INTRODUCING THE HERO
If my young readers do not find the town of Waverley on the map of Ohio,
they may conclude that it was too small to attract the notice of the
map-makers. The village is small, consisting of about a dozen houses,
a church, a schoolhouse, and, as a matter of course, one of that
well-known class of stores in which everything required for the family
is sold, from a dress-pattern to a pound of sugar. Outside of the
village there are farmhouses, surrounded by broad acres, which keep them
at respectable distances from each other, like the feudal castles of
the Middle Ages. The land is good, and the farmers are thrifty and
well-to-do; but probably the whole town contains less than a thousand
inhabitants.
In one of the houses, near the church, lived Dr. Kent, whose letter has
already been referred to. He was a skillful physician, and a very worthy
man, who would have been very glad to be benevolent if his limited
practice had supplied him with the requisite means. But chance had
directed him to a healthy and sparsely-settled neighborhood, where he
was able only to earn a respectable livelihood, and indeed found himself
compelled to economize at times where he would have liked to indulge
himself in expense.
When Mrs. Mason died it was found that the sale of her furniture barely
realized enough to defray the expenses of her funeral. Herbert, her only
son, was left wholly unprovided for. Dr. Kent, knowing that he had a
rich uncle in New York, undertook to communicate to him the position in
which his nephew had been left, never doubting that he would cheerfully
extend a helping hand to him. Meanwhile he invited Herbert to come to
his house and make it his home till his uncle should send for him.
Herbert was a handsome, well-grown boy of fourteen, and a general
favorite in the village. While his mother lived he had done all he could
to lighten her tasks, and he grieved deeply for her loss now that she
was gone. His father had ten years before failed in business in the city
of New York, and, in a fit of depression, had emigrated to this obscure
country village, where he had invested the few hundred dollars remaining
to him in a farm, from which he was able to draw a scanty income.
Being a man of liberal education, he had personally superintended the
education of his son till his death, two years before, so that Herbert's
attainments were considerably in advance of those of other boys of his
age in the neighborhood. He knew something of Latin and French, which
made him looked upon as quite a model of learning by his playmates.
After his father's death he had continued the daily study of the
languages, so that he was able to read ordinary French with nearly as
much ease as if it were English. Though studious, he was not a bookworm,
but was distinguished in athletic sports popular with boys of his age.
Enough has been said of our hero by way of introduction. Herbert's
faults and virtues will appear as the record of his adventures is
continued. It may be hinted only that, while he was frank, manly, and
generous in his disposition, he was proud and high-spirited also, and
perhaps these qualities were sometimes carried to excess. He would not
allow himself to be imposed upon if he could help it. Being strong for
his age, he was always able to maintain his rights, but never abused his
strength by making it the instrument of tyrannizing over weaker boys.
Of course Herbert felt somewhat anxious as to his future prospects. He
knew that the doctor had written to his Uncle Benjamin about him, and he
hoped that he might be sent for to New York, having a great curiosity to
see the city, of which he had heard so much.
“Have you heard from my uncle, Dr. Kent?” he inquired, a few days after
the scene recorded in our first chapter.
His question was prompted by seeing the doctor coming into the yard with
an open letter in his hand.
“Yes,” said Dr. Kent, with troubled expression and perplexed took.
“What does Uncle Benjamin say?” asked our young hero, eagerly.
“Nothing very encouraging, Herbert, I am sorry to say,” returned the
doctor. “However, here is the letter; you may read it for yourself.”
Herbert received the letter from the doctor's hands and read it through
with feelings of mortification and anger.
Here it is:
“DEAR SIR: I have to acknowledge yours of the 10th inst. I regret to
hear of my sister's decease. I regret, also, to hear that her son,
Herbert, is left without a provision for his support. My brother-in-law
I cannot but consider culpable in neglecting to lay up something during
his life upon which his widow and son might depend. I suspect that he
must have lived with inconsiderate extravagance.
“As for myself, I have a family of my own to provide for, and the
expense of living in a city like this is very great. In justice to them,
I do not feel that it would be right for me to incur extra expense. You
tell me that he is now fourteen and a stout boy. He is able, I should
think, to earn his own living. I should recommend that he be bound out
to a farmer or mechanic. To defray any little expenses that may arise, I
enclose ten dollars, which I hope he may find serviceable. Yours etc.,
“BENJAMIN STANTON.”
This cold and selfish letter Herbert read with rising color, and a
feeling of bitterness found a place in his young heart, which was quite
foreign to him.
“Well, Herbert, what do you think of it?” asked the doctor.
“I think,” said Herbert, hotly, “that I don't want to have anything to
do with an uncle who could write such a letter as that.”
“He doesn't seem to write with much feeling.” acknowledged the doctor.
“Feeling!” repeated Herbert; “he writes as if I were a beggar, and asked
charity. Where is the money he inclosed, Dr. Kent?”
“I have it here in my vest pocket. I was afraid it would slip out of the
letter, and so took care of it.”
“Will you let me send it back to my uncle?” asked Herbert.
“Send it back?”
“Yes, Dr. Kent; I don't want any of his charity, and I'll tell him so.”
“I am afraid, Herbert, that you are giving way to your pride.”
“But isn't it a proper pride, doctor?”
“I hardly know what to say, Herbert. You must remember, however, that,
as you are left quite unprovided for, even this small sum may be of use
to you.”
“It isn't the smallness of the sum that I mind,” said Herbert. “If Uncle
Benjamin had written a kind letter, or showed the least feeling in it
for me, or for--for mother [his voice faltered a moment], I would have
accepted it thankfully. But I couldn't accept money thrown at me in
that way. He didn't want to give it to me, I am sure, and wouldn't if he
hadn't felt obliged to.”
Dr. Kent paced the room thoughtfully. He respected Herbert's feelings,
but he saw that it was not wise for him to indulge them. He was in a
dependent situation, and it was to be feared that he would have much to
suffer in time to come from the coldness and selfishness of the world.
“I will tell you what to do, Herbert,” he said, after a while. “You can
accept this money as a loan, and repay it when you are able.”
“With interest?”
“Yes, with interest, if you prefer it.”
“I shall be willing to accept it on those terms,” said Herbert; “but I
want my uncle to understand it.”
“You may write to your uncle to that effect, if you like.”
“Very well, Dr. Kent. Then I will write to him at once.”
“You will find some paper in my desk, Herbert. I suppose you will not
object to my seeing your letter.”
“No, doctor, I intended to show it to you. You won't expect me to show
much gratitude, I hope?”
“I won't insist upon it, Herbert,” said the doctor, smiling.
Herbert in about half an hour submitted the following note to the
doctor's inspection. It had cost him considerable thought to determine
how to express himself, but he succeeded at last to his tolerable
satisfaction.
“UNCLE BENJAMIN [so the letter commenced]: Dr. Kent has just shown
me your reply to his letter about me. You seem to think I wish you to
support me, which is not the case. All I should have asked was your
influence to help me in obtaining a situation in the city, where I
might support myself. I am willing to work, and shall probably find some
opportunity here. The ten dollars, which you inclose, I will accept AS
A LOAN, and will repay you as soon as I am able, WITH INTEREST. HERBERT
MASON.”
“Will that do?” asked Herbert.
Dr. Kent smiled.
“You were careful not to express any gratitude, Herbert,” he said.
“Because I don't feel any,” returned Herbert, promptly. “I feel grateful
to you, Dr. Kent, for your great kindness. I wish I could pay you for
that. I shall never forget how you attended my mother in her sickness,
when there was small prospect of your being paid.”
“My dear boy,” said the doctor, resting his hand affectionately on
Herbert's shoulder, “I have been able to do but very little. I wish I
could do more. If you wish to repay me, you can do it a hundred times
over by growing up a good and honorable man; one upon whom your mother
in heaven can look down with grateful joy, if it is permitted her to
watch your progress here.”
“I will do my best, doctor,” said Herbert.
“The world is all before you,” proceeded Dr. Kent. “You may not achieve
a brilliant destiny. It is permitted to few to do that. But whether your
sphere is wide or narrow, you may exert an influence for good, AND LEAVE
THE WORLD BETTER FOR YOUR HAVING LIVED IN IT.”
“I hope it may be so,” said Herbert, thoughtfully. “When I am tempted to
do wrong, I will think of my mother.”
“It is the very best thing you can do, Herbert. And now for your plans.
I wish I were in a situation to have you remain with me. But as that
cannot be, I will do my best to get you a place.”
“I ought to be at work,” said Herbert, “as I have my living to get. I
want you to take that ten dollars, doctor, as part payment of the debt I
owe you.”
The doctor shook his head.
“I can't do that, Herbert, not even to oblige you. You were too proud
to accept a favor from your uncle. You will not be too proud, I hope, to
accept one from me?”
“No, doctor; I am not too proud for that. You are my friend, and my
uncle cares nothing for me.”
When Herbert's letter reached New York, his uncle felt a momentary
shame, for he saw that his nephew had rightfully interpreted his own
selfishness and lack of feeling, and he could not help involuntarily
admiring the independent spirit which would not allow him to accept
the proffered money, except as a loan. But mingled with his shame was a
feeling of relief, as he foresaw that Herbert's pride would not suffer
him to become a burden upon him in the future. He hardly expected ever
to see the ten dollars returned with interest; but even if he lost it,
he felt that he should be getting off cheap.