Produced by David Edwards, Brett Fishburne, Dave Morgan,
David E. Brown and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at https://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "OWEN ... MADE A DART AFTER THE LITTLE
CREATURE."--_Page 9._]
OWEN'S FORTUNE;
OR,
"DURABLE RICHES."
BY
MRS. F. WEST,
AUTHOR OF "FRYING-PAN ALLEY," "THE BATTLE-FIELD,"
ETC.
NEW YORK:
E. P. DUTTON & CO.,
31, WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE RESOLVE, 7
II. CHANGES, 17
III. MAKING HIS FORTUNE, 26
IV. AN UNEXPECTED TRIAL, 37
V. SUNSHINE AND SHADE, 46
VI. "POOR, YET MAKING MANY RICH," 56
OWEN'S FORTUNE.
CHAPTER I.
THE RESOLVE.
It was a lovely fresh autumn afternoon; there were still a few blossoms
in the cottage gardens, and the leaves which were left on the trees were
coloured rich crimson and gold and brown, causing them to look almost
like flowers ere they dropped off the branches to make room for the
young buds that were swelling underneath, and silently preparing for the
spring.
But two boys, who were in the woods just outside the village, were far
too occupied to notice the leaves. They were searching for nuts; and a
basket on the ground, already more than half filled, showed that their
search had not been in vain. The younger of the two, Owen Hadleigh, was
a fine, strong, intelligent boy of about fourteen years of age; his
bright, dark eye was full of merriment as he laughingly told his
companion he intended to make his fortune.
"Over these nuts?" asked Sam, ironically.
"Now look here, Sam Netherclift, you can laugh; I don't care for that.
But I intend to make my fortune one day, and be a rich man."
"Like Squire Rowland?"
"Maybe; why not? I can work and earn it all."
"A likely thing!" laughed Sam; "and your father only a village
schoolmaster."
"You'd better not laugh at my father," returned Owen, hotly; "there
isn't a better man in the world than he is, and I intend to share all my
fortune with him."
"How are you going to make it?"
"I don't know yet;" and Owen's face rather fell, for he had talked so
confidently of what he would do, that Sam naturally would expect he had
some sort of a plan, and he did not wish him to think he was only
building castles in the air. But he added, bravely, "There are more ways
than one of making a fortune, and I 'll try something yet. Father says
Squire Rowland made his money by inventing a new dye, some bright colour
no one had thought of before, and now he is rolling in riches. So I
shall be sure to find some way of making money, never fear."
"When you have found out what to do, let me know, and I will come and
help you," said Sam, laughing. He was a thorough boy, and had no thought
beyond the present, though he was older than his companion, and had
already to work on his father's farm.
But the conversation was suddenly interrupted by a squirrel, who flew
rapidly up a branch just before them. Owen sprang to the tree, and made
a dart after the little creature, but though he could not catch it, it
had done him good service, for it had led him to a tree he had not
noticed before, and which was covered with clusters of nuts.
"Hurrah!" shouted Owen, "here's the beginning of the fortune!"
Sam, of course, hastened to help, and to take his share, and both boys
were too much engaged for the next hour to have any more lengthened
conversation. As it grew dusk they started for home, carrying the basket
between them, well pleased with the result of their afternoon's work.
The schoolhouse, with the adjoining cottage for the schoolmaster, stood
somewhat apart from the other houses. Both buildings were almost covered
with ivy and monthly roses, some of which were even now blooming, though
it was late in the year. The little garden in front of the cottage was
trim and tidy, though all was still and quiet as the boys pushed the
gate open and went in. Owen's mother had died before he could remember,
but his father had so loved and cared for his only child, that the boy
realised no loss or want. His father was everything to him, and he
repaid his care with most grateful love. The two lived alone in the
rose-covered cottage, and did the needful work, with the help of a woman
who came in twice a-week to do the washing and set things straight in
general. She was in the kitchen when the boys went in.
"Is that you, Owen?" she said, raising her voice, that he might hear her
in the front parlour.
"Yes, Mrs. Mitchell, it's all right; it is only me and Sam. Where is
father?" he added, going into the kitchen, where she was busily ironing.
"He's gone to Allenbury," she answered shortly.
"Gone to town! He never said anything about going!" exclaimed the boy,
with surprise, for his father mostly made him his confidant in
everything.
"He'll be back in good time; he said he had to go on particular
business." And Mrs. Mitchell turned back to her ironing, as if she did
not care to be questioned.
Owen looked at her anxiously, but he did not speak again, and returned
to the next room with a somewhat saddened face. He had noticed that his
father was not quite himself lately, and he feared that there was some
trouble pressing on him, that he should go off to Allenbury like this,
without saying a word.
Sam was already dividing the nuts, and in this interesting occupation
Owen soon forgot his anxiety, and was laughing and joking with his
friend, as if there was no such thing as trouble in the world.
"Well," said Sam at last, "I must go, I suppose; I have those cows to
see after, and father is pretty strict if I don't attend them well. It's
fine to be you, having your time to yourself, and nothing to do."
"Nothing to do!" echoed Owen. "Why, I've no idle time, I can tell you. I
have the water to fetch in, and the wood to chop, and the garden to see
to, besides my lessons, and father is very particular about them."
"When are you going to leave school? You are near fourteen, are you not?
I left when I was twelve. Shall you go to school when you are a man?"
Owen laughed. "Father wants me to learn all I can; he says we can't have
too much education, and if I want to make a fortune, I must gather all
knowledge I can now."
"How will geography, and sums, and history help you to make your
fortune?"
"I don't know _how_, but I suppose they all come in. If I didn't know
anything of geography, how could I trade with foreign countries, or know
where to write for the stuff I wanted? And how could I tell whether they
were cheating me or not, if I couldn't add up my sums? I should like to
learn foreign languages too, to be able to talk to the merchants myself;
but father does not know any language but English."
Sam looked wonderingly at his young companion's eager face. He did not
care for education himself, and he could not understand the desire for
it in Owen. He had passed through school, as do many, learning just so
much as he was obliged, and no more. Though he could read and write, it
was very seldom he took up either book or pen, spending his time in
wandering about the lanes and woods when he was released from the farm
duties which fell to his share. He was a good-natured, pleasant
companion, but could in no way share Owen's aspirations, though it
amused him to listen to them.
When he was gone, Owen took up a book in order to study his lessons for
the next day, but the fading light soon drove him into the brighter
region of the fire. The warm glow spread itself all over the little
kitchen, and even the snowy linen on the table looked attractive as it
grew gradually smoother and fairer under Mrs. Mitchell's experienced
hands. Owen watched her a while from the chimney-corner, and presently
he said--
"It must be very nice to iron, Mrs. Mitchell; to see the things that
look all rough, and uncomfortable, and damp, smoothing themselves out
under your hand, and looking pleasant and happy."
Mrs. Mitchell was a character in her way, and had many thoughts under
her somewhat stern face, but it had never occurred to her that the
clothes were any happier for being ironed.
"I expect it is you who are happier for seeing the things smooth, Owen,"
she said; "it makes no difference to them, of course. But it do make a
great difference to us to have things nice about us. I suppose that is
the reason the dear Lord says, 'Whatsoever things are lovely, ... think
on these things.'"
"Do you think that God cares about our having things nice and pretty?"
"Why, my dear, of course I do. Do you think God would have taken all the
trouble to put so much beauty into the world if He hadn't meant us to
love it and enjoy it? See what lots of flowers He has given us, and
such beautiful colours, even turning the leaves bright for us when the
flowers are going. And when the snow comes down, He arranges it as
beautiful as possible, making the very frost trace delicate patterns on
the windows, and on the ground."
"Yes, I know," said Owen, eagerly; "father was reading to me yesterday
how that every snow-flake is a crystal."
"Ah, I expect the more you search into God's works, the more beauty you
will find, Owen." The good woman went on busily with her work as she
spoke, presently adding, "I think, too, that God's children should
always try to have things nice and pleasant about them, at least, as far
as may be. I know that a struggling woman, with a lot of little
children, can't have things as nice as she would. But every one may be
clean, and if all did their best, the world would look different to what
it does now."
"Mrs. Mitchell, I am going to do my best, and make my fortune one day."
"I am very glad, Owen; I hope you will."
"Do you? That is kind of you. Sam Netherclift laughs, and thinks I shall
never do it."
"You may do it, if you seek it in the right way. There are two sorts of
fortune, Owen. I hope you'll get the better."
"Two sorts! What are they?"
"One is a fortune of riches that take to themselves wings, and soon fly
away; and the other sort is 'durable riches.'"
"Oh, I should make a fortune that would last, of course. Riches that
fly away are not of much use. I should seek the best fortune, Mrs.
Mitchell."
"I hope so, I hope so, indeed," said the woman, as she set down her cool
iron, and took a fresh one from the fire.
Owen did not reply at once; he fancied there was some hidden meaning in
Mrs. Mitchell's words, but he did not understand what it was. He turned
to his book, and for a while there was silence, only broken by the sound
of the iron on the board.
Presently he looked up, and asked, "Did father say when he would be in,
Mrs. Mitchell?"
"No, he said he wasn't sure, but he should not be late."
"You knew my mother, didn't you? I wish she had lived till now."
"Ah, you may well wish that. A sweeter and a better woman never lived.
Yes, I knew her, and tended her in her last illness. She was a rich
woman, too."
"A rich woman! how do you make that out?"
"Rich in faith, and love, and good works; those are the riches that
last, Owen. You will never be rich unless you come to the Saviour."
"Squire Rowland is rich, and he isn't----" Owen paused for a suitable
word--"you know what I mean, Mrs. Mitchell; he does not go to church, or
visit the poor."
"No, I fear he is not a child of God, poor man. He is rich in this
world's goods; but this world will not last for ever, and we shall live
on after this world is burnt up. So it is best to have riches we can
take with us. Better be poor here, and rich in the world to come, than
rich on earth, to pine in miserable poverty for ever."
"But will all rich men be poor in the other world?"
"No, indeed. God sometimes gives earthly riches to His children to spend
for Him, though I must say I think they are generally poor. But those of
God's children who are rich here count their money the least part of
their fortune. A wealthy Christian man once lost all his money by the
breaking of a bank, and a friend meeting him after, said, 'I am sorry to
hear you have lost everything.' He replied, 'It is a mistake; I have not
lost everything. I have not lost Christ, I have not lost heaven, nor
God's Word, nor the peace He gives. And on earth I have not lost my
wife, nor my health, nor my senses, nor many good friends.' You see,
Owen, one may be very rich, and yet have very little money."
"But money is a good thing, too; we cannot do without it."
"It is good for what we can do with it. Money is no good stored away and
laid up. But it may be of great use and blessing if laid out and spent
for the Saviour. Yet I think those people are the happiest who have just
enough for every day's use."
"I don't know, Mrs. Mitchell. I should like to have more than I could
count."
"God grant you never may, Owen; it would ruin you, body and soul. Seek
the lasting riches, and leave God to give you sufficient means to live
on. Isn't that a Bible on the shelf? Just reach it down, and turn to
Proverbs, the eighth chapter and seventeenth and eighteenth verses."
Owen did as he was bid, and read out aloud, "I love them that love Me;
and those that seek Me early shall find Me. Riches and honour are with
Me; yea, durable riches and righteousness."
"That's the true fortune; God give you grace to seek it."
Owen did not reply; he sat with the book in his hands, looking
thoughtfully into the fire, till suddenly he heard a step outside, and
jumped up to greet his father.