THE CHOICE OF AN OCCUPATION.
The fact was that Mrs. Kingston felt a strong repugnance to her son's
following in his father's footsteps, so far as his occupation was
concerned. She dreaded the danger that was inseparable from it, and
shrank from the idea of giving up the boy, whose company was now the
chief delight of her life, for all the long winter months that would be
so dreary without him.
Frank had some inkling of his mother's feelings, but, boy like, thought
of them as only the natural nervousness of womankind; and his heart being
set upon going to the woods, he was not very open to argument.
"Why don't you want me to go lumbering, mother?" he inquired in a tone
that had a touch of petulance in it. "I've got to do something for
myself, and I detest shopkeeping. It's not in my line at all. Fellows
like Tom Clemon and Jack Stoner may find it suits them, but I can't bear
the idea of being shut up in a shop or office all day. I want to be out
of doors. That's the kind of life for me."
Mrs. Kingston gave a sigh that was a presage of defeat as she regarded
her son standing before her, his handsome face flushed with eagerness and
his eyes flashing with determination.
"But, Frank dear," said she gently, "have you thought how dreadfully
lonely it will be for me living all alone here during the long
winter--your father gone from me, and you away off in the woods, where I
can never get to you or you to me?"
The flush on Frank's face deepened and extended until it covered forehead
and neck with its crimson glow. He had not taken this view of the case
into consideration before, and his tender heart reproached him for so
forgetting his mother while laying out his own plans. He sprang forward,
and kneeling down beside the lounge, threw his arms about his mother's
neck and clasped her fondly, finding it hard to keep the tears back as he
said,--
"You dear, darling mother! I have been selfish. I should have thought how
lonely it would be for you in the winter time."
Mrs. Kingston returned the embrace with no less fervour, and as usually
happens where the other side seems to be giving way, began to weaken
somewhat herself, and to feel a little doubtful as to whether, after all,
it would be right to oppose her son's wishes when his inclinations toward
the occupation he had chosen were evidently so very decided.
"Well, Frank dear," she said after a pause, while Frank looked at her
expectantly, "I don't want to be selfish either. If it were not for the
way we lost your father, perhaps I should not have such a dread of the
woods for you; and no doubt even then it is foolish for me to give way to
it. We won't decide the matter now. If you do go to the woods, it won't
be until the autumn, and perhaps during the summer something will turn up
that will please us better. We will leave the matter in God's hands. He
will bring it to pass in the way that will be best for us both, I am
confident."
So with that understanding the matter rested, although of course it was
continually being referred to as the weeks slipped by and the summer
waxed and waned. Although Frank felt quite convinced in his own mind that
he was not cut out for a position behind a desk or counter, he determined
to make the experiment, and accordingly applied to Squire Eagleson, who
kept the principal shop and was the "big man" of the village, for a place
in his establishment. Summer being the squire's busy season, and Frank
being well known to him, he was glad enough to add to his small staff of
clerks so promising a recruit, especially as, taking advantage of the
boy's ignorance of business affairs, he was able to engage him at wages
much below his actual worth to him. This the worthy squire regarded as
quite a fine stroke of business, and told it to his wife with great
gusto, rubbing his fat hands complacently together as he chuckled over
his shrewdness.
"Bright boy that Frank Kingston! Writes a good fist, and can run up a row
of figures like smoke. Mighty civil, too, and sharp. And all for seven
shillings a week! Ha, ha, ha! Wish I could make as good a bargain as that
every day." And the squire looked the picture of virtuous content as he
leaned back in his big chair to enjoy the situation.
Mrs. Eagleson did not often venture to intermeddle in her husband's
business affairs, although frequently she became aware of things which
she could not reconcile with her conscience. But this time she was moved
to speak by an impulse she could not control. She knew the Kingstons, and
had always thought well of them. Mrs. Kingston seemed to her in many
respects a model woman, who deserved well of everybody; and that her
husband, who was so well-to-do, should take any advantage of these worthy
people who had so little, touched her to the quick. There was a bright
spot on the centre of her pale cheeks and an unaccustomed ring in her
voice as she exclaimed, with a sharpness that made her husband give quite
a start of surprise,--
"Do you mean to tell me, Daniel, that you've been mean enough to take
advantage of that boy who has to support his widowed mother, and to hire
him for half the wages he's worth, just because he didn't know any
better? And then you come home here and boast of it! Have you no
conscience?"
The squire was so taken aback by this unexpected attack that at first he
hardly knew how to meet it. Should he lecture his wife for her
presumption in meddling in his affairs, which were quite beyond her
comprehension as a woman, or should he make light of the matter and laugh
it off? After a moment's reflection he decided on the latter course.
"Hoity, toity, Mrs. Eagleson! but what's set you so suddenly on fire?
Business is business, you know, and if Frank Kingston did not know enough
to ask for more wades, it wasn't my concern to enlighten him."
Mrs. Eagleson rose from her chair and came over and stood in front of her
husband, pointing her long, thin forefinger at him as, with a trembling
yet scornful voice, she addressed him thus,--
"Daniel, how you can kneel down and ask the blessing of God upon such
doings is beyond me, or how your head can lie easy on your pillow when
you know that you are taking the bread out of that poor lone widow's
mouth it is not for me to say. But this I will say, whether you like it
or not: if you are not ashamed of yourself, I am for you." And before the
now much-disturbed squire had time to say another word in his defence the
speaker had swept indignantly out of his presence and hastened to her own
room, there to throw herself down upon the bed and burst into a passion
of tears, for she was at best but a weak-nerved woman.
Left to himself, the squire shifted about uneasily in his chair, and then
rose and stumped angrily to the window.
"What does she know about business?" he muttered. "If she were to have
her own way at the store, she'd ruin me in a twelvemonth."
Yet Mrs. Eagleson's brave outburst was not in vain. Somehow or other
after it the squire never felt comfortable in his mind until, much to
Frank's surprise and delight, he one day called him to him, and, with an
air of great generosity and patronage, said,--
"See here, my lad. You seem to be doing your work real well, so I am
going to give you half-a-crown a week more just to encourage you, and
then if a little extra work comes along"--for autumn was approaching--"ye
won't mind tackling it with a goodwill; eh?"
Frank thanked his employer very heartily, and this unexpected increase of
earnings and his mother's joy over it for a time almost reconciled him to
the work at the shop, which he liked less and less the longer he was at
it.
The fact of the matter was, a place behind the counter was uncongenial to
him in many ways. There was too much in-doors about it, to begin with.
From early morning until late evening he had to be at his post, with
brief intervals for meals; and the colour was leaving his cheeks, and his
muscles were growing slack and soft, owing to the constant confinement.
But this was the least of his troubles. A still more serious matter
was that his conscience did not suffer him to take kindly to the "tricks
of the trade," in which his employer was a "passed master" and his
fellow-clerks very promising pupils. He could not find it in his heart to
depreciate the quality of Widow Perkins's butter, or to cajole unwary Sam
Struthers, from the backlands, into taking a shop-worn remnant for the
new dress his wife had so carefully commissioned him to buy. His idea of
trade was that you should deal with others as fairly as you would have
them deal with you; and while, of course, according to the squire's
philosophy, you could never make a full purse that way, still you could
at least have a clear conscience, which surely was the more desirable
after all.
The squire had noticed Frank's "pernickety nonsense," as he was pleased
to call it, and at first gave him several broad hints as to the better
mode of doing business; but finding that the lad was firm, and would no
doubt give up his place rather than learn these "business ways," he had
the good sense to let him alone, finding in his quickness, fidelity, and
attention to his work sufficient compensation for this deficiency in
bargaining acumen.
"You'll be content to stay at the shop now, won't you, Frank?" said his
mother as they talked over the welcome and much-needed rise of salary.
"It does seem to make it easier to stay, mother," answered Frank.
"But--" And he gave a big sigh, and stopped.
"But what, dear?" asked Mrs. Kingston, tenderly.
Frank was slow in answering. He evidently felt reluctant to bring up the
matter again, and yet his mind was full of it.
"But what, Frank?" repeated his mother, taking his hands in hers and
looking earnestly into his face.
"Well, mother, it's no use pretending. I'm not cut out for keeping shop,
and I'll never be much good at it. I don't like being in-doors all day.
And then, if you want to get on, you've got to do all sorts of things
that are nothing else but downright mean; and I don't like that either."
And then Frank went on to tell of some of the tricks and stratagems the
squire or the other clerks would resort to in order to make a good
bargain.
Mrs. Kingston listened with profound attention. More than once of late,
as she noticed her son's growing pallor and loss of spirits, she had
asked herself whether she were not doing wrong in seeking to turn him
aside from the life for which he longed; and now that he was finding
fresh and fatal objections to the occupation he had chosen in deference
to her wishes, she began to relent of her insistence, and to feel more
disposed to discuss the question again. But before doing so she wished to
ask the advice of a friend in whom she placed much confidence, and so for
the present she contented herself with applauding Frank for his
conscientiousness, and assuring him that she would a thousand times
rather have him always poor than grow rich after the same fashion as
Squire Eagleson.
The friend whose advice Mrs. Kingston wished to take was her husband's
successor as foreman at the depot for the lumber camps--a sensible,
steady, reliable young man, who had risen to his present position
by process of promotion from the bottom, and who was therefore well
qualified to give her just the counsel she desired. At the first
opportunity, therefore, she went over to Mr. Stewart's cottage, and,
finding him at home, opened her heart fully to him. Mr. Stewart, or Alec
Stewart, as he was generally called, listened with ready sympathy to what
Mrs. Kingston had to say, and showed much interest in the matter, for he
had held a high opinion of his former chief, and knew Frank well enough
to admire his spirit and character.
"Well, you see, Mrs. Kingston, it's just this way," said he, when his
visitor had stated the case upon which she wanted his opinion: "if
Frank's got his heart so set upon going into the woods, I don't know as
there's any use trying to cross him. He won't take kindly to anything
else while he's thinking of that; and he'd a big sight better be a good
lumberman than a poor clerk, don't you think?"
Mrs. Kingston felt the force of this reasoning, yet could hardly make up
her mind to yield to it at once.
"But, Mr. Stewart," she urged, "it may only be a boyish notion of
Frank's. He thinks, perhaps, he'd like it because that's what his father
was before him, and then he may find his mistake."
"Well, Mrs. Kingston," replied Mr. Stewart, "if you think there's any
chance of that being the case, we can settle the question right enough in
this way:--Let Frank come to the woods with me this winter. I will give
him a berth as chore-boy in one of the camps; and if that doesn't sicken
him of the business, then all I can say is you'd better let the lad have
his will."
Mrs. Kingston sighed.
"I suppose you're right. I don't quite like the idea of his being
chore-boy; but if he's really in earnest, there's no better way of
proving him."
Now Frank knew well enough how humble was the position of "chore-boy" in
a lumber camp. It meant that he would be the boy-of-all-work; that he
would have to be up long before dawn, and be one of the last in the camp
to get into his bunk; that he would have to help the cook, take messages
for the foreman, be obliging to the men, and altogether do his best to be
generally useful. Yet he did not shrink from the prospect. The idea of
release from the uncongenial routine of shopkeeping filled him with
happiness, and his mother was almost reconciled to letting him go from
her, so marked was the change in his spirits.