been very good friends. I am going to give you a little advice:
Don't borrow trouble, and don't brood over your future so much. It will
shape itself all in due time, and you will win your way as other men
have done. I have faith in you."
Her brave and sisterly words cheered him wonderfully, and when he had
gone Liddy sat down a moment to watch the dying embers. She, too, had
felt the contagion of his mood, and strange to say, his hopes and fears
were insensibly merging themselves into her own. She watched the fading
fire for a full half hour, absorbed in retrospection, and then lighting
a small lamp and turning out the large one, she walked down the hall and
upstairs to her room.
"I wish that clock wouldn't tick so loud," she thought as she reached
her door, "it makes the house sound like a tomb."