EBEN FINDS SOMETHING TO DO.
EBEN FAIRCHILD was not Mrs. Fairchild's own son, as my readers will
probably have understood from the last chapter. Those who have read
the former volumes of "The Boonville Series" will recollect the little
English boy whom Jeduthun Cooke, the miller, rescued from his cruel
relatives. At that time Eben Wright, as he was then called, was only
seven years old—a pretty, slender, delicate little fellow; too peaked,
Grandma Badger said, ever to amount to much. After staying about for
some time, now with one kind family and now with another, Eben was
first apprenticed to, and then adopted by, a respectable farmer who
lived between Boonville and the Springs. Mr. Fairchild had only one
living child, a little girl named Flora, two years older than Eben.
A greater contrast could hardly be imagined than that between Flora
Fairchild and her little adopted brother. Flora was as stout, bouncing,
and healthy as Eben was the reverse: a well-grown girl, with black
eyes, and somewhat scowling black brows above them, a dark but clear
and healthy complexion, and abundant black hair. Flora was generous,
truthful, and kind-hearted, but she had "a temper of her own," as the
girls said, and was very much governed by her impulses, which, to do
her justice, were usually good. Eben was small of his age, thin and
pale, with light hair and wide, grave blue eyes. People wondered how
Flora could relish having a strange child come into the family where
she had so long reigned alone, and predicted that she would make that
little fellow "see sights." For their part they thought it was a
foolish move, and pitied the poor delicate boy.
The course of events, however, showed that the pity was thrown away;
since, if Eben did see sights in his new home, they were certainly
not disagreeable ones. Flora adopted her new brother into her heart
at first sight, helped him with his lessons, fought his battles, and
loved him with a vehement, patronizing fondness which might sometimes
have had its inconveniences, but was anything but disagreeable to poor,
down-trodden little Eben.
By degrees, however, a change came over the relations between Flora and
her brother. In the genial, kindly atmosphere of the Fairchild house,
Eben's heart and mind, crushed by long tyranny and ill-usage, expanded
like a plant in sunshine. He began first to speak above his breath when
questioned, then to volunteer little remarks of his own, and finally to
talk freely at all proper times, and especially when alone with Flora.
He soon outstripped Flora in his lessons, so that he was able to help
her instead of being helped himself. Mrs. Fairchild said Eben was worth
three of Flora to help about the house, and her husband declared that
Eben had more judgment about work than any boy he ever saw.
"It isn't that the boy is so very smart," said the good farmer. "I have
seen smarter boys where contrivance was wanted; but then Eben is so
faithful. If I set him about anything, I am sure to find it done. He
never disappoints me. If he undertakes to build a fire, he never leaves
it till he sees it burning, and if I set him to shelling corn, he never
leaves his job while there is a kernel left on the cob. Now, Flossy is
fast enough to help—just as obliging as ever she can be, I will say
that for her—but if a piece of work lasts more than half an hour, or if
it don't go off just right the first time, she gets out of patience and
goes off and leaves it. Flossy is a good girl as ever was, in the main,
but she isn't the dependence that Eben is."
When Flora was sixteen and her brother fifteen, which is the time at
which our story begins, the relations between the two were entirely
reversed, so that it was Eben who led, helped, and governed Flora.
Eben could recollect very little of his former life in England, but one
thing he always declared he knew for certain,—that Tom Collins was not
really his uncle. He remembered his father hardly at all, his mother
very clearly, but he could not tell the name of the place where he had
lived. It was in the country, he was sure of that. There was a gray
church with a very high tower, and bells that made music. The first
time Eben went to Hobartown and heard the college chime, he burst out
crying, and being at last persuaded to tell the cause of his grief,
he said his mamma used to hold him up to the window to hear the bells
make music at home. He remembered that he went to school every day in
a house close by the church where there were boys and girls, and the
girls wore red capes or cloaks. One day they told him his mamma was
dead, and after that he could remember nothing distinctly till he found
himself on the sea with Tom Collins and his wife, very sick, and crying
for his mamma. Tom's wife had been kind to him at first, and saved him
more than one beating, but after a while she got very queer. She used
to keep a little bottle of something black, and drink it, and then she
did not seem to care what happened to him. Mr. Fairchild wrote down
carefully all the particulars he could collect from Eben respecting his
early life at home, thinking that some time or other he might find out
something regarding the boy's parentage.
The winter that Flora was sixteen, Mr. Fairchild died. He had always
been considered rather a wealthy man, as he owned a large and
well-cultivated farm and was a successful raiser of stock, and every
one supposed that the widow and her children would be well off. But
it turned out that Mr. Fairchild had endorsed for a large amount for
a neighbour. Mr. Furness had got tired of farming—such a slow and
hard way of making money—so he had sold his farm, and with a large
and expensive stock of goods, he had set up a store in the city some
thirty miles away. His venture turned out as so many such ventures do.
He failed utterly. Mr. Fairchild was called upon to pay his share,
and when all was done, he found himself left with just a thousand
dollars and a little place in Boonville to call his own and leave to
his children. Grief and self-reproach brought on a paralytic shock, of
which he died after some weeks of illness.
"Take care of your mother, my dears," were almost his last words to his
children. "She has her little ways—all of us have—but she has been a
good, faithful wife to me and a good mother to you. You will have to
judge and decide for yourselves about many things, I know; but don't
cross your mother if you can help it, and try to have patience, even if
she is a little trying."
It was a mercy, as Eben said cheerfully, that they had such a nice
little place in the village to go to when they were obliged to leave
the farm. The house was small; but it was convenient, pleasant, and,
like everything owned by Mr. Fairchild, in good repair; and there
was quite a piece of land belonging to it, with a little orchard and
a well-stocked garden. Mrs. Fairchild had her furniture, of course,
and old General Dent bought in her favourite cow and gave it to her,
requesting as a personal favour that it might run in the pasture with
his own.
Flora had learned to run a sewing machine while away on a visit. She
had twenty dollars of her own left her by an aunt, and with this she
decided, after much consideration, to make the first payment on a
good machine. Everything Flora had learned she learned thoroughly,
and before she had ever expected to earn her living thereby, she had
prepared herself to do so by acquiring great skill in using the machine
on the finer kinds of fabric. She had friends at the Springs, which had
become a popular summer resort, and she hoped by their aid, and that of
Keziah Cooke, who took a great deal of washing from the Cure and the
hotel, to be able to maintain herself and help to support her mother.
She had been fortunate at the very outset. Keziah, or Kissy, as she was
much more commonly called, washed for a very fashionable and wealthy
lady who wanted some copies made, as the artists say, of certain
wonderfully-constructed under garments which had been sent her from
Paris as patterns. Kissy secured the work for Flora, and Flora executed
it to the perfect satisfaction of her employer. According to the usual
course of stories, I ought now to go on and say that the fashionable
lady screwed her poor work-woman down in price to the last penny, and
kept her calling again and again for her pay. Such was not the case.
Miss Barnard was as liberal and kind-hearted as she was rich and
fashionable. She not only paid Flora a good price, but she recommended
her to all her acquaintances, and the consequence was that, at the time
our story begins, Flora had in the house as much fine work as would
keep her busy for a month, and had already made a second payment on
her machine. She was fortunate in liking her work, and took as much
interest in copying all the tucks, ruffles, and embroidery of Miss
Barnard's Paris-made night-dresses and skirts as she had ever done in
following out the intricacies of a piece of worsted work. She preferred
sewing to farm-work, and if she could a little have forgotten her grief
for her father, and the disappointment about Eben's education, she
would not very much have regretted the change in their circumstances.
Eben had not yet succeeded in finding anything to do for a living.
He was naturally unwilling to give up the plan of going to college
and afterwards studying medicine,—a plan on which his heart had been
set for the past three years, and which he had talked over with Mr.
Fairchild a hundred times. As many times since his father's death he
had gone over the circumstances in his own mind, trying to see some
way in which to bring about the accomplishment of his desires. He had
at last come to a conclusion, and that conclusion he had announced to
his mother and sister this very afternoon. He must go to work at any
honest employment he could find, at which he could earn wages enough to
support himself, and his schemes of study must be laid aside to some
future time, if not given up altogether.
"But there's no need of doing that," said Eben to himself as he walked
up the bank of the stream towards the mill. "I can keep it in mind, and
maybe it will be brought about for me yet. I am sure it will, if it is
best, and I won't worry about it, there! But try to do the best I can
in whatever place I can find."
Eben stopped short in his walk, and stood looking across the fields
towards the west for a minute or two. Then he broke out into a cheery
whistle, and walked quickly on towards the mill.
As he came within sight of the dam, he broke off his whistling, and
with an exclamation jumped over the fence and ran down to the edge of
the pond. The cause of his haste was soon apparent. Somebody had tied
a horse to a tree close to the edge of the water. The horse, in his
impatience at the tormenting flies, had backed from under the tree
towards the edge of the pond behind him. The consequence was that the
hind wheels had gone over the bank into the water, and the fore wheels,
with the old horse, were like to follow them before any one saw what
was going on. Eben sprung to the wagon and tried to lift it up on the
bank, at the same time calling for help, but as no help came, and the
task proved beyond his own strength, he dexterously cut the traces and
let the load go, thus saving the horse at the expense of the wagon.
While he was patting and soothing the poor trembling beast, Jeduthun
Cooke jumped out of the mill window, and came down the sloping bank
like a deer.
"Well done, you!" was his first exclamation. "I was in the upper story
when I looked out and saw you, and I don't believe I made more than two
steps for each flight of stairs. Where's the wagon?"
"In the water," said Eben, coolly "at least I suppose so, for there's
where it was going the last time I saw it. I knew I couldn't save horse
and wagon both, so I cut the traces and let the thing slide."
"Cut the traces! And suppose the horse had kicked your brains out?"
"He hadn't much chance to kick, poor old fellow, and besides, I didn't
think anything about that."
"I dare say you didn't. It must have been a foolish one that hitched
the horse so near the bank, to begin with. Come, let's lead him to a
safe place, and you come in and rest. You look kind of white and beat
out."
"I do feel out of breath," admitted Eben. "You see I tried to pull the
wagon up, in the first place, and it was too heavy for me. Whose is it,
anyway?"
"It belongs to Mr. Wilbur. He has been up here to see Mr. Antis about
getting his boy Tom a place in the mill."
Eben's face fell. "Then I am just in time to be too late," said he.
"That is just what I was coming after."
"Oh, but this isn't such a place as you would want," returned Jeduthun.
"It is the same that Jerry Blythe had. You wouldn't want to do such
work."
"I want to do any work that I can earn my living by," said Eben. "I
can't live on mother and Flora, and I won't, and I must go at anything
I can find to do. It won't answer to be too particular in such a case,
you know."
"Do tell!" said Jeduthun. "Why, I thought you was left pretty well off,
and that you was going to Hobartown to college?"
"There is no use in talking about that now," replied Eben. "Do you
think Mr. Antis has promised this place to Tom Wilbur, Jeduthun?"
"I'm afraid he has, and I am dreadful sorry for it, for one. I don't
believe he'll amount to shucks, and it would have been very nice to
have you round, Eben."
"Thank you, Jeduthun. I am sure it would have been nice for me. But why
don't you think Tom will amount to anything?"
Jeduthun did not exactly know, only he had a notion that Tom Wilbur
hadn't "any snap" to him. "I wouldn't be afraid to bet something, if I
ever did bet, that the old man left Tom to fasten up that horse. But
come, we won't give it up yet. Come in and see the boss. Maybe he can
find something else for you to do, and if he does, you wouldn't want to
work for a better man."
Mr. Antis was very sorry as well as Jeduthun, for he knew and liked
Eben.
"You are just the kind of boy I want," said he, "so I should think from
what I have heard of you—but a promise is a promise, you know, Eben."
"Yes, sir, I know it," said Eben. "Of course, if you have promised Tom
the place, that is all about it."
"I have promised to give him a trial," said Mr. Antis. "I can't tell
how he will answer my purpose beforehand."
"You don't know of anything else for me to do, Mr. Antis?" asked Eben.
"I am very anxious to get to work as soon as I can."
Mr. Antis rose and walked about the office considering. "Well, no,
Eben—nothing, at least, that you would want to do."
"Wanting hasn't much to do with it, Mr. Antis," replied Eben. "If a
thing has got to be done, it doesn't matter much, to my notion, whether
one wants to do it or not."
Mr. Antis smiled. "That is a very rational way of looking at the
subject, Eben. But do you feel as if you must go to work directly?
Wouldn't it be better to wait a little till the right thing comes
along?"
Eben smiled in his turn. "The right thing is just as likely to come
along when I am at work as when I am doing nothing, Mr. Antis, isn't
it?"
"True for you, Eben—just as likely, and likelier. Well, now, I will
tell you what I was thinking of. We want a boy about the house to do
chores; you know what I mean by that?"
"Yes, sir; to run errands, and take care of the cow, and work in the
garden, and so on."
"Exactly. We are more than usually in want of such a boy just now, for
Mrs. Antis is doing her own work, and needs a good deal of help, and if
we were to try to have Tom Wilbur take the place, I know how that would
be. He would be certain to be wanted at the mill just when he was most
needed at the house. I am sure Mrs. Antis would like to have you about
her. She likes pleasant, quiet people."
"She's got a right to," said Jeduthun. "She's a quiet, pleasant person
herself."
"Could I board at home, sir? I think mother and Flora would like to
have me at home, and I would help them a little at odd times."
"Why, yes, I suppose you could, if I could depend upon your being on
hand early in the morning."
"And what wages would you give?"
"Well, if you boarded at home, I think I could give you twelve dollars
a month. But, Eben, are you really serious? Would your mother be
willing to have you take such a place?"
"I am quite serious, Mr. Antis. I must go to work at something, you
see, and it won't do to be too particular. Mother feels bad at my
having to give up school, anyway, but I think after a little, she will
be reconciled to it."
"Flora has got on nicely, my wife tells me," remarked Mr. Antis. "She
says the girl goes to work like a woman. But I always knew there was
plenty of good stuff in Flora."
"Well, and now I must go to work like a man and find out whether there
is any good stuff in me," replied Eben, smiling. "I think I should like
the place, Mr. Antis, but I should wish to talk with mother and Flora,
if you don't mind letting me have the refusal of the situation till
to-morrow."
"For a week if you like. And, Eben, if you don't mind, would you just
stop at the store as you go along, and ask Mr. Hallet to send over some
tea? I have had so much to think of, I forgot all about it."
"Kissy says Hallet hasn't any tea fit to drink," remarked Jeduthun. "We
get all ours over at the Springs."
"I know it, and if I had anybody to send—"
"I could go if I had a horse," said Eben, modestly. "There would be
plenty of time to drive over and back before dark."
"Oh, there are horses enough," replied Mr. Antis, evidently pleased.
"Go up to the house and get the buggy and the old gray. Take Flora
along. The ride will be good for her, and I dare say she has errands of
her own to do."