IN WHICH BOBBY'S AIR CASTLE IS UPSET AND TOM SPICER TAKES TO THE WOODS
During the next four weeks Bobby visited various places in the
vicinity of Boston; and at the end of that time he had paid the whole
of the debt he owed Squire Lee. He had the note in his memorandum
book, and the fact that he had achieved his first great purpose
afforded him much satisfaction. Now he owed no man anything, and he
felt as though he could hold up his head among the best people in the
world.
The little black house was paid for, and Bobby was proud that his own
exertions had released his mother from her obligation to her hard
creditor. Mr. Hardhand could no longer insult and abuse her.
The apparent results which Bobby had accomplished, however, were as
nothing compared with the real results. He had developed those
energies of character which were to make him, not only a great
business man, but a useful member of society. Besides, there was a
moral grandeur in his humble achievements which was more worthy of
consideration than the mere worldly success he had obtained. Motives
determine the character of deeds. That a boy of thirteen should
display so much enterprise and energy was a great thing; but that it
should be displayed from pure, unselfish devotion to his mother was a
vastly greater thing. Many great achievements are morally
insignificant, while many of which the world never hears mark the true
hero.
Our hero was not satisfied with what he had done, and far from
relinquishing his interesting and profitable employment, his ambition
suggested new and wider fields of success. As one ideal, brilliant and
glorious in its time, was reached, another more brilliant and more
glorious presented itself, and demanded to be achieved. The little
black house began to appear rusty and inconvenient; a coat of white
paint would marvellously improve its appearance; a set of nice
Paris-green blinds would make a palace of it; and a neat fence around
it would positively transform the place into a paradise. Yet Bobby was
audacious enough to think of these things, and even to promise himself
that they should be obtained.
In conversation with Mr. Bayard a few days before, that gentleman had
suggested a new field of labor; and it had been arranged that Bobby
should visit the State of Maine the following week. On the banks of
the Kennebec were many wealthy and important towns, where the
intelligence of the people created a demand for books. This time the
little merchant was to take two hundred books, and be absent until
they were all sold.
On Monday morning he started bright and early for the railroad
station. As usual, he called upon Squire Lee, and informed Annie that
he should probably be absent three or four weeks. She hoped no
accident would happen to him, and that his journey would be crowned
with success. Without being sentimental, she was a little sad, for
Bobby was a great friend of hers. That elegant copy of Moore's Poems
had been gratefully received, and she was so fond of the bard's
beautiful and touching melodies that she could never read any of them
without thinking of the brave little fellow who had given her the
volume; which no one will consider very remarkable, even in a little
miss of twelve.
After he had bidden her and her father adieu, he resumed his
journey. Of course he was thinking with all his might; but no one need
suppose he was wondering how wide the Kennebec River was, or how many
books he should sell in the towns upon its banks. Nothing of the kind;
though it is enough even for the inquisitive to know that he was
thinking of something, and that his thoughts were very interesting,
not to say romantic.
"Hallo, Bob!" shouted some one from the road side.
Bobby was provoked; for it is sometimes very uncomfortable to have a
pleasant train of thought interrupted. The imagination is buoyant,
ethereal, and elevates poor mortals up to the stars sometimes. It was
so with Bobby. He was building up some kind of an air castle, and had
got up in the clouds amidst the fog and moonshine, and that
aggravating voice brought him down, _slap_, upon terra firma.
He looked up and saw Tom Spicer seated upon the fence. In his hand he
held a bundle, and had evidently been waiting some time for Bobby's
coming.
He had recovered from the illness caused by his broken arm, and people
said it had been a good lesson for him, as the squire hoped it would
be. Bobby had called upon him two or three times during his
confinement to the house; and Tom, either truly repentant for his past
errors, or lacking the opportunity at that time to manifest his evil
propensities, had stoutly protested that he had "turned over a new
leaf," and meant to keep out of the woods on Sunday, stop lying and
swearing, and become a good boy.
Bobby commended his good resolutions, and told him he would never want
friends while he was true to himself. The right side, he declared, was
always the best side. He quoted several instances of men, whose lives
he had read in his Sunday school books, to show how happy a good man
may be in prison, or when all the world seemed to forsake him.
Tom assured him that he meant to reform and be a good boy; and Bobby
told him that when any one meant to turn over a new leaf, it was "now
or never." If he put it off, he would only grow worse, and the longer
the good work was delayed, the more difficult it would be to do it.
Tom agreed to all this, and was sure he had reformed.
For these reasons Bobby had come to regard Tom with a feeling of deep
interest. He considered him as, in some measure, his disciple, and he
felt a personal responsibility in encouraging him to persevere in his
good work. Nevertheless Bobby was not exactly pleased to have his fine
air castle upset, and to be tipped out of the clouds upon the cold,
uncompromising earth again; so the first greeting he gave Tom was not
as cordial as it might have been.
"Hallo, Tom!" he replied, rather coolly.
"Been waiting for you this half hour."
"Have you?"
"Yes; ain't you rather late?"
"No; I have plenty of time, though none to spare," answered Bobby; and
this was a hint that he must not detain him too long.
"Come along then."
"Where are you going, Tom?" asked Bobby, a little surprised at these
words.
"To Boston."
"Are you?"
"I am; that's a fact. You know I spoke to you about going into the
book business."
"Not lately."
"But I have been thinking about it all the time."
"What do your father and mother say?"
"O, they are all right."
"Have you asked them?"
"Certainly I have; they are willing I should go with _you_."
"Why didn't you speak of it then?"
"I thought I wouldn't say anything till the time came. You know you
fought shy when I spoke about it before."
And Bobby, notwithstanding the interest he felt in his companion, was
a little disposed to "fight shy" now. Tom had reformed, or had
pretended to do so; but he was still a raw recruit, and our hero was
somewhat fearful that he would run at the first fire.
To the good and true man life is a constant battle. Temptation assails
him at almost every point; perils and snares beset him at every step
of his mortal pilgrimage, so that every day he is called upon to gird
on his armor and fight the good fight.
Bobby was no poet; but he had a good idea of this every-day strife
with the foes of error and sin that crossed his path. It was a
practical conception, but it was truly expressed under the similitude
of a battle. There was to be resistance, and he could comprehend that,
for his bump of combativeness took cognizance of the suggestion. He
was to fight; and that was an idea that stood him in better stead than
a whole library of ethical subtilties.
Judging Tom by his own standard, he was afraid he would run--that he
wouldn't "stand fire." He had not been drilled. Heretofore, when
temptation beset him, he had yielded without even a struggle, and fled
from the field without firing a gun. To go out into the great world
was a trying event for the raw recruit. He lacked, too, that prestige
of success which is worth more than numbers on the field of battle.
Tom had chosen for himself, and he could not send him back. He had
taken up the line of march, let it lead him where it might.
"March on! in legions death and sin
Impatient wait thy conquering hand;
The foe without, the foe within--
Thy youthful arm must both withstand."
Bobby had great hopes of him. He felt that he could not well get rid
of him, and he saw that it was policy for him to make the best of it.
"Well, Tom, where are you going?" asked Bobby, after he had made up
his mind not to object to the companionship of the other.
"I don't know. You have been a good friend to me lately, and I had an
idea that you would give me a lift in this business."
"I should be very willing to do so; but what can I do for you?"
"Just show me how the business is done; that's all I want."
"Your father and mother were willing you should come--were they not?"
Bobby had some doubts about this point, and with good reason too. He
had called at Tom's house the day before, and they had gone to church
together; but neither he nor his parents had said a word about his
going to Boston.
"When did they agree to it?"
"Last night," replied Tom, after a moment's hesitation.
"All right then; but I cannot promise you that Mr. Bayard will let you
have the books."
"I can fix that, I reckon," replied Tom, confidently.
"I will speak a good word for you, at any rate."
"That's right, Bob."
"I am going down into the State of Maine this time, and shall be gone
three or four weeks."
"So much the better; I always wanted to go down that way."
Tom asked a great many questions about the business and the method of
travelling, which Bobby's superior intelligence and more extensive
experience enabled him to answer to the entire satisfaction of the
other.
When they were within half a mile of the railroad station, they heard
a carriage driven at a rapid rate approaching them from the direction
of Riverdale.
Tom seemed to be uneasy, and cast frequent glances behind him. In a
moment the vehicle was within a short distance of them, and he stopped
short in the road to scrutinize the persons in it.
"By jolly!" exclaimed Tom; "my father!"
"What of it?" asked Bobby, surprised by the strange behavior of his
companion.
Tom did not wait to reply, but springing over the fence fled like a
deer towards some woods a short distance from the road.
Was it possible? Tom had run away from home. His father had not
consented to his going to Boston, and Bobby was mortified to find that
his hopeful disciple had been lying to him ever since they left
Riverdale. But he was glad the cheat had been exposed.
"That was Tom with you--wasn't it?" asked Mr. Spicer, as he stopped
the foaming horse.
"Yes, sir; but he told me you had consented that he should go with
me," replied Bobby, a little disturbed by the angry glance of Mr.
Spicer's fiery eyes.
"He lied! the young villain! He will catch it for this."
"I would not have let him come with me only for that. I asked him
twice over if you were willing, and he said you were."
"You ought to have known better than to believe him," interposed the
man who was with Mr. Spicer.
Bobby had some reason for believing him. The fact that Tom had
reformed ought to have entitled him to some consideration, and our
hero gave him the full benefit of the declaration. To have explained
this would have taken more time than he could spare; besides, it was
"a great moral question," whose importance Mr. Spicer and his
companion would not be likely to apprehend; so he made a short story
of it, and resumed his walk, thankful that he had got rid of Tom.
Mr. Spicer and his friend, after fastening the horse to the fence,
went to the woods in search of Tom.
Bobby reached the station just in time to take the cars, and in a
moment was on his way to the city.