HOW THINGS WENT ON AT HOME.
While Tom was slowly making his way westward, there was one place where
tidings from him were anxiously awaited, and where nightly prayers were
offered for his health and safe progress. Of course this was the dear,
though humble, farmhouse, which had been his home.
Twice a week Tom wrote, and his letters were cheerful and reassuring.
"Don't trouble yourself about me, dear mother"--he
wrote from Cincinnati. "I am making friends, and
learning how to travel. I feel years older, and
rely much more on myself than when, an inexperienced
boy, I bade you good-by. I am a thousand miles from
you, and the longest and most difficult part of the
journey lies before me; but with health and
strength, and prudence, I hope to arrive in good
condition at my destination. As to health I never
felt better in my life, and I have taken lessons in
prudence and caution which will be of essential
service to me. I have found that a boy who goes out
into the world to seek his fortune cannot trust
everybody he falls in with. He will find foes as
well as friends, and he will need to be on his
guard.
"I start to-morrow for St. Joseph, in Missouri,
going by way of St. Louis. Mr. Donald Ferguson, a
middle-aged Scotchman, is my companion. A younger
and livelier companion might prove more agreeable,
but perhaps not so safe. Mr. Ferguson is old
enough to be my father, and I shall be guided by
his judgment where my own is at fault. He is very
frugal, as I believe his countrymen generally are,
and that, of course, just suits me. I don't know
how long I shall be in reaching St. Joseph, but I
shall write you once or twice on the way. Give my
love to father, Sarah, Walter, and Harry, and keep
a great deal for yourself.
"Your loving son,
"TOM."
"Tom is growing manly, Mary," said Mark Nelson to his wife. "It's doing
him good to see a little of the world."
"I suppose it is, Mark," said his wife; "but the more I think of it the
more I feel that he is very young to undertake such a long journey
alone."
"He is young, but it will make a man of him."
"He must be having a tip-top time," said Walter; "I wish I were with
him."
"You would be more of a hindrance than a help to him, Walter," said Mark
Nelson.
"You are only a child, you know," said Sarah, in an elder-sister tone.
"What do you call yourself?" retorted Walter. "You are only two years
older than I am."
"Girls always know more than boys of the same age," said Sarah
condescendingly. "Besides, I haven't said anything about going out to
California."
"No, I should think not. A girl that's afraid of a mouse had better stay
at home."
Walter referred to an incident of the day previous, when the sudden
appearance of a mouse threw Sarah into a panic.
"Are there any mouses in California?" asked little Harry, with interest.
"If there are I could carry a cat with me," returned Sarah
good-humoredly.
Mark Nelson, though he felt Tom was a boy to be trusted, did ask himself
occasionally whether he had been wise in permitting him to leave home
under the circumstances. Suppose he continued in health, there were
doubts of his success. His golden dreams might not be realized. The two
hundred dollars which he had raised for Tom might be lost, and bring in
no return; and this would prove a serious loss to Mark, hampered as he
was already by a heavy mortgage on his farm. Would Squire Hudson be
forbearing, if ill-luck came? This was a question he could not answer.
He only knew that such was not the squire's reputation.
"Well, Mr. Nelson, what do you hear from Tom," asked the squire, one day
about this time. "How far is he on his way?"
"We received a letter from Cincinnati yesterday. He then was about
starting for St. Joseph."
"Does he seem to enjoy the journey?"
"He writes in excellent spirits. He says he has met with good friends."
"Indeed! How does his money hold out?"
"He does not speak of that."
"Oh, well, I dare say he is getting along well;" and the squire walked
on.
"Does he feel interested in Tom, or not?" queried Mark Nelson, as he
looked thoughtfully after the squire, as he walked on with stately
steps, leaning slightly on his gold-headed cane. He might have been
enlightened on this point, if he could have heard a conversation, later
in the day, between Squire Hudson and his son Sinclair.
"I saw Mark Nelson this morning," he observed at the supper table.
"Has he heard from Tom?"
"Yes; his son wrote him from Cincinnati."
"I wish I could go to Cincinnati," grumbled Sinclair; "I think I have a
better right to see the world than Tom Nelson."
"All in good time, my son. Tom is not traveling for pleasure."
"Still, he is getting the pleasure."
"He will have to work hard when he reaches California. Probably he won't
have a cent left when he gets there."
"What will he do then?"
"He must earn money."
"Do you think he will do well, father?"
"He may, and then again he may not," answered the squire judicially.
"If he don't, how is he going to pay you back the money you lent him?"
"I always thought your father was foolish to lend his money to a boy
like that," said Mrs. Hudson querulously.
"Women know nothing about business," said the squire, with an air of
superior wisdom.
"Sometimes men don't know much," retorted his wife.
"If you refer to me, Mrs. Hudson," said her husband, "you need have no
anxiety. I did not lend the money to the boy, but to his father."
"That isn't much better. Everybody knows that Mark Nelson has all that
he can do to get along. His wife hasn't had a new dress for years."
The squire's face grew hard and stern. He had never loved his wife, and
never forgiven Mrs. Nelson, whom he had loved as much as he was capable
of doing, for refusing his hand.
"She has made her bed and she must lie upon it," he said curtly. "She
might have known that Mark Nelson would never be able to provide for
her."
"Perhaps she never had any other offer," said Mrs. Hudson, who was
ignorant of a certain passage of her husband's life.
"Probably she did, for she was a very pretty girl."
"Then she's faded," said Mrs. Hudson, tossing her head.
Squire Hudson did not reply; but as his eyes rested on the sharp,
querulous face of his helpmate, and he compared it mentally with the
pleasant face of Mrs. Nelson, he said to himself that, faded or not, the
latter was still better looking than his wife had been in the days of
her youth. Of course it would not do to say so, for Mrs. Hudson was not
amiable.
"Mark Nelson has given me security," said the squire, returning to the
point under discussion. "I hold a mortgage on his farm for the whole
amount he owes me."
"Do you think you shall have to foreclose, father?" asked Sinclair.
"If Tom does not succeed in California, I probably shall," said the
squire.
"Do you think he will succeed?"
"He may be able to make a living, but I don't think he will be able to
help his father any."
"Then why did you lend him the money?"
"He wanted to go, and was willing to take the risk. I lent the money as
a business operation."
"Suppose Mr. Nelson loses his farm, what will he do?" inquired Sinclair.
"I really don't know," answered the squire, shrugging his shoulders.
"That is no concern of mine."
"Tom wouldn't put on so many airs if his father had to go to the
poorhouse," said Sinclair.
"Does he put on airs?"
"He seems to think he is as good as I am," said Squire Hudson's heir.
"That is perfectly ridiculous," said Mrs. Hudson. "The boy must be a
fool."
"He is no fool," said the squire, who did not allow prejudice to carry
him so far as his wife and son. "He is a boy of very fair abilities; but
I apprehend he will find it harder to make his fortune than he
anticipated. However, time will show."
"Most likely he'll come home in rags, and grow up a day-laborer," said
Sinclair complacently. "When I'm a rich man I'll give him work. He won't
feel like putting on airs, then."
"What a good heart Sinclair has!" said Mrs. Hudson admiringly.
Squire Hudson said nothing. Possibly the goodness of his son's heart was
not so manifest to him.