Mr. Abbott sat in the rocking-chair by the hot stove regarding his son
with his dreamy far-seeing eyes. For the first time Fessenden wondered
who and what his father was. This man was like no one in the books
he had read, like no one in the Adirondacks. He was a boy of direct
methods, and was about to ask for information when his father spoke.
“I am more gratified at your physical development than you will ever
know, my son,” said Mr. Abbott, tenderly. “When I brought you here
you were fragile and undersized; it was thought that your chance of
becoming a strong man, or of reaching manhood at all, was perhaps two
in ten. But I knew the magic of the mountains; I made my experiment,
and I have succeeded. There are other things I wish to say to you,
however, so sit down and listen attentively.”
Fessenden, in a glow of expectation, fell upon a corner of the sofa,
and Mr. Abbott continued.
“Originally I planned to speak to you decisively when you were thirteen
or fourteen, but it seems to me that you are brighter than most boys
of your age; I think I cannot begin too soon to prepare you for the
future. Some boys are taught to say their prayers. I presume you have
been taught to say yours by our good Mrs. Nettlebeck, and I am sure
I hope you say them; but I want you to repeat, every Saturday night
before you lie down, these words I am going to teach to you; if you
forget them, to rise in the coldest and darkest night, stand in the
middle of the room, and repeat them twice. The words are these--write
them down: ‘Life is a fight. Millions fail. Only the strong win.
Failure is worse than death. Man’s internal strength is created by
watching Circumstance like a hawk, meeting her every spring stiff and
straight, laughing at her pitfalls--which in the beginning of life are
excess, excess, and always excess, and all manner of dishonor. Strength
is created by adversity, by trying to win first the small battles of
life, then the great, by casting out fear, by training the mind to
rule in all things--the heart, the passions, the impulses, which if
indulged make the brain the slave instead of the master. Success, for
which alone a man lives, if he be honest with himself, comes to those
who are strong, strong, strong.’ When you have finished that I want you
to repeat ‘No’ aloud for ten minutes. The time will come when you will
rejoice that ‘No’ flies, instead of moving reluctantly, to your tongue.
As for that prayer I have given you, you may not understand it all now,
but you will as you grow older, better and better; you will analyze and
ponder upon it. Life is choked and gasping with young men trying to
get a decent living, with thousands besides struggling for a career,
reputation. I shall do my best to educate you, but I want you to grow
up with the distinct understanding that you must support yourself when
that preparatory period is over. I may be able to help you to some sort
of a position, but I may be dead--and I must do what I can for your
sister--”
“My what?” shouted Fessenden. “You never told me I had a sister!”
“Did I not? I should have thought I must have mentioned it. She was
born when your mother died, and her name is Alexandra. Do not interrupt
me again, and listen attentively. I wish you, as I have just said, to
grow up with the clearly defined idea that you must make your own way
in the world, make every dollar you spend, owe your position, and the
respect you may be able to inspire, to your personality--to the dignity
of your character and the brilliancy of your mind. I shall keep you
here until you are ready for college, where I hope to be able to send
you; for, unlike many Americans, I believe in educating a man like a
gentleman. I have just met with a piece of extraordinary good fortune:
the other day an old friend called on me for the first time in many
years; he told me that his son, a Harvard man, and a profound student,
was so delicate that he might be obliged to spend the remainder of his
life in the high altitudes. I called on the young man immediately--his
name is Stanley Morris--and persuaded him to come here, for I realized
what such companionship would mean to my bright little son. He was very
glad of the suggestion, and agreed, for the sake of a small annual
sum, to become your teacher--in time to prepare you for college.
It was a great relief to my mind, for I want you to remain in this
healthy mountain region until you are grown, and, of course, expensive
tutors and schools are out of the question. He will be able to teach
you German and French among other things, and he has a large library.
Therefore, I shall not send you any more books. Fortunately you need
only these rough clothes up here. I feel quite confident that I shall
be able to afford the small yearly sum Mr. Morris demands. But you are
never to forget that you are studying for equipment, not as the mere
routine of youth. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Fessenden was deeply impressed, but longing, nevertheless,
to get away from the stove and steer the conversation to lighter
topics. His young brain felt as if it had been hammered. “Couldn’t you
send my sister up here?” he asked.
“No; you will have little in common till you are grown. You would act
detrimentally upon each other. Girls have such a different part to play
in life,” he concluded, somewhat vaguely.
“I’d like her picture.”
“I will send it to you, but you are to promise me first that you will
not write to her. I want no sentimental nonsense.”
“I hate to write letters, so I don’t mind promising.”
There was a long silence during which Mr. Abbott dreamed and Fessenden
squirmed.
“Are you a success, father, or a failure?”
Mr. Abbott jumped. “I?--well--I will let you judge of that for yourself
when you are grown.”
“Do you keep a grocery store?--or teach school?--or write books?”
“No,” Mr. Abbott laughed. “But I get my humble living honestly. I am a
lawyer by profession.”
“What is a lawyer?”
“Dear, happy child! All in good time, my boy. Now run out in the air if
you like. Your cheeks are very red. Perhaps you will find an apple in
my bag.”