Hills of the Shatemuc Part 4

"Of the things which really last, sir, -- the things which belong to the _mind_ -- things which have to do with something besides the labour of to-day and the labour of to-morrow."

"The labour of to-day and the labour of to-morrow are pretty necessary though," said his father dryly; "we must eat, in the first place. You must keep the body alive before the mind can do much -- at least I have found it so in my own experience."

"But you don't think the less of the other kind of work, sir, do you?" said Winthrop looking up; -- "when one can get at it?"

"No, my boy," said the father, -- "no, Governor; no man thinks more highly of it than I do. It has always been my desire that you and Will should be better off in this respect than I have ever been; -- my great desire; and I haven't given it up, neither."

A little silence of all parties.

"What are the things which 'really last,' Rufus?" said his mother.

Rufus made some slight and not very direct answer, but the question set Winthrop to thinking.

He thought all the evening; or rather thought and fancy took a kind of whirligig dance, where it was hard to tell which was which. Visions of better opportunities than his father ever had; -- of reaching a n.o.bler scale of being than his own early life had promised him; -- of higher walks than his young feet had trod: they made his heart big. There came the indistinct possibility of raising up with him the little sister he held in his arms, not to the life of toil which their mother had led, but to some airy unknown region of cultivation and refinement and elegant leisure; -- hugely unknown, and yet surely laid hold of by the mind's want. But though fancy saw her for a moment in some strange travestie of years and education and circ.u.mstances, that was only a flash of fancy -- not dwelt upon. Other thoughts were more near and pressing, though almost as vague. In vain he endeavoured to calculate expenses that he did not know, wants that he could not estimate, difficulties that loomed up with no certain outline, means that were far beyond ken. It was but confusion; except his purpose, clear and steady as the sun, though as yet it lighted not the way but only the distant goal; _that_ was always in sight. And under all these thoughts, little looked at yet fully recognized, his mother's question; and a certain security that _she_ had that which would 'really last.' He knew it. And oddly enough, when he took his candle from her hand that night, Winthrop, though himself no believer unless with head belief, thanked G.o.d in his heart that his mother was a Christian.

Gradually the boys disclosed their plan; or rather the elder of the boys; for Winthrop being so much the younger, for the present was content to be silent. But their caution was little needed. Rufus was hardly more ready to go than his parents were to send him, -- if they could; and in their case, as in his, the lack of power was made up by will. Rufus should have an education. He should go to College. Not more cheerfully on his part than on theirs the necessary privations were met, the necessary penalty submitted to. The son should stand on better ground than the father, though the father were himself the stepping-stone that he might reach it.

It had nothing to do with Winthrop, all this. Nothing was said of him. To send one son to College was already a great stretch of effort, and of possibility; to send _two_ was far beyond both. n.o.body thought of it. Except the one left out of their thoughts.

The summer pa.s.sed in the diligent companionship of the oxen and Sam Doolittle. But when the harvests were gathered, and the fall work was pretty well done; the winter grain in the ground, and the November winds rustling the dry leaves from the trees, -- the strongest branch was parted from the family tree, in the hope that it might take root and thrive better on its own stock elsewhere. It was cheerfully done, all round.

The father took bravely the added burden with the lessened means; the mother gave her strength and her eyesight to make the needed preparations; and to supply the means for them, all pinched themselves; and Winthrop had laid upon him the threefold charge of his own, his brother's, and his father's duty. For Mr. Landholm had been chosen a member of the State Legislature; and he too would be away from home all winter.

What sort of a winter it would be, no one stopped to think, but all were willing to bear.

The morning came of the day before the dreaded Sat.u.r.day, and no one cared to look at another. It was a relief, though a hated one, to see a neighbour come in. Even that, Winthrop shunned; he was cleaning the harness of the wagon, and he took it out into the broad stoop outside of the kitchen door. His mother and brother and the children soon scattered to other parts of the house.

"So neighbour," said Mr. Underhill, -- "I hear tell one of your sons is goin' off, away from you?"

"Yes," -- said Mr. Landholm, pride and sorrow struggling together in his manner, -- "I believe he is."

"Where's he goin'?"

"To Asphodel -- in the first place."

"Asphodel, eh? -- What's at Asphodel?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's he goin' there for?"

"To pursue his studies -- there's an Academy at Asphodel."

"An Academy. -- Hum. -- And so he's goin' after larnin' is he?

And what'll the farmer do without him to hum?"

"Do the best I can -- send for you, neighbour Underhill."

"Ha, ha! -- well, I reckon I've got enough to do to attend to my own."

"I guess you don't do much but fish, do you? -- there under the mountain?"

"Well, you see, I hain't a great deal of ground. You can't run corn _straight_ up a hill, can you? -- without somethin' to stand on?"

"Not very well."

"There be folks that like that kind o' way o' farming -- but I never did myself."

"No, I'll warrant you," said Mr. Landholm, with a little attempt at a laugh.

"Well -- you say there's an Academy at Asphodel; then he aint going to -- a -- what do you call it? -- Collegiate Inst.i.tution?"

"No, not just yet; by and by he'll go to College, I expect. -- That's what he wants to do."

"And you want it too, I suppose?"

"Yes -- I'll do the best I can by my children. I can't do as I would by them all," said the father, with a mixture of pride expressed and pride not expressed, -- "but I'll try to make a man of Will!"

"And t'other'll make a man of himself," said Mr. Underhill, as he saw Winthrop quit the stoop. "_He'll_ never run a plough up the side of a house. But what kind of a man are you going to make of Will? -- a great man?"

"Ah, I don't know!" said Mr. Landholm with a sigh. "That must be as Providence directs."

"Hum -- I should say that Providence directs you to keep 'em both to hum," said Mr. Underhill; -- "but that's not my affair.

Well, I'm going. -- I hear you are goin' to be in Vanta.s.sel this winter?"

"Yes -- I'm going to make laws for you," Mr. Landholm answered laughing.

"Well --" said Mr. Underhill taking his hat, -- "I wish they'd put you up for President -- I'd vote for you!"

"Thank you. Why?"

"'Cause I should expect you'd give me somethin' nother and make a great man of _me!_"

With a laugh at his own wit, Mr. Underhill departed.

CHAPTER III.

But who shall so forecast the years, And find in loss a gain to match?

Or reach a hand through time to catch The far-off interest of tears?

TENNYSON.

The day came.

The farewell dinner was got ready -- the best of the season it must be, for the honour of all parties and the love of one; but it mocked them. Mrs. Landholm's n.o.ble roast pig, and sweet chickens, and tea and fine bread; they were something to be remembered, not enjoyed, and to be remembered for ever, as part of one strong drop of life's bittersweet mixture. The travellers, for Mr. Landholm was to accompany his son, had already dressed themselves in their best; and the other eyes, when they could, gazed with almost wondering pride on the very fine and graceful figure of the young seeker of fortune. But eyes could do little, and lips worse than little. The pang of quitting the table, and the hurried and silent good-byes, were over at last; and the wagon was gone.

It seemed that the whole household was gone. The little ones had run to some corner to cry; Winthrop was nowhere; and the mother of the family stood alone and still by the table in the kitchen where they had left her.