"They were not much respected, and the man used to come up to the
village and get drunk, leaving his family alone for two or three days
at a time. Basswoods was a little place then, and this house was more
lonely then, than it is now. His wife was rather a violent-tempered
woman, but she worked hard, and was in a manner fond of her children.
One afternoon in sleighing-time, Munn started for the village, and as
usual his wife scolded him for it.
"A neighbor (that is, he lived three or four miles off) was passing,
and heard them using very high words, and he said to Munn, half in
joke, 'You had better not leave your family alone to-night, Jacob;
there is talk of Indians up the river.'
"And so there was, though nobody thought much of it.
"'Indians!' said the brute, with an oath. 'I only wish they would come
and carry off this one!' pointing to his wife.
"The man said no more, but went on his way, and Munn came up to the
village. He did not go home till towards dark the next day, and the
first thing he saw was his own baby lying with its brains dashed out in
the snow by the gate. The woman and the other two were lying scalped
and dead inside the door, and the house was robbed. It was the only one
in the valley which was attacked, which made it the more singular.
"Most likely," said Mr. Felton, "the mischief was done by a small party
of Indians who knew Munn's habits. They had their spies all through
the country at that time. I can remember seeing him round the village
when I was a boy—a miserable, crazy creature, always talking to himself
about the Indians."
"But why should I not walk there?" persisted Olive. "The Indians are
all dead long ago."
Mrs. Felton had no very satisfactory reason to give, only that the
place had a bad name, and no one would live there. Strange things had
happened in the house.
"But what things?"
Well, she could not exactly say, only that queer things had been seen
there at might, and people did not like to pass it. Some thought it was
not altogether the Indians.
"And if I were you, Olive, I would not walk that way towards night. It
is as well to be on the safe side, you know."
This reminiscence produced others, and Olive was surprised to find how
many such traditions attached to the place. In one house there had
been a murder committed. From another, a young girl had mysteriously
disappeared one evening, and never was heard of again. In another, the
watchers by a dead body had been alarmed by footsteps in the room, and
sobs and sighs sounded near them, though nothing was to be seen. Olive
had never heard so many ghost stories in her life. They had, at least,
the good effect of arousing her attention, and turning her thoughts
for a time away from the subject was engrossing them, perhaps more
effectually than any thing more sensible would have done.
The next day found her much more composed. She had made up her mind
entirely to the sacrifice, feeling her own share to be nothing to
Walter's; and, girl-like, she even began already to find some pleasure
in the prospect of the quiet parsonage and useful life, which lay
beyond that long separation which she would not look at. She was
detained an hour after school by an extra class, and then went round to
the parsonage to tea.
"Where is your father?" she asked, after a while. "He did not come
round to hear my class in Latin, as he promised."
"He has been closeted with Walter almost all the afternoon," replied
Augusta; "I can not think what they are so earnestly engaged about.
Walter looked as though he had the weight of nations upon his shoulders
when he came in. And you, too, look anxious, Olive! I hope there is
nothing wrong."
"Oh! No!" replied Olive, earnestly. "Nothing wrong. Something very
right, I hope, but something which will make a great difference in our
plans, if we decide upon it."
Augusta looked at her inquiringly, and they were silent for a while.
"After all, Olive, putting aside gratified ambition, which is
perhaps but a questionable good, there are few happier lives than a
clergyman's," said Augusta. She spoke rather to what she supposed were
her friend's thoughts, and so Olive answered her.
"People have a great deal to say of a clergyman's trials, you know."
"I know, and doubtless some have more trouble than others. One can only
speak from one's own experience and observation, of course. I have
lived in a parsonage all my life long, you know, and I do not know that
my father has been especially favored, except that he has remained a
long time in the same place. We have had some hard times, and some sad
times. There have been troubles, and now and then hard feeling and
discontent in the parish. Once my father had no salary for three years,
and we were poor enough. But the people have always come round after a
while, and we have been as comfortable as ever. I am sure my father has
enjoyed pleasures which more than counterbalanced his trials, and just
think how it will be in the next world, when he shall come to know the
full fruition of his labors!"
"But it must be hard, Augusta, for a man like your father to labor
Sunday after Sunday, month after month, without seeing any fruit of his
toils."
"Yes," replied Augusta, "and a minister undoubtedly needs faith, more
than almost any one else in the word. But then, what state of life is
there, which has not its trials? I remember well how my husband used to
come home at night, especially in court-time, so worn out and disgusted
with the meanness and villainy with which he was obliged to come in
contact, the double-distilled lies and inveterate malice with which
he was obliged to come in contact, even among his own clients. I have
asked him sometimes, why he did not abandon his profession, and take
up some other line of business, and his answer always was that there
was no profession in the world which had not its drawbacks and its
annoyances; and that, in laying down one burden, of which he knew the
weight, he might take up another still heavier."
"Walter loves his profession," said Olive, sighing. "I do not think any
thing but a certain sense of duty would make him dream of resigning it."
"I hope he will not be hasty."
"He is not apt to be hasty, I think," observed Olive. "Do you know,
Augusta, that when I went away from here, I thought he was engaged to
Annette Vander Heyden."
"I thought you did," said Augusta, smiling; "I knew very well he was
not."
"Why did you not—?" Olive stopped, suddenly coloring as deeply as the
crimson cushion she was working.
"Why did I not tell you? Because I thought it better both for your
dignity and his, to let him tell his own story. I felt pretty sure that
he would do so, and if he did not, the least said was soonest mended."
"I assure you, Augusta, I never was more astonished than I was when
I discovered that I cared any thing about him." Olive made this
declaration with great seriousness, and looked rather indignantly at
Augusta for receiving it with a hearty laugh.
"Well, my dear child, what of that? You do not suppose that people in
general go and fall in love of malice prepense, do you? To be sure,
I have known cases where men, and women, too, set themselves about
getting married as they would take steps to buy a cow or a horse, but
I never heard of any one's making a deliberate calculation to fall in
love."
"I do not know that I ever thought of it in that way," said Olive,
joining in the laugh, "but I do assure you I was surprised."
"And you thought nobody was ever so unhappy before, I dare say."
Olive nodded.
"Whereas, your experience was that of at least eighty out of every
hundred sensible and reasonable people, who marry at all, and perhaps
as large a proportion who never do. But here are my father and Walter,
coming back from the orchard. Walter looks as though his heart was
lighter, does he not?"
He did, indeed, and, as Olive observed him, she thought he must have
made up his mind to something certain. He looked pleased at meeting
her, and his cheerful greeting and warm hand-pressure made her heart
feel ten pounds lighter. The subject was not adverted to during the
evening, but when they were walking homeward, Walter told her that he
had been discussing the matter the whole afternoon with Mr. Gregory,
and that he felt his mind quite made up to the step.
"Mr. Gregory advises me to let the matter rest for a month," said he.
"And, of course, I shall do so, if only in deference to his opinion,
trying meanwhile to gain all the light I can upon the matter. The
only thing that really troubles me, Olive, is your sacrifice. I had
enjoyed so much the prospect of our having a home of our own this fall,
and having Louisa with us. I had built so many castles on it that—"
Walter's voice faltered: he could not complete the sentence.
"We will not think about that," said Olive, cheerfully, though she felt
a moisture rise to her own eyes as she spoke. "Our engagement has been
a very short one, and we shall be none the less happy in the end, for
knowing each other better. I believe you have full faith in me, Walter;
you have no doubt of my constancy—there, that will do! And I have not a
shadow of distrust for you. We can afford to wait."
"And what will you do meantime?" asked Walter.
"Go on teaching here as long as they want me," replied Olive. "I am
thankful that I am not dependent on any body for a house or a living.
It is pleasant at Mrs. Felton's, and I like the school very much—more
than I ever expected to do, when I begun. I do not think three or four
years of such discipline will do me any harm."
"You are determined to see only the bright side, my love."
"I am, in this case, because the dark side is most prominent, and
speaks for itself," replied Olive.
"What will your uncle and aunt say?" asked Walter.
"Frankly, I do not think they will be pleased. Uncle—I wish to speak
with all respect—is proud of his profession, and considers every
slight offered to it as an insult to himself. I believe, to speak
the truth, that they will be likely to consider you a very visionary
and enthusiastic person, in making such a sacrifice. My aunt has, of
course, renounced the world and its vanities, but she thinks it no
harm to give up the most of her time and energies to what she and
others call the requirements of society. I hesitate to say this, lest
I should seem lacking in respect and affection, but I know that the
inconsistency used to strike me when I was quite a child."
"But what does she make of such texts as—'Be not conformed to this
world,' 'The friendship of the world is enmity towards God,' and others
of like character?" asked Walter.
"I suppose she thinks they applied only to the time when they were
written, and have nothing to do with people nowadays."
"Yes, that is a convenient way of dispensing with inconvenient
precepts."
"You must not understand me to say that she always does it, Walter, by
any means. In many things, I think my aunt is guided by truly religious
motives. For instance, she never invites company on Sunday, unless
it is some person to whom it will be a real kindness. She is careful
to see that the servants go to church regularly, and that they are
provided with proper books, both of instruction and amusement; and she
is very kind to the poor, and to all sorts of forlorn and friendless
people. I think this is her one great inconsistency."
"It is so with many excellent people, I know," said Walter; "and, after
all, Olive, we all have our own pet failings. Perhaps this is no worse
than many things in us, which we never think of as faults. But do not
say any thing to them of the matter till it is settled, one way or
other. As Mr. Gregory says, a distance of time makes a great difference
in our feelings, and it is possible that I may see grounds for changing
my mind. We will wait a month, and then decide."
They waited a month accordingly. Walter now and then adverted to the
subject, but he said very little. At the end of that time, he informed
Olive that his mind was settled, if hers was. He intended to devote
himself to the ministry, and to commence his preparatory studies at
once. Olive had no objections to offer, and in a few days, all was
settled.
Walter would not have as much to do as many young men in the same
circumstances, inasmuch as he was an excellent classical scholar
already, and had read a good deal of Church-history, and of other
matters which would come into the course.
Of course there were a great many different opinions expressed in
Basswoods when the matter came to be generally known. Some people
thought it a very foolish, romantic move, for a young man already in
good practice as a lawyer, to exchange a lucrative profession, which
offered so many chances of rising in the world, for one which held out
no promise, either of wealth or of gratified ambition. Others thought
it was very hard upon poor Miss McHenry, as of course her marriage
must now be put off indefinitely, if not broken off entirely. But when
Miss McHenry appeared just as good spirits as ever, and upon the same
terms with her lover, they had nothing more to say, except that it was
a queer world, a proposition which, if you regard it in some lights,
hardly admits of a denial.
There were many who gave an unqualified approval, and wished that more
young men would follow such a good example, and among them were Olive's
fast friends, Mr. Jones and Dr. Gordon, the two acting members of the
board of trustees, who were, moreover, much pleased at the idea of
keeping their favorite teacher two or three years longer.
When Olive announced the change of plans to her aunt, Walter wrote a
long letter to Mr. Merton, in which he gave a full account of all the
motives and reasons which had influenced him.
Mr. Merton replied very soon. As a general thing, he said, he could not
approve of a young man's changing his profession when he had once set
out in life, and he really thought that, with Mr. Landon's talents, he
might do as much good as a Christian layman, as in the character of a
clergyman. Still, it could not be denied that there was a great want of
young men for the ministry. He desired his young friend to do nothing
hastily, but consider well what he was going to relinquish, and also
what he was going to take upon himself before making any decided move,
and enjoined it upon him not to enter the work of the ministry, unless
it was his intention to devote to it all his energies of mind and body.
On the whole, the letter was quite as satisfactory in its character as
Olive expected.
Aunt Rebecca's was not quite so much so. She evidently regarded the
whole scheme as visionary and fanatical, and fully believed that
Olive's apparently cheerful concurrence in it was only a freed and
sorrowful acquiescence to the whims of her enthusiastic lover. She
seemed indeed to place Walter's conduct upon a par with William
Forester's relinquishment of the study of law, because he could not
bring his mind down to such narrow limits. She concluded by expressing,
in most affectionate terms, her sympathy in Olive's sad disappointment,
and reminding her that she had always a home at her uncle's,
independent of any one's caprice.
The kind tone of the letter brought tears to Olive's eyes, even while
she half-laughed and was half-vexed at the determination to think
her a martyr, in spite of herself. Since she had had the charge of
young people upon her own hands, she had learned to appreciate, more
than she had ever done before, how much she owed to aunt Rebecca's
kindness, and how many times she had tried it, sometimes unwittingly,
sometimes through willfulness and selfishness. She wrote again, to
assure her aunt that she was not suffering and to beg her not to be
uneasy, as she was perfectly well, and about as happy as she could be,
inclosing, at the same time, a little sketch of her own face, in order
to demonstrate, clearly, that she was not pining away.
The next letter was still more kindly expressed towards herself. Mrs.
Merton had read Walter's letter to her husband, and admitted that
his arguments were strong, but still she thought he might have been
contented with doing all the good he could in his own profession. She
sent him a very affectionate message, however, and Olive had no fear
but that, in course of time, he would be fully taken into favor again.
Charlotte's letter was concise and to the point, like almost every
thing she said. "You know very well that I do not pretend to be
governed by your motives, or even to understand them, always. But I
must say I think you have done right. You have acted consistently
with your own views and professions. If I believed as Walter does, I
should act just as he has done. I am sorry, on some accounts, that your
marriage is put off, but I think perhaps it will be as well in the end."
Olive thought so, too, and she settled herself to her work with fresh
patience and hopefulness, now that there was a chance of her seeing
something of the fruit of her labors. People gradually ceased talking
about it, and busied themselves with other matters, and by degrees
Olive became as much accustomed to the thought of spending her life in
a parsonage as though she had never had any other prospect before her.
"Aunt Dimsden was right," she said to herself, sometimes; "I shall be a
minister's wife, after all."
CHAPTER TWELFTH.
THE summer term passed rapidly, unmarked by any particularly startling
incident. The Basswoods people had become accustomed to the idea of
Olive's engagement and Walter's change of profession, and troubled
themselves very little more about the matter. The school prospered,
and was larger than usual in summer, and Olive had her hands full of
employment,—so full, indeed, that the trustees began seriously to talk
of giving her an assistant the next term.
Olive hoped it would not be necessary. She liked to have the management
in her own hands, and feared that some one might be appointed who would
not work with her, and might, perhaps, thwart her plans.
She was the more solicitous on this point, as she knew very well that
she had an enemy in the amiable Mrs. Tucker, who had never forgiven
the summary setting down of the sensitive and conscientious Melissa,
and who had never since hesitated to use all her influence against
Olive, both secretly and openly. She talked of mercenary motives, and
drew touching contrasts between people who taught only for money and
those who taught for the love of it, though who these last were, she
did not think it necessary to state. She intimated that Olive was fond
of society, and went out a great deal, that her connections in M.
were very fashionable people, that Miss McHenry paid a great deal of
attention to the manners of her pupils, and even advised them about
their dress, etc., etc.
Olive heard very little of these speeches, and troubled herself not at
all about them. She had early discovered Mrs. Tucker to be a meddling,
vulgar woman, very fond of having her own way, and considering herself
a model of solid education, though upon what she founded her claim it
would be difficult to say, except it were upon the fact of her having
no accomplishments.
The school was full, the girls loved her, and the trustees were quite
satisfied. Walter was every thing she had believed him to be, and now
she had kind friends, and her own relatives, if they did not entirely
approve of Walter's course, were at least satisfied with her. She was
happier than she had ever been before in all her life, and she would
have been quite happy, but for her constant feeling of anxiety about
Abby—an anxiety to which she could attach no definite shape, but which
haunted her continually, and made her heart beat fast at sight of a
letter with the B. post-mark.
After a longer interval than usual, she got a letter, saying that they
were at housekeeping, and that Abby liked it very well, "so far." The
next letter was not quite so cheerful. They had not a good girl, and
Abby had so much to do that she got tired to death. She supposed it was
all her own fault, in not knowing how, but thought if they could only
get competent servants, they would do better. She was very anxious to
have Olive stop and pay them a visit on her return to M., if not to
spend the whole vacation with them, and Olive fully intended to do so.
Olive, herself, was learning a good deal about work, from Ruth, who
excelled in all that constituted a good housekeeper. Every Saturday she
took a lesson in baking, and she felt more proud of her first fair,
light loaf of bread, than she had ever been of a fine drawing.
Aunt Merton, to whom she wrote an account of her exploits, commended
her highly for taking pains to acquire a practical knowledge of
such things—"a knowledge, my dear, which can never come amiss in
any station. At the same time, I can not but hope, notwithstanding
Mr. Landon's eccentric course, that you will never be placed in
circumstances which will render it necessary for you to bake your own
bread."
It was plain that aunt Rebecca had not quite forgiven Walter yet, for
what she considered his romantic folly. Yet Mrs. Merton regretted,
extremely, the great want of young men for the ministry, and was in
favor of having it made an especial object of prayer in the churches.
She admired, too, the heroism of missionaries, and gave liberally to
the cause.
Olive was not at all disturbed by her aunt's letter. She appreciated
the kindness, and only smiled at the inconsistency. She had learned
away from home, what, when at home, she had never fully realized—that,
taking them all in all, there were few better people in the world than
her uncle and aunt Merton. And many times did she feel herself shamed
and humiliated, as she looked back on her own conduct, and thought how
illy she had often requited their kindness.
The time sped on, and the summer term was near its close. Olive had
made all her preparations for the long vacation, and Walter had wound
up his business, except what had gone into the hands of his successor,
and was giving his whole attention to some preparatory studies, under
the direction of Mr. Gregory.
At the earnest petition of a number of the girls who had hitherto
considered themselves quite too old to go to Sunday-school, Olive had
taken a Bible-class, in which she found, both pleasure and profit.
Julia Goodrich stood at the head of this class, as she did at the head
of the day-school, side by side with her fast friend, Anna Jones. She
never missed a lesson, was apparently very much interested in the
information she acquired, and was regular in her attendance; yet Olive
could not flatter herself that she was making any decided impression
upon her. When the subject of personal piety was pressed upon her
attention, she treated it with respect, but frankly owned that she had
no interest in it, on her own account. She seemed to have an idea that
she should some time or other, be converted, without any special agency
of her own, and that all would be right, as a matter of course.
Olive was very much in doubt what to do with these girls during her
absence. She had asked, as a personal favor to herself, that they would
continue to meet, and they had promised to do so, but she could think
of no one to whom to commit the charge of the class. Augusta and Ruth
had their hands full, the one with the infant-school, the other with a
class of large boys from the country which she had taught for several
years.
She was talking the matter over with Augusta one day, when Mrs. Vander
Heyden came in. She was a pleasant woman, and rather remarkably
well-informed, and Olive had more than once thought of her. But as Mrs.
Vander Heyden had never had any thing to do with the school, she did
not venture to propose it.
In the course of conversation, however, it came out, incidentally, that
Olive was looking for some one to supply her place during her absence.
"If you will trust them to me, Miss McHenry," said Mrs. Vander Heyden,
"I will do as well as I can by them. I have very little experience in
teaching, but perhaps I can keep them together."
"I could ask nothing better," replied Olive, equally surprised and
pleased; "and I shall be very much obliged to you. I did not think of
asking you, as you have never been in Sunday-school."
Mrs. Vander Heyden sighed. "Perhaps I have been wrong in keeping
so much aloof from such things," said she, "but we have had such a
pleasant circle at home, and I found it so easy to occupy myself fully
there that I shrank from any thing which should take me out. We are
sadly broken up," she added, with a sigh.