THE FLOWERS IN THE HARVEST.
No sheriff’s warrant was ever served on Mr. Townley. Lionel Derwent
took care of that, and stayed with him (for he was childless) for
some few weeks, until the old man died, of softening of the brain.
Then Derwent went away again; to Asia, I believe, or to Africa, or
Australia. Before he left, Gracie had a very curious call from him. He
said a word or two to her of Mamie, and then a word or two of Arthur,
and then a word or two of John Haviland; and then he took his leave,
shaking hands with her in his awkward English way, and she never saw
him more. For he never met another woman whom he loved.
He did not ask to take farewell of Mamie, and she was very glad when
she heard that he was gone. She had no love for him; and she had had
none even for Charlie Townley. But for this young man she did now feel
a vast pity; he was a fugitive from justice, and yet all the world
admitted he had been innocent of purposed wrong. Mamie herself could,
perhaps, have brought the heaviest indictment against him; but it had
never occurred to her that so great a personage as he could have sought
her out for any worldly reasons. Now, perhaps, she measures excellence
with different eyes; but she was very sorry for him, and I know not
what might have happened had Charlie, in his poorest days, asked her
to be his wife. But he never did, and the suits against him were soon
withdrawn, and now he is again in business in a small way.
And soon the glass roof, and the tempered light, and the parent trees
about which Mamie’s pretty flower had thrived so pleasantly, were gone,
and her poor vanities were rudely stripped away; for Mr. Livingstone
did not survive his loss of fortune and his oldest friend’s disgrace,
and his wife soon followed him; and Mamie was left--no, not alone; with
Gracie. It is only Gracie who was lonely then. Gracie had little money,
and Mamie was left almost poor; but she grew up to be a very lovely
woman, and I know two or three good fellows who are now in love with
her.
And Arthur, our hero--did I say he was our hero? All the world
will still tell you, Arthur Holyoke is a successful young man. His
practicable ambitions have all been realized. And, after all, which one
of us has realized our youthful dreams? Arthur has written no poem,
to be sure, but he is making money; enough to pay all his club bills,
and his salmon fishing, and his trip to Europe once a year. And nobody
blames him for not having written any poem; on the contrary, they
praise him for his clever head, and his handsome face, young looking
for his age, and admire his faultless style. He is a butterfly, but a
butterfly with a bee’s brains; he has a head for business; of such is
the republic of America, not of wan, unpractical poets. Will he ever
marry? Oh, yes, perhaps he will, at forty; perhaps he will not. But
what does it matter to the reader?
On that snowless winter’s day, Gracie, sitting alone in her one own
room, had bidden him in her heart farewell. She was glad to hear
that he was doing well, and she will be the kinder to his sons and
daughters, when he has them; they will not know why, but they will
be fond of her. His friendship with Mrs. Gower continued; but he saw
Gracie less and less.
When the old people died, Gracie and Mamie lived together, as I have
said; and I wish that I could tell how our friend Haviland went on, and
worked, and watched for her, and dreamed of her, and won her at the
last. But that would be writing another novel, would it not?
It is now three years since the great fire. James Starbuck has not
been heard of since; not yet, at least. John Haviland and Gracie have
been married, and Mamie still lives with them. They live in a smaller
house than Mrs. Gower’s, to be sure, but they manage to be happy;
and their sons will be strong-souled, large-hearted, to meet the Jem
Starbucks that are to come; and Gracie’s daughters will be like to her,
and bear from her the vestal fire, each one to her own household; not
advertised, perhaps, to thousands, but yet a kindly warmth to the few
that stand within its circle of light.
For on gentle people such as these shall the future of our land depend.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.