Mapleton is a good type of a New England village, showing everywhere
plentiful evidences of thrift and energy.
Of course it has a manufacturing industry of some sort, or it could
hardly be a New England village; and the chief building of Mapleton, in
this line, is a large woolen factory that employs about three hundred
hands. There are also a number of minor industries, together with
stores, churches, and school houses. It is not a large town, there
being, perhaps, three thousand inhabitants all told.
Among so small a number one might suppose that the people would mingle
freely, and that exclusiveness would not thrive. At the time of which I
am writing it did not thrive to any great extent; still, it was there,
and showed itself principally in the refusal of the "town's people," so
called, to associate with the "factory folks."
Exceptions were made, however, in the case of the head officers of the
company, and the overseers of certain departments of the mill, who, by
virtue of their positions, which brought them in a liberal salary, were
graciously welcomed to the homes of the villagers.
These two branches of society had their different "sets." That of the
"villagers" was made up, as is usually the case, by the drawing together
of the well to do, the influential, and the better educated citizens,
while the others were left to form such social connections as their
opportunities afforded.
Fred Worthington's parents mingled with the latter class, for they were
far from rich. His father was a shoemaker, and earned only a small sum
weekly; but through the excellent management of his mother, they had a
neat and comfortable home.
During Fred's younger days he thought nothing of these dividing lines of
society; but as he had grown to be, as he considered, a young man--and,
indeed, he really did possess more of that enviable bearing than most
boys at the age of sixteen--he had come to realize that there was such a
thing as a social difference between men whose Maker created them equal.
This fact impressed him more forcibly since he found that some of his
companions with whom he had grown up, played, and studied side by side
in school for years, were now apparently beginning to ignore him.
"Is there any reason for this?" he often asked himself. "Have they
suddenly accomplished some great thing, or done some heroic deed which
gives them distinction? Or is the trouble with me? If so, where does it
lie? Surely I stood among the very first in my class at school--far
ahead of Matthew De Vere and his sister, and some of the others who
treat me so coolly. I wonder if clerking in a store is disgraceful? I
always thought it an honorable thing to be a merchant. Merchants are
everywhere among our most influential men.
"I have always kept good company," he reflected, "and never had trouble
with any of the boys, except Matthew De Vere, just before I left school,
and that wasn't my fault. I taught him a lesson, though, that I think he
will remember, and ever since then he has been trying to pay me for it
by turning the girls and boys against me; but only a few of them have
shown any change.
"I know my father and mother do not belong to the same 'set' as theirs,
but that is no reason why they should slight me, and _it shall not be_.
I will work my way up and make them acknowledge me if it takes years to
do it. But as long as Nellie Dutton and some others are friendly, I
don't care so much."
When Fred heard of the party to be given by Grace Bernard, he was in a
feverish state of suspense, wondering whether he would be invited or
not. He felt that this was a crisis with him.
He had left school, but he argued that if he were only fortunate enough
to attend this party, he would be placed on a good social footing, one
that he could maintain as he gradually built himself up in the store;
but should luck now go against him, he would be practically separated
from many of his school companions, and separation meant disaster to a
certain friendship that he prized more highly than all the rest, and
which, as he believed, it would not be well to leave uncultivated even
for a short time.
"Hello, Fred, got your invitation yet?" asked Dave, a few days before
that fixed upon for the party.
"No, I haven't seen anything of it. Have you had yours?"
"Oh, yes; got it yesterday. I don't see where yours is though."
"It looks as if I were to be left out, Dave," replied Fred, with an
assumed air of cheerfulness.
"That can't be. There is plenty of time. Don't worry."
This was a little reassuring, and Fred tried to believe it to be
so--tried hard--but it looked to him, nevertheless, as if his case were
a hopeless one.
For he reflected that the unfed fire soon dies, while that which is
kept alive even by the smallest spark may at some time become a glowing
blaze. But his fears were all for nothing, as in due time the much
looked for invitation arrived.
On the eventful night our hero dressed with care and taste, giving his
youthful locks especial attention, as all boys of his age do whenever
they go into company, and then hastened to Dave's home to go with him to
the party.
The large double parlors of Mr. Bernard's house were well filled with
girls, about Grace's own age, when the two boys arrived. After the
latter had disposed of their coats and hats, and had taken a final look
to see that each particular hair was in its proper place, they entered
the main parlor rather shyly.
"Good evening, Dave," said Grace. "I'm glad you came early, for nearly
all the girls are here, and I hope you will help entertain them; and
here is Fred," she added, extending her hand to him. "I am very glad you
came. I have hardly spoken with you since you left school, but I see the
store life has not taken away your color yet."
If Fred had a good share of color to begin with, it was not lessened by
this remark. However, he managed to keep his presence of mind, and
replied heartily:
"No, I hope not, but allow me to congratulate you on your birthday, for
you are looking your best. I hope you may have many happy returns of the
occasion."
Some one else blushed now, and evidently enjoyed the compliment, which
Fred had managed very well, as indeed he ought to have done, for he had
repeated it to himself at least forty five times that afternoon.
"I didn't know you could say such nice things, Fred, but I don't half
believe you mean it," rejoined Grace. "But there is Nellie all alone on
the sofa. Come with me and take a seat beside her; you two must
entertain each other while I receive Matthew and Tom, and some others
who I see have just come in."
"I was afraid something would happen so that you couldn't come," said
Nellie, as he took her proffered hand.
"I couldn't very easily stay away," he replied, sitting down beside her.
"Why, how funny! And why not?" she inquired, trying to suppress a blush.
"The evening promised to be such an enjoyable one," he answered; "and
yet I hardly dared to anticipate such good fortune as I have met with
thus far."
"Oh, Fred, you are learning to flatter, I do believe! I didn't think
that of you."
"If flattery is saying what one truly means, then I am flattering you;
for if I had arranged my own program, you and I would occupy about the
same positions as we do now. It couldn't suit me better, and I only hope
you are as well pleased," he added.
"I believe you and Grace arranged this together," she answered
evasively, "without saying anything to me. I must scold her;" and she
partially covered her face with her fan, which seemed to mean that she
was well satisfied.
"I am sure I had nothing to do with the arrangement. I must thank Grace
for it, and I hope you won't scold her very hard, as this is her
birthday; but before it is too late let me ask you if you will favor me
with the first dance?"
"Oh, with pleasure," she replied, but at the same time she wondered if
he knew the dance. She had never heard of his dancing, but the first
part of the opening one was to be a march, and she knew he could take
part in that, even if they had to drop out of the waltz later on.
"Good evening, Nellie," said Matthew, who now came up and extended his
hand, adding, with an air of assurance, "I see the music is ready to
start, shall we not lead the march?"
"Thank you, but I am already engaged for that," she returned, casting
her eyes towards Fred.
"Then you won't march with me?" he asked, flushing with evident anger at
the rebuff.
"I must keep my engagement," she replied.
"Keep your engagement with a _stick_," he rejoined, and walked away with
a look of contempt on his face.
The last remark made young Worthington's blood boil, but he had the good
sense to take no apparent notice of it, though he fixed it well in his
memory for future use.
De Vere seated himself in a remote corner--the place he had expected to
see Fred occupy--and looked sullenly on as the march progressed, but
evidently with some degree of pleasure at the utter failure he felt sure
our hero would make. In this again he was doomed to disappointment; for
to his surprise and chagrin he found his rival quite at home in the
waltz. He and Nellie were unmistakably the most graceful as well as the
best looking couple on the floor.
But Matthew was not the only surprised one present. Dave looked on with
amazement, and Nellie hardly seemed to believe her own senses.
"Why, Fred, when did you learn to dance so well?" she asked, as they
walked around the room arm in arm. "I never had a better partner."
"Thank you, Nellie, for the compliment," he replied, with a slight
blush. "I only hope I managed to get through without exhausting your
patience. I was so afraid I should prove very stupid, I know so little
about the waltz."
"Oh, no, you were far from stupid, and I never enjoyed a dance more; but
I am awfully curious to know where you learned so much without attending
dancing school."
"'Never enjoyed a dance more,' and with me, too," thought Fred, with a
delight which he could not conceal.
"My cousin from Boston, the young lady who spent the summer at my home,
taught me all I know about it," he replied.
"And have you never had any other practice?"
"No, that was all."
"Well, she must have been an excellent teacher, and you as good a
scholar as you always were at school."
Presently the music ceased, and Dave, Grace, and others came up and
congratulated Fred upon his waltzing, and Nellie on her partner.
The party as a whole was a great success, and passed off gayly. It had
no feature to distinguish it from others of its kind in country towns.
This particular event has been briefly referred to, because, as a
consequence of it, something occurred that most cruelly clouded Fred
Worthington's young days, and changed the whole course of his life.