After that one time, Elliott Harding determined to face the inevitable
and passed into the house without seeming to see the placard.
One day while sitting in his accustomed writing place, which was the
parlor, now furnished with a table and office chair, a man walked up
the front steps. Elliott had just finished writing the words “The
glimpses of light I have gained make the darkness more apparent,” when
the man entered the doorway.
The stranger was a tall, lean individual with iron gray beard curving
out from under the chin. Eyes dark, keen and deep set; cheekbones
as high as an Indian’s; hair iron gray and thick around the base of
the skull, but thin and tangled over the top of the head, formed a
combination striking and not unattractive. Though apparently far past
his prime, he appeared to be as hearty and hale as if half the years of
his life were yet to come. After gazing a moment at Elliott, he opened
the conversation by saying:
“Good morning! I suppose you are the agent for this property?”
“I am, sir,” answered Elliott, courteously. “Come in and have a seat,”
offering him his chair as he stood up and leaned against the writing
table.
“I have come to make a bid for this place. I would like to buy it, if
it is to be had at a reasonable figure. It is not for the land value
alone that I want it,” he went on, “it is the old home of my only
sister. Besides, for another and more sacred reason, I never want it to
pass out of the family.”
“Your sister’s old home,” said Elliott, without appearing to have heard
the offer, “then you are Mr. Field--Philip Field?”
“That is my name--and yours?”
“Elliott Field Harding.”
“My nephew?” questioned the elder.
“Your nephew, I suppose,” assented Elliott.
“And you did not know you had an uncle here?” the old man asked quickly.
“Well, I knew you were living somewhere in the South, but was not
certain of the exact locality.”
At this, the face of the visitor softened, a strange glow leaping to
life in his quiet eyes.
“Your mother discarded me years ago for marrying a Southern girl
not--not exactly up to her ideal, and I thought you might not have
known she had a cast-off brother, whom she thought had shamed his blood
and name,” was the low spoken comment.
Then, half-unconsciously he stammered, “Catharine--your mother, is she
well?”
“Quite well, I thank you,” said Elliott.
“Will she come here to--to see you?”
“Not likely, no; I don’t think she will ever come South again,” was the
contemplative reply.
“Then she has not changed; she still hates us here!” commented the
other half sadly.
“Well ‘hate’ is perhaps too strong a word; but I think that her
inflexible disapproval of the social conditions here will never
alter. You know her character. Her ideas are not easily changed and
she thinks little outside of Boston and Boston ideals worthy of much
consideration.”
“Poor, dear sister! I had hoped that maternity and her early widowhood
would awake in her a sense of the vast duties and responsibilities
attached to her position as a southern woman. How I have longed to hear
that she had learned the blessed lesson.”
To these words Elliott listened intently, his breath coming quick with
rebellious mortification.
“If she had learned that lesson I might not now have to sacrifice the
old home,” said Elliott, somewhat impetuously.
“Sacrifice!” repeated the other, “and did you care to hold it?”
“It was the dearest wish of my life to do so,” was the reply.
Mr. Field gazed at the young man with a look of admiration.
“Elliott, my nephew,” he fervently said, holding out his hand as he
spoke, “if it will please you to call me friend as well as uncle, I
shall refuse neither the name nor the duties.”
“Uncle Philip, I thank you and accept your kindly offer,” and Elliott’s
face brightened. The furrow which care had been ploughing between his
brows the past few days, smoothed itself out. Then in a burst of
confidence, he continued:
“It has long been my ambition to do something with this place, worthy
of the memory of my father; but my mother is a little extravagant, I
am afraid, and I have not as yet been able to carry out my wish. She
lately drew upon me for twenty-two hundred dollars and it came at a
time when my only recourse was either to sell the place or dishonor her
paper.”
“Elliott, it is very pleasing to me that you should speak thus frankly
with me. Let me help you. I will gladly lend you the money so that you
may not be forced to sell. I am well-to-do and can afford to help you.”
Elliott listened in pleased surprise. He felt touched beyond
expression, but emotion irresistibly impelled him to seize his uncle’s
hand, to bend low and press his lips upon it. This unexpected offer
again buoyed up the hope of his intense desire to keep the homestead.
For a time he stared steadily at this friend, his whole soul reflected
upon his face.
Mr. Field eyed his nephew closely during this silence and noted the
evidence of strength in the serious young face, and the unmistakable
air of a thinker it bore, and rightly judged that here was one who had
given over play for work.
“The memory of your kind offer will live with me forever,” said
Elliott, his voice full of deep feeling, breaking the silence. “But I
cannot accept your generosity. I have no assurance that my labors will
be attended with success, and I have a horror of starting out in debt.”
“Very well, my boy,” kindly spoke the other, “that spirit will win. I
will buy the place, and it will still be in the family.”
“Thank you, uncle! You don’t know how grateful I am for that.”
“And I am doubly pleased to be the owner since meeting you,”
interrupted the elder. “This old heart of mine beats warmly for your
father. He was a good man and I want to see the boy who bears his name
winning a way up to the level of life which was once Richard’s. Yes, I
want to see you foremost amongst just and honored men.”
“Uncle Philip,” heartily spoke Elliott, “for the sake of my father’s
memory, I hope to fulfill that hope.”
“Ah, yes, yes, you will, my boy!” The old man arose to go and as he
and Elliott clasped hands in a hearty good-bye, he added: “I shall be
glad to see you at my home, which is two miles south of here, or at
the Agricultural Bank of which I am president. I am a widower, have
no children, and your presence in my home would fill a void,” and as
though not wishing to trust himself further along the mournful trend of
thought, he hastily withdrew.
As Elliott watched his uncle walking down the gravelled path, his offer
of friendship took a tempting form. A week before, he would have
scornfully repelled any such advances.
“Only to think of it!” Elliott soliloquized, “an offer of sympathy and
help from this man for whom my mother, his sister, has not one gleam of
sympathy, or even comprehension! It is strange that he should be the
first to come in when all the world seems gone out.”
Thus, without further heralding and no outward commercial negotiation,
the old Harding homestead passed quietly into Mr. Field’s possession,
and this matter once settled, Elliott began in earnest the practice of
his profession. Accordingly, his law card at once appeared in the local
papers and his “shingle” was hung out beside another, bearing the name
“John Holmes, Attorney at Law,” at the door of a building containing
numerous small offices.
Elliott knew his literary work was not enough to satisfy his insistent
appetite for occupation, and for this reason, besides the necessity of
earning something toward his modest expenses, he went into the practice
of law.
As Mr. Field felt he had been largely instrumental in his nephew’s
settling here, he took an active interest in furthering his success.
“That is Elliott Harding, my nephew,” he would say, with an
affectionate familiarity, dashed with pride. “He is a most worthy young
man, deserving of your confidence,” a commendation usually agreed to,
with the unspoken thought sometimes, “and a very conceited one.”
Why does the world look with such disapproval on self confidence? When
a person is endowed with a vigorous brain, there is no better way for
him to face the world than to start out with a full respect for his own
talents, and unbounded faith in the possibilities that lie within him.
Elliott Harding’s belief in himself was not small, and the
consciousness of his ability led him to work diligently for both honor
and profit. He expected labor and did not shrink from it. Very soon
he riveted the attention of a few, then of the many, and it was not
long before he rose to a position of considerable importance in the
community and began to feel financial ground more solid beneath his
feet.