EBEN GETS AN ADVANCE.
"SEEMS to me I don't see you with your big books any more," said Mary
Clarke to Eben as they walked home from prayer meeting one night.
Neither Flora nor Mrs. Fairchild had cared to go, and Mary and Eben
were walking slowly and enjoying the beauty of the evening.
"I have never looked at them since that night," replied Eben. "A burnt
child dreads the fire, you know."
"But because the child has burnt himself once, he need not go cold all
the rest of his life," said Mary, smiling.
"That's true, but to tell you the truth I don't think I shall ever
make much of it," said Eben, in rather a desponding tone. "Even before
I left off studying I found I forgot, and mixed things up so that I
got discouraged and out of patience with the books, and myself, and
everybody."
"That was because you worked too fiercely," said Mary. "You didn't
allow yourself a minute's rest or recreation. I did just so when I
first came here to go to school."
"I know it," remarked Eben. "You thought you couldn't spare an evening
for prayer meeting any way in the world."
"Exactly so, and I soon found out what a mistake I was making. I got
so tired and so confused I couldn't remember anything straight, and I
began to think I was getting softening of the brain. I told Dr. Henry
about it, and he said my brain must have been pretty soft to begin with
not to see that it was nothing but overwork that ailed me. Now I rest
two evenings in the week—one at prayer meeting and the other at sewing
society—and I find I gain by it."
"Well," said Eben, as Mary paused, "and what then?"
"Why, if I were you, I wouldn't give up the anatomy altogether, but I
would take it moderately. Set yourself a certain amount—say as much as
you can do in an hour—and go over it again and again till it is fixed
in your mind, and then put it away. I believe you would learn more in
that way than you did in driving away as hard as you did the other
time."
"Maybe so. I'll think about it. I can tell you, however, Mary, that
it was not so much my studying that got me into the scrape as some
other things. I just lived in a world of my own about those days. I
was thinking all the time I was busy in the mill of the time when I
should be a great doctor, and have people coming to me from all over
the world; and in short," said Eben, candidly, "if there was a bigger
fool in Lake County than I was in those days, I should like to see him,
that's all. I got off a great deal better than I deserved."
"Didn't Dr. Porter say something about your studying French?" asked
Mary, after a little silence.
"Yes; he advised me to leave off my Latin and go to work at French. He
said that the modern languages would be more useful to me if I ever
studied medicine."
"I was thinking," said Mary, "that if we studied French, Flora might
join us, and it would be so good for her to have something to think of
besides her everlasting sewing machine, and tucks, and ruffles."
"I didn't think of that, I am ashamed to say," replied Eben. "Flora
likes languages too, and she is a very good Latin scholar, considering.
I believe we will do that thing, Mary, and we will set about it
directly."
Flora entered into the plan with enthusiasm, and henceforth an hour of
every evening was spent over the French grammar and exercises. Mrs.
Fairchild was much pleased with the arrangement.
"It's so much nicer for you to be doing something that you can all do
together," was her comment. "My grandfather used to say that the day
was the time for separate work and the evening for sociability. He was
a very sensible man, was Grandfather Fisher. I think Eben takes after
him more than any of the other children. Sister Fletcher's children
ain't a bit like the family. They're all Fletcher."
Eben smiled, as he often did, to see how entirely his mother had
forgotten the fact of his being an adopted child.
"Did you ever study French, Aunty Fairchild?" asked Mary.
"Oh yes; when I went to school in Ithaca, we had a native French
master, the nicest and funniest old man that ever was, who used to give
us sugar-plums when we learned our lessons well. I don't suppose I
could remember a word, though. Yes, I learned French and music. I could
play quite a good deal before I was married, and Mr. Fairchild always
said he meant Flora should have a piano and learn to play. Dear me! How
different things do turn out from what we expect! But, after all, we
might be a good deal worse off. Your dear father was so unhappy about
leaving us. I often wish that he could look at us and know how nicely
we get on, after all."
"Perhaps he does," said Eben.
The French went on prosperously, and Eben found a new and most
unexpected help in Jeduthun Cooke. One most uncompromisingly rainy day,
when there was not likely to be much doing at the mill, Eben ventured
to carry his French grammar up with his dinner-basket to amuse himself
with in his hour of intermission at noon. He fancied himself alone in
the counting-room, and was busily going over with, "How many figs has
the grocer?" when the question was unexpectedly answered in good French
by a voice behind him. He turned round in a hurry, and saw Jeduthun
standing in the door.
"Why, Jeduthun, was that you?"
"I reckon," answered Jeduthun, returning to the vernacular, and sitting
down by Eben, he took his book out of his hands.
"So you're learning French?" said he, turning over the leaves. "What
sets you about that?"
Eben explained that he was doing so on Dr. Porter's recommendation.
"Ay, the old doctor knows French, he does. I had a nice talk with him
one day when I met him over at the Springs. Learned it in Paris, he
did, when he was a student. Maybe that's what you'll do some time. I
shouldn't wonder a bit. I should be awful proud to get a French letter
from you from Paris, Eben."
"I will be sure to write you one if ever I go there," said Eben. "If I
ever turn out anything, it will be as much your doing as anybody's. But
you haven't told me yet how it was you learned French."
"Oh! Well, it's a kind of native language of mine," said Jeduthun.
"I was brought up in New Orleans till I was quite a boy, and then
my young master married a Virginia lady, and went there to live. I
couldn't speak much but French when I was twelve years old. I forgot
pretty much all about it, till once, when I was down South, they had
two Creole boys in the hospital. Creoles, you know, are people born in
this country of French or Spanish parents. The father of these boys
had come from Lyons and set up in New Orleans, and so they got into
the army, and there they were both sick with fever. Well, nobody could
speak French, so they got me in to take care of them, and with a little
practice I found I could talk the lingo as well as ever. After that I
kind of thought that I would like to keep it up, so I bought a French
Bible and some other books, and studied it a little."
"How glad I am!" said Eben. "Now you can help us, and I do want to
learn to speak so much!"
"Well, if you want to learn to speak, you must speak, that's all," said
Jeduthun. "Practice makes perfect, you know. Now, I'm going to talk
to you in French, and you must answer me. That's the only way anybody
learns to any purpose. See how quickly the Germans learn English—just
because they are obliged to."
After this the French went on swimmingly. Jeduthun was flint and
adamant in the matter of speaking French, and Eben found it necessary,
in self-defence, to be fluent and ready. Jeduthun advised the young
people not to spend all their time on the grammar, but to begin
translating directly.
"Same as if you wanted to learn to be a miller, why, you must go to
milling," said he. "A man might spend half his life in reading books
about milling and about the different kinds of flour and feed, and yet
be as helpless as a baby the first time you put him in a grist mill.
That's the way a great many folks do things. They never accomplish
anything that is any good to them, because they spend all their time
learning how and getting ready."
"There's a great deal in that," remarked Mrs. Fairchild, at whose house
this conversation took place. "I've noticed folks never learn to keep
house till they have it to do themselves."
"Exactly so, ma'am," said Jeduthun, bowing to Mrs. Fairchild. "One of
those poor Creoles I was telling you about put me up to a notch about
that. He said if I wanted to learn French well, it was a good way to
translate something from French into English, and then back again into
French, as well as I could, and then compare my French with that in the
book; so I used to work at it with him and his brother, teaching them
English while they taught me French. Poor boys! It kind of amused them,
and kept them from being homesick, you see."
"Poor things!" said Mrs. Fairchild. "What became of them?"
"Oh, they both died—one of fever, and the other, I verily believe,
because he wouldn't live without his brother. They were twins, you
see, and had always been together. They dictated a letter to their
grandfather in France—in Lyons the old gentleman lived—and after they
died I added some to it, and sent it away. By and by I got a real good
letter from the poor old man. I'll show it to you some day."
"Just think how nice it was that you could speak French!" said Mrs.
Fairchild. "I always say to the children, 'Learn all you can of all
sorts of good things. Learning is light luggage, and you never know
when you may have occasion to use it.'"
"That is certainly so," said Flora. "I little thought, when I was
amusing myself with Aunt Lizzy's sewing machine, learning to do all
sorts of nice things on it, how convenient the knowledge would come
some day."
The days were now growing rapidly shorter, and the hills and woods
about Boonville were in all their autumn glory. Eben had found or made
time to take up all Mrs. Antis's tender bulbs and put her garden in
order for winter, and she in return had given him a fine assortment of
geraniums and other plants for his mother's south and east windows.
There was a great deal of business going on at the mill, and Eben came
home every night so tired that he fell asleep over his French books,
and laughingly declared that he was no more fit for study than one of
the team horses. He and Jeduthun practiced speaking French at every
opportunity, till at last they unwittingly gave serious offence to old
Mr. Wilbur, who sent to Mr. Antis and complained that Eben and Jeduthun
were impudent to him.
"I'm sure I didn't mean any impudence," said Eben, when called to
account. "What did I say, Mr. Wilbur, that you thought was impudent?"
"I didn't know what you said, that was the thing of it," returned Mr.
Wilbur. "You went on talking your French all the time I was hitching my
horses and unloading my bags, and I know you were talking about me."
"Oh no," replied Eben, suppressing a smile. "We were not saying a word
about you, Mr. Wilbur. Jeduthun understands French, and I speak with
him for practice—that's all, I assure you."
"I don't think either Eben or Jeduthun meant any offence," said Mr.
Antis.
"Oh, well, if you like to stand such nonsense, I'm sure I don't care,"
returned Mr. Wilbur. "I'd just like to see any boy that worked for me
pretending to talk French, that's all. That black fellow's a sight too
big for his place, anyhow."
After this Jeduthun and Eben were more careful.
One day, as Eben passed the office door, Mr. Antis called him in. "I
want to speak to you, Eben," said he. "I have just received a letter
from Mr. Francis which concerns you. Sit down."
"I wonder what kink the old gentleman has got in his head now," thought
Eben, but he said nothing, and sat down as desired.
"Mr. Francis has taken a fancy that we ought to have a watchman in the
mill," continued Mr. Antis, unfolding the letter he held in his hand,
"or at least somebody to sleep in the building. Here is what he says:
'I do not think it safe to leave the mill alone, now that there are so
many robberies all over the country. I think we should have a watchman,
or at least some one to sleep in the building. Perhaps young Fairchild
would be willing to do the latter. There is a very decent bed-room on
the floor above the office, if I remember rightly, and if he chooses he
can fit it up from that furniture of mine which has been so long stored
in the loft. He is a stout young fellow, and seems to be upright and
trustworthy. You may suggest it to him, and if he agrees, you may as
well give him what you used to give Barnard—forty dollars a month.'"
"That is quite an increase of wages, you see," said Mr. Antis, laying
down the letter. "Really, I don't think there is much, if any, danger
from robbers, and you might fix up a very nice, pretty little room.
Why, Eben, you look very much pleased."
"I am," said Eben—"not so much about the money, though ten dollars
more a month will help us a great deal through the winter, but I am so
pleased to think—"
"That the old gentleman trusts you?" asked Mr. Antis, smiling, as Eben
hesitated.
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, he is sure to do that," said Jeduthun, who had "assisted," as the
French say, at the conference. "Once the old gentleman takes anybody
up, he does it for good and all. I've no doubt he thinks by this time
that he invented you in the first place. He has his ways, Mr. Francis
has, but he's as good as gold and as true as steel."
"That he is, and I am glad he has taken a liking to Eben. Well, my boy,
what do you say?"
"I should like to talk to mother about it before I decide, Mr. Antis,"
replied Eben. "I don't know but she will be afraid to stay alone."
"There's an easy way of fixing that," said Jeduthun. "Mr. Barton wants
a place to board this winter—you know his wife is dead, and he's going
to send his little children home to their grandmother in Hobartown, and
break up housekeeping. He is a steady, clever, middle-aged man, and a
very pleasant, quiet man to live with, else he never could have stood
it with that wife of his'n, and I know he'd jump at the chance of going
to Mrs. Fairchild's to board. Everybody knows there isn't such a cook
anywhere round as Mrs. Fairchild."
"Well, you can talk to your mother and settle the matter, only decide
as soon as you can, that I may write to Mr. Francis," said Mr. Antis.
"He is always in a hurry to get everything settled."
Mrs. Fairchild demurred a little at first, and thought she could not
have Eben run such a risk. Eben, however, made light of the danger, and
assured her that he should be as safe as if he were at home in his own
room.
"It will save me a deal of work in winter," said he, "because I shall
be on hand to make the fires and ring the bell in the morning. I can do
all that before I come home to breakfast; of course I shall spend my
evenings at home the same as ever. Then, if Mr. Barton comes to board
here, he will take just as good care of you as I could do."
"That is true, and he's willing to pay a good price for his board, and
I don't suppose he will be much trouble about the house."
"He will never be here except at meal-times and at night," said Eben.
"He stays at the mill all the evening."
"It isn't only Eben's wages that I am thinking of, but the trust that
Mr. Francis puts in him," remarked Flora. "It isn't often that a young
man of Eben's age gets put into such a place."
"That's true, and I think all the more of it, coming from Mr. Francis.
He is so very strict in his notions."
At last, after a great deal more talking, the matter was settled.
Mr. Francis was evidently pleased, wrote Eben a gracious letter, and
empowered him to take anything he needed from the furniture stored
in the loft for the embellishment of his apartment, adding that he
believed there were some rolls of old-fashioned wall-paper in a certain
drawer which Eben might use to cover his walls.
All young folks and most old folks love to fit up a room, and to young
folks at least the pleasure is wonderfully heightened by the necessity
of shifts and expedients. Great was the delight felt by our three
young friends in hunting up and pasting on the pretty though cheap
and old-fashioned paper, in pulling out and putting in nice order the
furniture necessary to Eben's room, and making wonderful discoveries,
such as a pair of old plated candlesticks, some water-coloured pictures
and engravings in tarnished gilt frames, and, best of all, a trunk full
of books, principally travels and biographies, and a set of mahogany
hanging shelves. Eben hesitated, however, about appropriating these
till he consulted Mr. Antis.
"I don't think it will do any harm," said Mr. Antis. "However, if you
think there is any doubt about the matter, you had better write to the
old gentleman yourself."
Eben wrote, and received the following curt answer:
"DEAR FAIRCHILD: Yours of the 16th received and noted.
Of course! Anything you can find. Yours truly,"
"J. B. FRANCIS."
"P. S. It was very proper for you to ask, however."
When Eben's room was finally finished, it would have been hard to
find a prettier or snugger little place, with its old-fashioned but
roomy bureau, on the top of which stood the two plated candlesticks,
which Mrs. Fairchild had cleaned up to look nearly as good as new, his
well-filled book-shelves hanging over the cherry desk his father had
given him long before, the walls hung with old engravings and all the
various knickknacks which the girls had routed out of the garret. Eben
loved what was pretty and elegant as well as any young lady, and as he
looked around he thought he had never seen a room so much to his taste.
He had a kind of house-warming, with Mr. Antis's permission, when he
took possession of his new abode, and had his mother and the girls to
spend the evening with him.
"Yes, it is all very nice," said his mother. "I'm only afraid it is too
nice, and that Eben will be tempted to spend his evenings here."
"No danger," said Eben; "I am not so fond of my own company as all
that."