Summerfield Part 19

He was answered that the villains had managed so adroitly, they did not suspect deception, till too late. "But we are not at all alarmed, Squire Fabens, concerning the amount for which you are liable to us,"

said the gentleman. "We _know_ you are good and honest. We will give you all reasonable time to cancel the notes. I regret sincerely, that you have met such a loss, Squire Fabens. But there, a farmer should never be liable for a trader. Let farmers endorse each other if they will; they know each other's risks and resources. But they know little of the risks and insecurities of trade, and less of the chances of deception connected with it, and they should never endorse for traders, or loan their notes. Hundreds of fine farms go in this way to pay other people's debts."

"But must my farm go to pay those notes?" asked Fabens, turning still whiter in the face, and sweating almost blood. "_My_ farm, that I have worked so hard for? my comfortable home? Must it go, and leave us dest.i.tute now as old age comes in sight? It is hard to think of these things. And what will my poor wife say? and how can she endure this trouble? I will pay the notes, if it takes all I have, and the coat from my back, in the bargain; but I beg you don't sue me. I never was sued in my life. Don't injure my character, or make me unnecessary cost."

Everything proved just as they informed him, and he went home heavy-hearted, to relate what he had heard. Mrs. Fabens and f.a.n.n.y were deeply grieved by the thought, that he stood so largely liable on Fairbanks' account. But they bore the shock with a composure, which comforted Fabens greatly; and such hopefulness had ever been the blessing of them all, before another week, they had nearly recovered from the first agitation, and begun to contrive how they should manage to make the best of the misfortune.

It was nothing against their firm religious faith in overruling Good, nor against their fort.i.tude, or self-reliance, to say that at first they yielded to agitations and griefs. It would have been unnatural in them not to be moved. For the present it was a calamity which they must suffer. Their old farm was dear to them, every acre of it. To its woods and waters; to its fine pastures and green meadows; its generous fruit-trees and grateful shade-trees, they were tenderly attached, looking upon them with family affection; and how could an item of that sweet home be spared? They doubted not but G.o.d would control the event for good; but it could not displease him to behold this feeling in his children. How could they adjust their faith to the event and be resigned so suddenly? It was hard to bear the stroke. It cut to the tender quick, and they shuddered and wept. It was hard to think the unworthy should be agents, to bring the disguised blessing which would follow such a woe. Hard to be deceived by those in whom so many confided with such pure and magnanimous trust.

But they were not immoderate in their grief. The deception might have been deeper, and the loss more alarming and great. And then what was their grief at that hour, compared with the misery that must gnaw at the hearts of the deceivers, as inseparable from their guilt. What gift in the wide world would tempt them to exchange places with the wretched creatures? What a th.o.r.n.y road of perdition must their way of life be! How they must whiten and gasp, and what poignant pangs must thrill them through and through when they remembered their villainous deeds!

And then they remembered how thankful they should be, that the designs of the criminals on f.a.n.n.y had failed even of their first success, while they wept to hear of the shame in which more than one poor victim had been left; that they lost no confidence in George Ludlow; and none of their family had been made less virtuous by them.

Fabens remembered his schemes of benevolence, and his project of a new church and minister, without regret; but he crimsoned with blushing shame, as he confessed the foolish idea to which they forced him to listen, in regard to selling the old homestead and becoming a merchant.

"Just as though it could be possible for us to be as happy as we are, in another sphere of life!" said he. "What in the world do I want to make me happy and respectable, except more faith and goodness, and the means to confer more good, that I did not possess before the scoundrels came? I wonder that Matthew Fabens allowed them to make him such a silly fool!" But it was long before he told them the dreams he indulged in his Week of Castle Building.

They counselled together: with returning resignation and confidence, they counselled.

"A thousand dollars!--a _thousand_!" said Fabens, with a long-drawn sigh. "That is a large debt for me to owe--a large one! I must see how I can settle it. I cannot bear to be in debt, even on another's account. I must not sit down and give up. I cannot rest very well till I do something to square it. He said they wouldn't sue me. I never was sued, and I could not bear to be. But I have only about a hundred dollars, and where can I raise the rest? The debt is a round thousand in all."

"I do not know. It really looks dark before us after all," said Mrs.

Fabens. "A thousand dollars does not grow on every bush. I see no way, but a slice of the farm must go, and a pretty large slice too; and that will be very hard. How much is the whole farm worth?"

"It ought to fetch six thousand, five hundred," said Fabens. "Six thousand I've been offered for it, time and again."

"I cannot bear to part with an inch of the farm--it is so dear to us,"

said Mrs. Fabens.

"How can we part with a rood or a tree," asked f.a.n.n.y, with a sigh.

"Every tree seems one of the family, and every rood has transferred a picture of its beauty to our hearts."

"But something must be done to wipe off the thousand dollars. The hundred on hand will help; and where shall I raise the rest? They may sue me, and sacrifice double the amount, if they have to wait too long," said Fabens.

"O well, we shall have enough left after paying the thousand," said Mrs. Fabens. "Any one will loan you nine hundred, and take a mortgage.

Then we should not have to sell a single rood. We could all turn to, and raise it off from the farm in three or four years."

"I cannot bear to mortgage the farm," said Fabens. "I should then feel in debt. I hate debts as I do sin and Satan. Hadn't we better sell off a little strip joining Nimblet's, and stand free and clear once more? It is handsome land, I know; my heart leans to it warmly, for I have labored along there a good many pleasant days. But hadn't we better let the pretty piece go? He has been at me these three years to sell it; and he can pay for it all down. Wouldn't the farm be large enough without that strip?"

"That may be best," said Mrs. Fabens. "I dislike debts and mortgages as much as you. But the farm is so handsome with that green border, and its lovely shade-trees!"

"That is the most beautiful fringe of fields on the farm," said f.a.n.n.y.

"The trees are the finest;--think of those charming chestnuts, and how their white blossoms sweeten the air in July! And the handsomest walnuts and maples wave along there. And there is my lovely linden, and mother's balm of Gilead. And how level the ground is; and how the bluebirds and robins love to sing there!--But perhaps it may be best to let it go, and be out of debt. We shall all feel so much better. You cannot sell the loveliness of those fields, and he could no more buy it than buy the songs of the birds, or the light of the blue skies. The handsome prospect, the verdure, light, and song, are the property of all who have eyes to see and hearts to enjoy them; and Mr. Nimblet will take pains, I know, to make the fields more lovely, if he can."

"Then I may say to Mr. Nimblet, he can have the north fields?" asked Fabens.

"O, wait a little while," said f.a.n.n.y, "and see if we cannot keep them.

It looks so beautiful in the middle field in the spring, when the dandelions blow; and the strawberries blossom; and the b.u.t.ter-cups wave in the wind; and the bobolinks light on the red clover and sing;--there would be more comfort in knowing it was all ours as we enjoyed the sight!"

"But we cannot have everything, f.a.n.n.y, as we wish in this world," said Mrs. Fabens. "Let it go. I am willing, if you think best. As f.a.n.n.y says, the landscape will be ours as much as ever. And after all, how much better off are we without that strip of land than many of our neighbors! Think of the poor laborers and mechanics that Fairbanks owes for work! How much more ought we to think of their loss than our own!"

"Yes, but, how much good we could have done with that thousand dollars," said Fabens; "giving some of it to the poor, and lending the rest to worthy young men who are struggling against hope to get something, and would be set on their feet by a little lift. But it is of no use to cry for spilt milk."

"And what is this trouble, compared with the loss of poor little Clinton, and our grief for him?" asked Mrs. Fabens.

"Dear me,--I would give the beauty of the world to see my brother Clinton!" cried f.a.n.n.y, her blue eyes sparkling with tears. "I cannot remember seeing him; but how could I help loving him when you have said so much about him, and wept so many sad hours for his loss? O what would we not give to see Clinton? And how foolish it will be to mourn for a small deception and a thousand dollars! _Don't_ let us mourn any more for that!"

"Clinton!" said Fabens, kindling to a glow, and rising and pacing the room. "Give all the world to see Clinton? I think we would, and we would be rich and happy, if Clinton were alive and here, though we were without money and handsome fields, and had no more than a bark shanty to shelter our heads."

"Indeed we would!" added Mrs. Fabens, rocking more earnestly in her chair. "And let us pay up the debt, sell the land and pay it, and thank the Lord that he has been so good to us, and taught us how to bear our troubles."

George Ludlow was present to sympathize and counsel, and he said "Let the land go;" and f.a.n.n.y repeated, "Let it go; we have all its beauty pictured on our souls, and will possess it with our estate;" and before the week was over, Mr. Nimblet had purchased the row of fields on the north side of the farm, and the debt was paid, and happiness became, for that misfortune, no stranger to the household.

XXVII.

SUNNY SKIES.

Time and reflection, mutual sympathy, and a happy knack of always hoping for the best, completed their resignation, and prosperity and peace once more attended their efforts and desires. The farm was found quite ample in what was left, to employ them all, and satisfy their hearts. In fact there was more land left than Fabens could manage without much a.s.sistance, and more than a supply of all that heart could wish.

They seemed to enjoy home and prosperity, and everything around them better than before; for the loss and anxiety given them by Fairbanks awakened a new appreciation of all good, and taught them to be more thankful for what they could call their own. They also learned how to exercise a will that conquered all misfortune, and rested in a faith that overcame the world. As they looked back to early life, and counted all the sorrows they had seen, though some had been heavy as humanity can bear, they could not select one and say, it had not seemed to soften their hearts, and open to their minds a sense of the goodness of G.o.d and the mercy of every providence. "I can cry with David," said Fabens, "it is good for me that I was afflicted, although it is difficult, at all times to see in what way good out of evil may come."

After this, George Ludlow was employed to a.s.sist in managing the farm, and the progress of time only quickened the increase of their love for him. He grew manly still more in appearance, though to strangers he was homely; he grew intelligent still more in mind, and his society in that home was not its smallest joy.

And f.a.n.n.y Fabens had now attained to full maturity, and she presented a person and a mind that all admired and loved. Her form had a round and erect development; and her step was as light, and her carriage as proud as the colt's that ranged the hills. Her hair was a shaded and glossy flaxen now, and her eyes were a darker blue. Her beauty was unchanging as the Pleiades, in all situations; for whether she hetch.e.l.led flax in the kitchen, or spun wool in the barn; whether peeling apples, or piecing quilts; whether churning b.u.t.ter or dressing cheese; whether gleaning wheat or picking berries; or dancing at a wedding, or singing hymns at church; she was the same rosy, brisk and brightly smiling creature; the same full, free and glad-hearted life; giving grace and honor to labor; light and beauty to nature; joy and virtue to amus.e.m.e.nts; peace and holiness to worship, and love and happiness to home.

One day when Fabens happened to stop at the tailor's, in the village, he thought to inquire into Frisbie's story, concerning the handkerchief, which he would have them believe George Ludlow had stolen. The tailor was positive in denying the truth of the whole affair. It was false, he said, and much like many other lies they had told.

The next time Fabens saw Troffater, he inquired if Tilly knew any evil of George Ludlow, or if he ever warned Fairbanks and Frisbie against him.

"They never said so much as boo, about 'im to me, nor I to them; that's honest," said Troffater. "But I tell you, Fabens, I never thought a great 'eal o' them scamps. I itched to give you a jog, when they come so thick around you. You was green as a mess o' cowslops, or you'd a seen what they was arter. I thought you'd git nipt a grain, or my name wasn't Troffater. But I dasn't tell you what I thought on 'em. You wouldn't a' b'lieved me, I ben such a witch with my word. I spose you know the fellers have been heern from? They run out of all they cabbaged here perty quick. Frisbie, they say, is jugged up in jail, and there's better men sometimes hung than that Jock Fairbanks. I guess some o' the gals are kindy sorry they sot their caps for 'em!

The Faddle gals, I guess, would give all their old shews, if they'd a'

kep away from the whelps. My gals is all in t.i.tters about it; and Beck t.e.e.zle, says she, 'I wonder, says she, if Des and Luce Faddle, says she, will feel above us now?' They couldn't git me to dew their dirty Work, with all their ile and palaver. I bought a pitchfork on 'em, once in hayin', and got a platter there when Josephyne was married, and I paid 'em tew in mink skins; and that's all I had to dew with 'em.

You lost a good 'eal by 'em, didn't you, Square?"

"A thousand dollars," said Fabens. "It seemed a great sum to lose, at first. It _was_ too much for me. But it has been a good lesson to me, in many ways. The lesson perhaps will give me my money's worth."

"That _is_ a big _sum_ to _luse_, I swanny! I wish I had a jogged your elbow a grain. I seen threw the cunnin' scamps the fust time. Didn't you know, Square, that Fairbanks was gray as a wharf rat, when he let his hair alone?" said Troffater.

"No, I did not. _He_ was not gray; his hair was a glossy black," said Fabens.

"Ha! ha! ha! you was _greener 'n_ cowslops, or you'd a seen that was all dye-stuff!" said Troffater. "Why, I seen the gray roots glisten for half an inch, the fust time I seen 'im. But didn't you know 'im, Square? He come from the Hudson."

"I never knew him till he came here," said Fabens.

"But, you've got a clean conscience," said Troffater. "If I had that, I wouldn't lay wake o' nights, nor grow hatchet-faced a great 'eal. I see your cheeks don't fall in, and n.o.buddy would spose by your looks that you had a _great_ grist o' trouble. Wish I could look as cheerful, and had a bit o' your pleasant peace o' mind."

"But you have forgotten one of my questions; I asked if you knew any ill of George Ludlow," said Fabens.