WE must now ask our readers to pass hastily over a period of about two
years, during which time nothing particularly worthy of notice occurred
to our hero and heroine.
Robert continued to live at the Doctor's, going to school in winter
and working in the garden in summer, and employing all his spare
moments in study and reading. He had been steady so long that scarcely
any one remembered his having been any thing else, and if his former
delinquencies were spoken of, it was only as a striking proof, that no
one, however unpromising, ought to be considered quite hopeless.
He made rapid progress in all his studies, and became extremely fond of
every department of natural science, especially chemistry, and during
the last winter of his stay in school, he was able to render essential
service to the chemical professor in preparing his experiments. He
had taken a class in Sunday-school, and was a faithful and successful
teacher, being particularly earnest in visiting and instructing those
of his class, (and there were several such,) whose condition at all
resembled that of his own early life; for though others might forget
his former circumstances, Robert himself never did, and he often
spoke to Mr. Ellison of the morning when he first went to work in the
parsonage garden.
"That morning," said he one day, "was the beginning of all that was
good in me."
Celia still lived at Mrs. Dennison's, but more as a daughter than a
servant. She had thought and talked a little of going to learn the
trade of dressmaking, for which she had a special aptness, but Mrs.
Dennison seemed so grieved at the idea of parting with her that she
gave it up, and remained very contentedly on the farm. She could now
fearlessly undertake the whole business of churning, and do it as well
as Auntie Dennison herself, besides being remarkably skillful in all
the finer arts of cookery, for which Mrs. Dennison had always been
renowned.
By dint of constant painstaking, she had become extremely neat in her
work as well as in her person, and Aunt Nancy declared that she was the
only "young gal" she ever saw who could do up a plain muslin cap as it
ought to be; even Jane herself could not make them look as well. She
had, moreover, acquired very sweet and winning manners, and though not
what is called accomplished, she was sufficiently well-educated. She
had grown-up into a tall handsome girl, and was beginning to attract a
good deal of attention from the young men in the neighborhood, several
of whom began to manifest such a deep interest in Mr. Dennison's
high-bred cattle and improved stables, that it was quite remarkable to
see them.
Her first offer was from poor Hewson, whose wife never recovered
from the injuries she received by her unlucky fall into the cistern,
but died three months after the accident. Her husband was quite
disconsolate, and indeed entirely inconsolable at first. But by
degrees, as the poignancy of his grief abated, he found out that his
house was even more uncomfortable than usual, and beginning to look out
for a successor to his lost partner, he cast his eyes upon Celia, not
in the least doubting that she would, as he elegantly expressed it,
"jump at the chance of getting a good-looking husband, and a home, of
her own."
Accordingly, he began to spend long evenings at Mr. Dennison's, much to
the discomfort of Celia, who could not imagine what he came for, as he
never seemed to have any thing to say, and to the mingled amusement and
annoyance of Mrs. Dennison, who, as she said, saw plainly enough which
way the wind blew. When Mr. Hewson at last made his offer to Celia,
which he did in the shape of a letter, written on green paper, with a
pink envelope, she could hardly understand what he meant, and carried
the epistle to Mrs. Dennison, who happened to be engaged in skimming
milk in the cheese-room.
"I have got the queerest letter here, Auntie," she said. "It is from
Mr. Hewson, and I don't know what to make of it at all. He seems to
want me to come and live with him. I wonder if he is going to be
married?"
Mrs. Dennison rested the skimming-dish on the edge of the pan and took
the letter.
"You little goose," she exclaimed, laughing heartily as she read it,
"don't you see into it? The man wants you to marry him yourself."
Celia opened her eyes in blank amazement and read the letter again, and
as the truth dawned upon her, she sat down upon an empty butter firkin,
and laughed till she cried.
"It is a serious matter, Celia," said Auntie Dennison, at last, wiping
her eyes and taking breath; "I am surprised to see you laugh so. Only
think of the advantages Mr. Hewson offers you—a nice house all ready to
go into, and plenty of furniture to begin house-keeping with."
"And a nice open cistern, all ready to tumble into whenever I pleased,"
continued Celia; "I don't believe he has made a cover to it yet."
"He has not, I know, for I noticed it the other day. Well, Celia,
my dear, I have no desire to part with you, and if you want to get
married, I have no kind of doubt that you can do better by waiting a
little; but, however, you must decide for yourself. Perhaps you had
better consult Robert about it."
"Dear me, no! He would never leave off laughing at me in the world.
But what do you think I had better do about it? I am sure I can never
answer him with a straight face."
"You don't mean to have him, then, I conclude?"
Celia held up her hands in horror. "The idea of my having any body. I
think I will wait till I get my growth first. I had to let the tucks
out of my frock yesterday. I wish you would ask Mr. Dennison to speak
to him about it, for I am sure I never can."
Mr. Dennison accordingly informed Mr. Hewson that Celia was much
obliged to him for his offer; but she did not want to leave her home,
and considered herself quite too young to think of matrimony yet.
"Just as she likes," replied the lover, philosophically, "'taint every
girl that has such a chance to get a house of her own. But it's just my
luck; I always was the most unfortunate of mortals. Every thing goes
against me. Well, it is more her loss than mine, that's one comfort."
Mr. Dennison did not think so, but he kept his opinion to himself,
feeling it quite a comfort to be relieved of Mr. Hewson's company, who
went quietly on his way as before.
We may as well say here, for the information of those who have taken an
interest in that "lone and lorn" individual, that he found some one to
have him. About three months after Celia's refusal, he married a widow,
a little, thin, dried-up woman, with a tongue that ran unceasingly,
and a love of neatness and order that amounted to an absolute passion.
Under her hands, the house and farm soon assumed a new aspect, the
cistern was covered, the doors mended, the house cleaned, and Mr.
Hewson was seen going about his work with more swiftness and purpose
than ever he had done before. His wife's tongue was sharp as well as
swift, and her will unconquerable, and he soon found that if he meant
to have any peace at all, he must, as she expressed it, toe the mark.
But this complete revolutionizing was quite too much for him, and he
died two years after his second marriage.
Robert was now nineteen, a tall, well-grown young man, with a tolerably
good education, and very agreeable, gentlemanly manners. He was quite
one of the family at the Doctor's, who would have been much at a loss
what to do without him. He now began to think seriously of his future
prospects, and to consider what he was going to make himself. He felt
that he could not bind himself down to any mechanical occupation,
however respectable and necessary, while all his tastes led him to
incline towards the study of medicine. He had always hoped that Dr.
George would offer to take him into the office, but he had not yet done
so, and Robert did not like to speak first. He would have given a great
deal to be able to go through college, but he could not see his way at
all in that direction, though he tried very hard.
The more he thought, the more bewildered he grew, and his perplexity
really began to affect his health and spirits, though remembering the
comforting promise, "Commit thy way unto Him and he will bring it to
pass," he strove to wait in patience for its fulfillment.
Dr. Huntley saw his trouble and guessed the cause of it, and with
characteristic kindness, he determined to try and clear his path for
him. Their first conversation on the subject took place, as did all
their confidential talks, as they were driving together in the country.
"How old are you, Robert?" asked the Doctor, by way of opening the
subject.
"Past nineteen, sir. I was nineteen two months ago."
"And you have been with me more than three years. It hardly seems
longer ago than yesterday that you first came to work in my garden. But
you have done and learned a great deal in that time."
"Yes, sir, thanks to you!"
"Well, you are old enough to think what you are going to do with
yourself."
"So I think myself; sir," replied Robert.
"Which way are you looking—towards a profession or a trade?"
"I am rather thinking of a profession, sir."
"So I supposed," said the Doctor; "and what profession do you
prefer?—For I presume you have made up your mind."
"I should prefer the study of medicine, sir. I have always had a strong
inclination for it, ever since I began to think about such things."
The Doctor smiled kindly. "That is as I hoped, Robert; for although
I would not for a moment oppose your taking up any other respectable
occupation, but on the contrary I would further your wishes as far as I
was able, yet I do not feel as though I wanted to part with you at all.
You see I take it for granted that you mean to study with me."
"Of course, sir," replied Robert. "I hope you do not imagine that I
would think of going to any one else. If you will take me into your
office, it will be the height—that is—" said he, correcting himself,
"it will be the accomplishment of one of my dearest wishes."
"But not the height of your ambition, eh?" said the Doctor, noticing
the correction. "Come, now, be frank, for I know there is something
behind, and tell me what is the height of your desires."
Robert hesitated, colored, and then with his eyes steadfastly fixed
on his horse's ears, he said: "I have thought I should like to go to
college, sir."
"Whew!" whistled the Doctor. "Go to college, eh? I had never thought of
that. Then you don't think you have learned quite enough yet, it seems."
"Why, no, sir. If I had thought so, I should not have wanted to study
medicine."
"Well, that is true. You know, I suppose, that it would take you four
years to go through."
"I think not, sir. I was talking to Philip Myers about it yesterday,
and I find I know enough already to enter the Sophomore Class, so there
is one year off."
"True; that shortens the time, and of course lessens the expense
considerably. I suppose you think you would be a better doctor for
reading Greek tragedies and all else that people do at college."
"I do not know about that, Doctor, but I think I should feel better
satisfied with myself, and as I have often heard you say, no knowledge
can come amiss in any station, though Mr. Mandeville does think that no
man can make good shoes who understands geometry."
"Mr. Mandeville is a gosling!" said the Doctor, in a parenthesis.
"And beside all that, it seems to me to be a duty to learn all one can.
Then, if the heart is right, the more knowledge a man possesses, the
more good he can do in the world, as I have often heard you say."
"I must be careful what I say, if I am to be quoted to such an extent,"
said the Doctor, smiling. "Well, Robert, my boy, I like your ideas on
the subject very well. But we must take into consideration the ways
and means. You know it will take a good deal of money to go through
college; how do you propose to get it?"
"That is just where I do not see my way, sir," replied Robert somewhat
sadly. "If I had a trade, I could make my way by that; but I have none,
and I am afraid I could not earn enough by gardening."
"I should think not, but what do you say to teaching school? A great
many young men do that."
"I never thought of it, sir. It did not occur to me that I could teach
school."
"It is, however, a very common way of getting through, and, I think, a
very good one. It gives a man confidence in himself, reveals to him the
extent of his own resources, and is moreover an excellent discipline
for acquiring exactness, patience, and steadiness of temper, three
things, let me tell you, very essential to a physician."
"I am afraid I do not know enough to teach school."
"Why not? You understand very thoroughly arithmetic, grammar, and
geography, which are the main things to be taught, and you possess
another qualification very necessary to the government of children,
namely, very quiet, gentlemanly manners. What, then, should hinder you
from teaching a district-school successfully?"
"I do not know, except that I never thought of it."
"Then, if you do not entirely pay your way," continued his friend, "the
college authorities are always ready to give credit to promising young
men until they make enough to pay for their education. I have known it
done in several cases."
"I don't think I should like that as well, sir. I have always had a
perfect horror of running in debt ever since you first helped me out of
mine to poor Child's. I should not study with any comfort unless I knew
I was paying my way."
"Still, if we can not do as we will, we must do as we can, you know.
But we will keep the matter in mind, Robert, and I am sure some way
will present itself."
The evening of the day on which this conversation occurred, Mr.
Vanderburgh and his wife dropped in to spend the evening at the
Doctor's. Mr. Vanderburgh had quite given up his persuasion that Robert
would come to the gallows, and had become very fond of him.
"Well, and how is Bob getting on?" he inquired in the course of the
evening. "He must be pretty nearly ready to begin life for himself, I
should think. And what does he mean to do, eh?—For I suppose you are in
his confidence of course."
"He is going to study medicine," replied the Doctor; "but he has set
his heart upon going to college first."
"To college, eh? He is an aspiring young man. To college—well, it is
natural enough, too, but who would have thought of it three years ago?
It's a world of changes, ain't it?"
"It certainly is," replied the Doctor; "there is no denying it. I only
wish all the changes were as much for the better as Robert's. He is
very anxious to finish his education, and I am equally desirous to have
him do so, if we can only manage the pecuniary part of the matter."
"How could he do it?" asked Mrs. Vanderburgh. "It costs a good deal,
first and last."
"He might make his way by teaching school I presume. To be sure, he
would have to work very hard, but not harder than a great many young
men; and he has the great advantage of perfect health, a cheerful
temperament, and most indomitable perseverance. I spoke to him of
getting credit for his tuition till he should have finished his medical
studies and got into practice, but he has such a horror of running in
debt, that he will not hear of it."
"And very right too, in my opinion," said Mr. Vanderburgh. "It is a bad
thing, a very discouraging thing for a young man to begin the world
in debt. And yet he wants to go to college, and ought to go, too," he
continued, musingly, turning his spectacles round and round, and wiping
them with his handkerchief, as was his custom when he was meditating.
"You say he has made good use of his advantages thus far—was a good
scholar at the academy, eh?"
"Whitney says he never had a better," returned Doctor George, "and he
always tells plain truth, you know."
Mr. Vanderburgh stopped wiping his spectacles, put them on, and then
pushed them up on his forehead; by which signs, those who knew his ways
saw that his musings had arrived at a happy termination. "I am thinking
of a plan for him," said he, "which I think will be just the thing, but
I don't know what you will say to it."
"I shall know when I hear it," replied the Doctor; "and at any rate he
will thank you for taking an interest in his affairs, for no kindness
is lost on him."
"Or on his sister," remarked Mrs. Huntley; "they are certainly two very
fine young people."
"This is my plan, then," began Mr. Vanderburgh. "You know, I suppose,
that I have a scholarship in B— University?"
"Yes!"
"Well, I have always meant to reserve it for Jack, thinking to make a
lawyer of him, and I confess I had quite set my heart on it. But now
that he is old enough to make up his mind, Jack don't like the idea at
all, and says he wants to be an engineer, like his uncle Gordon, who
will be very glad to take him. I would a little rather have him study
law; but after all, he has a genius for mathematics, and his health is
much better when he is out of doors, as he says himself. If he were
an idle lad, who only wanted to take up an outdoor life to get rid of
work, I would not hear of it; but that isn't the case, for though he
is my own boy, I will say for him, that a better or more faithful lad
never lived. And though he is quite set on this engineering scheme, he
says he will give it up and study law if I say so. But I don't want
to cross his inclinations unnecessarily, and I have about come to the
conclusion to let him have his own way. Then there is my scholarship of
no use to me, eh?"
"Well!" said the Doctor, beginning to see into his brother-in-law's
idea.
"Well, I am bound to fill it, at some rate, you see, and get the worth
of my money. Now here is Robert, a good steady young man, who has made
great efforts to render himself respectable and get a good education,
and he wants to go to college. Now, what can I do better than to put
this same steady, industrious young man into my scholarship, eh?" And
Mr. Vanderburgh flourished his white handkerchief, as who should say:
"See how clever I am! Now, you would never have thought of that!"
"He will be greatly obliged to you, William, and so, I am sure, shall
I," said Dr. George, shaking his brother-in-law's hand heartily. "I
could not feel the kindness more, if it were my own boy."
"Nor I," added Mrs. Huntley. "It will be good news to him, poor fellow,
for he has been quite in despair about his prospects lately."
"Tut! Tut!" said Mr. Vanderburgh, returning his brother's pressure of
the hand. "That isn't any thing; I should have been glad to have any
one do as much for me when I was a poor boy. But you think this will
answer his purpose?"
"Admirably," replied the Doctor. "He would not wish for any thing
better. Now he will have nothing to provide for but his board and
clothes, which he can easily do without any more hard work than is good
for him. I can not speak for a certainty, to be sure, but I think I may
safely say, William, that you will never repent of your kindness."
"Oh! I never expect to. If the boy does not turn out well, (but he
will,) I may be sorry that the advantages were thrown away on him, but
I shan't be sorry that I have done him the kindness. Not at all! I
believe I never did that. Well, if you all approve the plan, suppose we
call the young man in and communicate the matter."
Robert was according summoned, and Mr. Vanderburgh explained his
projects with certain rhetorical flourishes, which would have brought
a smile to the Doctor's face but for the respect which he felt for his
brother-in-law's kindness.
Robert listened in silence till Mr. Vanderburgh had finished, and then
as that gentleman paused for a reply, he said in a low and faltering
voice: "I am very much obliged to you, sir, for your kindness, and I
will try—" His feelings entirely overcame him, and he burst into tears.
"Come, come, Bob, you mustn't be hysterical," said Mr. Vanderburgh,
while his own eyes glistened. "I owe you something, you know, to pay
for prophesying such a sad end to you so many times. So you think it
will suit you, eh?"
"I am sure, sir, I don't know what to say, except that I am very much
obliged to you," said Robert, recovering himself a little. "It is just
what I wanted. I have had it so very much at heart, but I could not
see my way through. I hope I shall be able to repay you some day, as
well as all the other friends, who have been so kind to me. I—I am not
a good hand at expressing myself, sir, but I hope you will understand
what I mean to say."
"Perfectly well, Robert, perfectly well, my boy! No occasion to say any
more, I assure you."
"And since you wish to make some present proof of your gratitude, you
may do it by cracking a basket of butter-nuts and bringing them in,"
said Mrs. Huntley, who saw that Robert would be glad of an excuse to
escape from the parlor.
He left the room accordingly; but before going for the nuts, he
ascended to his own apartment, and there poured out his whole soul in
thankfulness for the good conferred upon him—a good so much beyond his
highest expectations, and dedicated solemnly to the service of God
those talents which He had given with the means to improve them.
When he returned to the parlor, he had quite regained his composure,
and was able to enter calmly and soberly into the conversation on his
plans and prospects. So the matter was settled. He was to go in two
or three weeks to B., to be present at the commencement, to pass his
examination, and to find a suitable boarding-place.
Celia was almost as much delighted with her brother's prospects as he
was himself, and the brother and sister made a great many pleasant
plans as they talked the matter over.
Little Mark felt at first rather dissatisfied that Bob should go to
college and be a doctor while he should be only a shoemaker. But upon
his "Boss" representing to him that people wanted shoes as much as
they wanted medicine, and that moreover there was nothing in the world
to prevent his studying what he pleased as soon as he had finished
learning his trade, and being besides presented with the Lives of
Celebrated Shoemakers by Robert, he became quite contented with his
lot, and wished his brother all success, promising to make a pair of
boots for him by the time he left college.
We have for some time heard nothing from Mr. Merritt. He was now a
permanent inmate of the county hospital, having been disabled, soon
after his wife's death, by a stroke of the palsy, which considerably
affected his mind. He was still able to use his hands a little, and
was employed in various small matters about the house. Robert went
frequently to see him and carry him some little luxury or indulgence
not furnished by the institution; his father always seeming glad to see
him, and taking a great deal of pride in his being such a well-dressed,
handsome young man. He had now and then fits of violence, when it
became necessary to confine him for a short time, but in general he was
gentle and happy, seeming to have quite forgotten his former way of
life, and never expressing any desire to return to it. It was rather
painful to the children to have their father dependent on public
charity in any degree, but they feared if he were taken away from the
restraints of the hospital and placed in the midst of familiar things,
his old appetite would return; so they contented themselves with
clothing him out of their earnings, and doing what else they could for
him where he was.
Robert went with Dr. Huntley to B. to attend the commencement, and
after passing an excellent examination, entered his name as a member
of the Sophomore Class. He had some trouble in finding a suitable
boarding-place, but at last succeeded in engaging a room with a widow
lady, who supported herself and her daughters by taking boarders. His
vacation was employed partly in study and partly in hard work in the
garden, and as harvest-hand for Mr. Dennison, by which means, as men
were scarce and wages high, he increased considerably his stock of
ready money, besides having the pleasure of spending two or three weeks
with Celia. At the end of the vacation, he departed for B., and was
soon deeply engaged in his studies, and gaining great credit, both as a
bright scholar and a steady, well-conducted young man.