On the terrace of the Capitol, while all this was occurring, a gaunt,
gigantic, aged figure might have been seen, looking away into the city
basking in the plain at his feet, with almost the bitterness of
prophecy. He carried an old worn carpet-bag, and a railroad ticket
appeared in his hat-band. It was Jabel Blake, shaking the dust of the
capital city from his feet!
To him the soft and purple panorama brought no emotions, as pride of
country or æsthetic associations; and even the bracing savor of the
gale upon the eminence seemed laden, to his hard regard, with the
corruptions and excesses of a debauched government and a rank society.
The river, to him, was but the fair sewer to this sculptured
sepulchre. The lambent amphitheatre of the inclosing ridges was like
the wall of a jail which he longed to cross and return no more. He saw
the dark granite form of the Treasury Department, and groaned like one
whose heart was broken there. The bank of Ross Valley was never to be!
Jabel thought in one instant of the inquiries which should be
addressed to him on his return, the prying curiosity of the hamlet,
the strictures of his neighbors and laborers, the exultation of his
enemies, the lost chance of his cherished village to become the mart
of its locality and dispense from its exchequer enterprise and aid to
farms and mines and mills.
"The good God may make it up to my children some day," he said; "but
the bank is never to be in the life of old Jabel Blake!"
So Jabel went home and met with all obtuseness the flying rumors of
the country. His worst enemies said that he had fallen from grace
while in Washington, and "bucked" with all his bonds against a faro
bank. His best friends obtained no explanation of his losses. He kept
his counsel, grew even sterner and thriftier than he had ever been,
and only at the Presbyterian church, where he prayed in public
frequently at the evening meetings, were glimpses afforded of his
recollections of Washington by the resonant appeals he made that the
money-changers might be lashed out of the temples there, and
desolation wrought upon them that sold doves.
There was no bank at Ross Valley, but people began to say that old
Jabel Blake had particles of gold in the flinty composition of his
life, and that his trip to Washington had made him gentler and wider
in his charities. He was attentive to young children. He encouraged
young lovers. He lifted many errant people to their feet, and started
them on their way to a braver life of sacrifice. And fortune smiled
upon him as never before. His mills went day and night, stopping never
except on Sabbaths. The ground seemed to give forth iron and lime
wherever he dug for it. The town became the thriftiest settlement in
the Allegheny valleys, and Jabel Blake was the earliest riser and the
hardest delver in the State.
It happened at the end of two years that rheumatism and an
overstrained old age brought Jabel Blake to bed, and a flood, passing
down the valley, aroused him, despite advice, to his old indomitable
leadership against its ravages. He returned to his rest never to
arise; for now a fever laid hold upon the old captain, and he talked
in his delirium of Judge Dunlevy and his bank, and he was attended all
the while by Arthur MacNair.
One night, in a little spell of relief, Jabel Blake opened his eyes
and said,
"Arty, I dreamed old Jabel Blake was in heaven, and that he had
founded a bank there!"
"Jabel," said the young Congressman, "you must have some treasure laid
up there, old friend. And not only in heaven, but in this world also.
Look on this happy family redeemed by your sacrifice!"
Jabel Blake opened his eyes wider, and they fell upon Judge Dunlevy.
"This is a great honor," he said; "Ross Valley brings her great
citizen back."
"No!" cried the Judge, "it is you, Jabel, who have brought us all to
your bedside to do ourselves honor. Here are Elk MacNair and my
daughter, who owe all their fortune to your fatherly kindness, and who
have come to repay you the uttermost farthing. Providence has
appreciated your sacrifice. They bring for your blessing, my grandson,
and the name they have given him is Jabel Blake."
"Jabel," said General MacNair, "take with our full hearts this money.
It has been honestly earned with the capital of your bank. We return
it that you may fulfil the dream of your life!"
Jabel Blake took the money, and a smile overspread his face. His hard
lineaments were soft and fatherly now, and their tears attested how
well he was esteemed. He drew Elk MacNair's ear to his lips, and said
feebly, and with his latest articulate breath,
"General, you owe me two years' interest!"
They laid Jabel Blake away by his fathers, and on the day of the
funeral Ross Valley was crowded like a shrine.