THE END OF PROBATION.
From that day forth, in peace and joyous bliss,
They lived together long, without debate;
No private jars, nor spite of enemies,
Could shake the safe assurance of their state.—SPENSER.
Besides the natural geniality and sociability of his disposition, which
always moved General Lyon to bring his friends and relations about him,
there were other and even stronger motives that urged him to invite
Richard Hammond to remain at Old Lyon Hall. The old gentleman wanted to
save “the unlucky dog from his friends,” and also he wanted to study
him.
And as weeks and months of close companionship in the seclusion of the
country house passed away, he _did_ study him. And apparently the study
was satisfactory.
All poor Dick’s impulses were altogether good. Indeed, it was through
the very goodness of his nature that he so often came to grief.
Dick could not bear to say No; and not only ever to his friends, but not
even to his enemies, for his salvation, Dick could not endure to inflict
pain, not only ever upon good people but not even upon sinners. And
these amiable traits in his character were used by evil-disposed people
to his injury.
There was indeed so much of the woman in Dick’s gentle and lively nature
that very few women could have loved him as Anna did. But then there was
enough of the man in Anna’s nature to produce an equilibrium of the
sexes in their union.
General Lyon noticed all this, and he noticed something else—namely,
that though Dick and Anna certainly loved each other devotedly, they
bore their probation with exemplary patience.
This touched the heart of the veteran, but still he would not shorten
the time.
Moreover, he felt the infirmities of age creeping upon him, he knew that
at his years life was extremely precarious, and he certainly wanted to
see another generation of Lyons in lineal descent from himself before he
should go home and be no more on earth.
Yet for all this he would not hasten the marriage of Dick and Anna.
Drusilla, with her quick perceptions and warm sympathies, read the
hearts of all around, and wished to make them happy.
Like an artful little angel as she was, she chose her opportunity well.
It was a lovely day in the latter part of April, and General Lyon and
herself were sitting alone together in a front parlor where windows
opened upon a conservatory in full bloom.
Dick and Anna were gone on a visit of inspection of the works at Hammond
House.
The General had little Leonard in his arms.
Drusilla was sewing beside them.
“Ah, my dear, you do not know how much this little fellow adds to my
happiness!” he said.
“I am always so glad and grateful to hear you say that, dear uncle, and
I hope little Leonard as he grows in intelligence will be more and more
of a comfort to you,” she replied; and then, after a little pause, she
said:
“But if little Leonard, who is only my son, gives you so much content,
how much joy Anna’s children will give you!”
“I don’t know, my dear: and, besides, I may not live to see them.”
“Dear uncle, you will live many years yet.”
“I cannot hope to do that, my dear. I am past seventy. I have already
lived out the threescore and ten years allotted as the natural term of a
man’s life.”
“But, dear uncle, I think all nature teaches us that a CENTURY is the
natural term of a man’s life.”
“A pleasant theory, my child. I wish it were a true one.”
“But I think it is a true one.”
“Why do you think so?”
“From analogy. All natural philosophers and historians who have made the
nature and habits of the animal creation their study have agreed upon
this fact; that all healthy animals, unless their lives are terminated
by violence, live five times as long as it takes them to grow up. Now it
takes the human animal twenty years at least to grow to maturity;
therefore the human animal really should live five times twenty years,
which makes a round hundred or a CENTURY; and I firmly believe it is
intended for him to live that long, if he only acted in accordance with
the laws of life and health. And, dear uncle, you seem always to have
acted so, and therefore I think you may safely calculate upon living out
your century and then dying the gentle death of mere old age.”
“There is a certain reasonableness in your theory, my little
philosopher.”
“And there is a roundness and completeness in this full century of life
which is so satisfactory,” said Drusilla, heartily.
“Yes, my dear, especially to those who love this planet Earth, with all
her failings, as I confess I do,” smiled the old gentleman. “And
besides, I would like to see Anna and Dick happily married, with a
thriving family of boys and girls about their knees.”
“Then, dear uncle, why not let them marry at once?” pleaded Drusilla.
“‘Marry at once!’ Drusilla, you astound me, child!” exclaimed the old
gentleman, in unaffected astonishment.
“Yes, marry at once, dear uncle, and then, if you live to be as old as
Methusaleh, you will still have only the longer time to witness their
happiness,” persisted Drusilla, who, now that she had “broken the ice,”
was determined to go through.
“But, my dear, I put Richard Hammond upon a probation of twelve months,
and the time has not expired yet.”
“It is very nearly half gone, though. Five months of the allotted term
has passed away. There are seven months of penance remaining. Dear
uncle, be kind to them and commute that to one month. Let them marry in
May.”
“Have they commissioned you to plead their cause, my dear?” gravely
inquired General Lyon.
“Oh no, sir, they have not. And perhaps also you may think me very
presumptuous and impertinent to meddle in the matter. If you do, I will
beg your pardon and be silent.”
“Nonsense, my dear child! I think nothing of the sort. Speak all your
thoughts freely to me. They are good and true thoughts, I know, though
they may not be very worldly wise. Come now, why should I shorten the
probation of Dick?”
“Oh, because he has behaved so well. Indeed, dear uncle, if you really
mean that Dick should marry Anna, I think that you had just as well let
him marry her now as half a year hence. I believe Dick is as good now as
he will ever be, or as any young man can be. Why do you insist on a
probation? If Dick were playing a part in this good behavior, he could
play it six months longer as well as he has played it six months past,
for so great a stake as Anna’s hand. But he is not playing a part. You
know as well as I do that Dick is as frank, sincere and open-hearted as
his best friend or worst enemy could desire him to be. He is not playing
a part. His present steadiness is but an earnest of what his whole
future life will be, with Anna by his side. Dear uncle, I really do
think that all Dick’s irregularities grew out of his banishment from
Anna’s society. He sought gay companions—or rather _no_; we are sure
that he _never_ sought them; but he allowed himself to fall into their
company to find oblivion for his regrets. With the mere promise of
Anna’s hand, you see he has dropped his disreputable friends altogether.
With Anna for his wife, he will never be in danger of taking them up
again.”
“There is much reason in what you say, my dear,” admitted General Lyon.
“And, besides,” said Drusilla, dropping reason and resorting to
sentiment, “it is such a _pity_ not to make them happy when you have the
power to do it.”
“I will think of what you have advanced, my dear Drusilla,” said the
veteran, gravely. “But Lord bless my soul alive!” he added, elevating
his eyebrows, “now I do think of it, the young man himself has not
petitioned for a curtailment of his probation!”
“_Oh, uncle, has he not?_ Not, not in set terms, perhaps, because you
absolutely forbade him to resume the subject until the specified year
should have terminated; and of course he felt, and still feels, bound to
obey you. But has not his whole conduct for the last five months been a
plea for the commutation of his sentence? Has not every word, look and
act of his life here been a declaration of devotion to Anna, a prayer
for mercy from you, and a promise of fidelity to both?”
“I cannot deny that.”
“Then, dear uncle, let them marry at once. Oh, forgive my plain speech!
for you know you told me to speak my thoughts freely.”
“Certainly.”
“Then let them marry at once.”
“Is there no other reason you would like to urge why they should be made
happy, as you express it, just now?”
“Oh, yes, dear sir; if you make them wait until the time of probation is
out, it will bring the wedding to the middle of November—sad November,
which is always gloomy enough in itself and is now doubly gloomy to us
from its associations. Three times Anna’s marriage has been appointed to
take place in November, and three times it has been defeated—twice by
death, and once—but we will say no more of that. Let us change the month
and even the season, dear sir. Let the marriage come off in May—this
next May it is now beautiful spring—the best season in the year for a
wedding and a wedding tour. Let them marry and go; and you and I and
little Leonard will stay here and have a good time this summer. In
autumn they will return and join us again. And early in the winter we
will all go up to Washington and live at Cedarwood during the season.
Dear uncle, I do think you had better let them get their wedding tour
over this summer. You will miss Anna very much less in summer than in
winter.”
“That is very true,” said the General, reflectively.
“And you will let them marry in May?” eagerly inquired Drusilla.
“Ah! I don’t know. I cannot move in the matter unless the young
gentleman does. I cannot fling my granddaughter at Mr. Dick Hammond’s
head!”
“Oh, uncle! how can you say such things? You know poor Dick is
tongue-tied on that subject for the present, by your probation, as well
as by his sense of honor. He _cannot_ speak of this without your leave.
But only give him leave by a glance, a nod, a hint, and he will be on
his knees to you to grant his suit and shorten his probation,” said
Drusilla.
“Hem! Suppose you give the glance, nod, or hint, that may be required
for the encouragement of this despairing lover?” proposed the General,
archly.
“That I will, with all my heart and soul,” replied Drusilla, warmly.
The next day at noon, while Drusilla was walking beside her baby’s
carriage out on the lawn, Dick, with his fishing rod over his back,
sauntered up to her.
Drusilla dropped behind so as to let the carriage and the nurse get far
enough ahead to be out of hearing, and then she said:
“Dick, I think if you will ask our uncle to release you from your
promise of silence on a certain subject, that he will do so.”
“Drusilla, do you really think he will? If I thought so, if I was sure
he would not banish me at once from Anna’s side, I would ask him this
moment!” exclaimed Dick, his eyes dancing with eagerness.
“He will not banish you. Why should he? You will _break_ no promise to
him; you will only ask him if he sees fit to _release_ you from your
promise of silence on a certain subject. I think he will give you leave
to speak on that subject. And, furthermore, when you do speak, I think
he will listen to you favorably.”
“Oh, Drusilla! do you? Do you think so, indeed? If I thought so, I
should be the luckiest dog and the happiest man in existence.”
“Go try for yourself at once, Dick. He is in his study. He has just got
through his morning papers, and is enjoying his pipe. The opportunity is
highly auspicious. Go at once, Dick. You will never find him in a more
favorable mood.”
“I’m off this instant. Heaven bless you, Drusilla, and make you as happy
as I hope to be,” exclaimed Richard Hammond, dropping his fishing
tackle, and dashing away to put his destiny to the test.
Drusilla hastened after her baby’s carriage, overtook it, and continued
to walk beside it, and guard it for more than an hour longer.
She had just turned with it towards the house when she was met by Dick,
who was hastening to greet her.
“Oh, Drusa, Drusa, dear Drusa, it is all right now. And all through you!
And I came to tell you so, and to thank you, even before I go to tell
Anna!” exclaimed Dick, with his face all beaming with happiness.
And he seized and kissed Drusilla’s hand, and then darted off again, in
search of Anna.
And thus through Drusilla’s intervention, was Richard Hammond’s
probation commuted, and the marriage of the lovers appointed to be
celebrated about the middle of May.
Meanwhile Drusilla had written to “mammy,” offering to her the situation
of housekeeper, and to her husband that of head gardener at Cedarwood.
She had directed her letter to the care of the Reverend Mr. Hopper, at
Alexandria, feeling sure that it would by this means safely reach the
hands of the nurse.
In due time Drusilla received an answer, badly written and worse spelt,
yet sufficiently expressive of “mammy’s,” sentiments on the subject.
She thanked Mrs. Lyon from the bottom of her heart, and would gladly
take the place and try to do her duty by the mistress. And likewise her
old man. She never expected to have such a piece of good fortune come to
her and her old man in the old ages of their lives. Which it had just
come in good time too, seeing as her last darter was agoing to marry and
leave her and her old man alone. And besides, she herself was aged
before her time, all along of spending all the days of her life in
close, sick rooms. And she was mortially glad to leave the profession of
sick nursin’ to younger and stronger wimmin. Which she was fairly pining
for the country, where her childhood and youth had been passed. She had
never been able to get reconciled to the town, although she had lived
into it for thirty-five years, and she loved to feed chickens and take
care of cows, and make butter and cheese. And as for her old man, it was
the delight of his life to hoe and rake, and plant and sow, and weed and
trim gardens and vineyards, and sich like. And she was sure they would
both be happier than they had ever been in all their lives before. And
she prayed Heaven to bless the young madam who had taken such kind
thoughts of them in their age, to insure them so much prosperity and
pleasure.