Bolton Sarah Knowles
A Country Idyl and Other Stories
James Carter turned pale.
“You don’t mean that Jenny earned money to help take me through college?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will pay her back compound interest, the noble girl.”
Years have passed. Hugh, now very wealthy, has never married, but finds a happy home with James and Jenny Carter and their little son Hugh. The Hon. William Carter learned that it pays a thousand-fold to help a boy on in the world, and Jenny rejoices that she, too, helped a young man to success.
THE UNOPENED LETTER.
THERE was a carriage waiting at the door, and the servant had just announced to Miss Hamilton that a gentleman had called to see her.
“I will be down in a moment,” answered a cheery, blue-eyed girl, as she slipped an unopened letter into her pocket. She had recognized the handwriting as the postman handed it to her. The letter was from a young college senior in the quiet New England town, at home for his summer vacation, – Arthur Ellsworth, a manly fellow, whom she had known and admired from childhood. And now Arthur’s brother, Elmer Ellsworth, was waiting to take her for a drive. The latter was the handsomer of the two possibly, with his fine form and dark eyes. He, also, was in the last year of college life.
After pleasant greetings the young people started, in the bright September morning, for the proposed ride. Who that has driven through Lexington and Woburn, past Mystic pond, will ever forget the quiet country roads, the historic associations, the variety of wooded hills and pretty valleys? Now the two schoolfriends talked of the present with its joy and the future with its hopes, of the books they had studied and the plans they had made. Now they gathered golden-rod, and listened to the song of the birds in the bracing air. It was a fitting time to say what had long been in Elmer’s heart – that sometime, when his profession had been entered upon, she would be the woman whom he wished to make his wife.
It was a hard matter for her to decide. Both brothers had been dear to her, perhaps Arthur especially, – and both were noble and worthy. Arthur had never spoken to her of marriage; and now Elmer had told her his love, and that she could make him happy. Had Arthur spoken first, perhaps her heart would have more warmly responded; but in the beauty of that autumn morning, with the hopeful, earnest young man by her side, she gave her promise to be his wife.
As soon as she reached her home she ran upstairs, hastily threw off her wraps, and remembered the letter from Arthur, in her pocket. Opening it, she read:
“How many times I have wanted to tell you that I loved you! How often have the words died on my lips! But now, before I go back to college, I must ask you if you can return that love, and sometime be mine.”
Alas, that she had not opened the letter sooner! She could not tell Arthur that she had preferred him to Elmer; that were disloyalty to the man whom she had promised to wed. She could only say that she was already betrothed to his brother. She married him whom she had promised. Both men became prominent in the history of New England – this little story is true. One went through life unmarried. His letter was opened too late.
THREE COLLEGE STUDENTS
“WHAT’S the work for vacation, boys?”
The speaker was a tall, dark-haired, open-faced young man, who sat with his two companions on the sloping ground of Amherst College, looking away to silent Mount Tom and the fertile meadows of the Connecticut-river valley.
“It’s something downright earnest for me,” said James Wellman, a broad-shouldered, big-hearted youth from the neighboring county, who in spite of poverty and many obstacles had fought his way by the hardest work. “I’m in debt for board, books unpaid for; but I’ve seen worse times than these. I’m used to standing alone, so I’m ready for the battle. I shall take an agency – books, or maybe clothes-wringers, to sell.”
“That will be fun, I’ll warrant,” said the first speaker, Grant Reynolds, whose father, a rich manufacturer, had spared no pains to make his son’s life a bed of roses, altogether different from what his own had been.
“Not much fun,” said James. “You wouldn’t like contemptuous looks from women who know less than you, and whose hearts had become hardened because their husbands, once poor, very likely, had become the possessors of houses on aristocratic streets. Why, a woman – I will not call her a lady – whose husband used to be a stable boy, but who has become a rich government official, ordered me out of the house when I was selling chromos. She said ‘agents were tramps and a nuisance;’ and when I explained that I was working my way through college, she answered, remembering the former occupation of her lord, perhaps, ‘Be somebody’s coachman, then, and earn an honorable living.’ I wanted to add, ‘And run away with your pretty daughter;’ but I only replied politely, ‘Nobody would hire an inexperienced man for two months, which is as long as our vacation lasts.’”
“But these must be rare cases,” said Grant. “Most well-to-do ladies are very courteous.”
“Yes, when you meet them on an equality in drawing-rooms; but not always when you are a workingman.”
“Well, I’ll try it for once. It’ll be a fine lark anyway, and I shall learn something of human nature.”
“That you will,” answered Wellman. “I’ll take the country round that aristocratic town down the river, and you may take the stylish avenues. You’ll find blue blood in plenty – blue because the fathers owned land there a little before the present generation. Of course, you’ll find many well-bred people who are proud of their heads rather than of their purses; but even these are often very ‘select.’ We profess equality, and are probably more democratic than any other country; but a little extra amount of front lawn, or the fact that our great-grandfather was a governor, or that one woman has ‘William Morris’ chintz in her chambers, of which, perhaps, her neighbor never heard, – these make various degrees of rank. If our ancestor came over in the ‘Mayflower,’ or was even a sutler in the Revolutionary war, our fame is unalterably fixed.”
“I should like to sell books in so high-toned a town,” said Grant. “Maybe I might fall in love with some dainty daughter of a lineal descendant of a governor, or of a stable-boy!”
“Precious little good it would do a book-agent, for you would be classed among poor people if you worked, no matter how rich your father might be.”
The conversation had been listened to by a light-haired, blue-eyed student, a poet in temperament and by heredity. He was the only child of a devoted minister of the Gospel, now dead, and of a refined and intellectual mother. She would have shielded him from every rough wind had it been possible, but at best she could only pray for him, and send him now and then a little box of comforts, with her fond and beautiful letters. He worked late at night over his books, and his delicately curved mouth had come to bear an expression of sadness as he looked out upon the struggle before him. Heretofore the little money of the household had sufficed; but now he must earn his bread like James Wellman.
“Cheer up!” said the latter, who had noticed the tell-tale face of the minister’s son, Kent Raymond. “Blue eyes and polished manners will win kindness. We all have to get a trifle mellowed. We, who know how to earn our support, get a little extra schooling more than the other boys, that’s all. Life is good or bad, just as you look out upon it. It’s full of sunshine to me, for I won’t look at the shadows.”
Vacation days came. Kent and Grant took the book-agency, and James the clothes-wringer, among the country folk, who usually have a kindly interest in a boy who means to be somebody in the world.
••••••••
One bright day soon after, satchels in hand, the two college boys started out along one of the broad avenues of the staid old city.
“Don’t get discouraged!” said Grant to his boyish companion, who shrank from his task. “Remember you’re doing missionary work every time you get a book into a house. We’ll report three hours from now at the end of the street.”
The first house was of gray stone, set back in the grounds; not belonging to one of the old families, who prefer an old mansion, lest they be counted among the nouveaux riche. Great bunches of varied-colored coleus and red geranium mingled with the greensward like a piece of mosaic. Vines were beginning to grow over the stone porch, and the whole bespoke comfort, even luxury. Kent pulled the bell with a sinking at heart, as he wondered who would appear and what she would say. A servant, not cleanly in apparel, opened the door after long waiting. The true position of a family can generally be seen through its domestics.
“Are the ladies of the house in?” asked the college boy.
“What do you want of ’em?”
“I am selling a valuable book about the ‘Home.’”
“No, the missus don’t want it. She told me as how she niver let a book-agent inside the door, and she’d scold me if I called her. She niver reads nothin’ but a novel – niver,” volunteered the loquacious, but kind-hearted girl, despite her torn apron and soiled hands.
At the next mansion Kent was told that the “missus” had gone to the seashore; but the knowing look in the servant’s face showed that she had been instructed to make this reply to all callers. It sounded aristocratic to be at Narragansett Pier or on the Atlantic coast, even though finances would not permit of this refreshing journey.
At the next house a kind-faced woman, who really belonged to one of the old families, and felt none too proud to open her own door, bade the young man a pleasant “Good-morning,” and though she did not wish to purchase the book, which, though tastefully made, was commonplace in subject, she thanked him for seeing it, and hoped he would sell elsewhere. His heart was a trifle lighter after this kindly greeting, though his purse grew no heavier. At the next house, and the next, he met with the same refusals. Finally, near the end of the street, the colored man who opened the door was also striving to earn money for a college course. He had been two years in Harvard University already. Both father and mother were dead, but from love for a girl who taught a colored school he had become ambitious, and determined to work his way through some institution. The subject of the book touched his heart. Katie, his school-teacher, would like it; the suggestions about husbands and wives, and the words about neatness, culture, and tenderness, would do both good.
“How much is it?” said the colored youth.
“Two dollars.”
A disappointed look came into the face of the would-be purchaser.
“I receive seventy-five cents commission,” said Kent, “and I will let you have the book for one dollar and a half; that will leave twenty-five cents for my dinner.”
“I hate to ask you to take less, sir, but I can’t pay two dollars, because I haven’t so much. But here’s the one-fifty;” and he added, as he held the book tenderly, “Katie will so like it!” When a man is really in love he can’t help telling somebody, even though it be a book-agent.
Meanwhile Grant Reynolds had been learning his first experience of work in the broad world, which has too little care for and sympathy with toilers. He soon found that selling books from house to house was no “lark,” as he had anticipated. His lips curled in disdain as he was several times addressed rudely by servants, or by women whom he knew were far below him in social position. Did so many fashionable people, then, have two methods of action – one for the rich and the other for the poor?
As he was thus musing, he opened a gate and walked up to a beautiful mansion, Elizabethan in style, that one would imagine to have been just transported from England, with its ivies and great beds of roses. He stopped suddenly, for just before him a fair-haired girl, in simple blue, with broad sun-hat wreathed with daisies, was clipping a bunch of deep-red roses. She looked up half inquiringly, as the young man approached and lifted his hat. He was not abashed – he had seen attractive girls too often for that; but her kind look had an unusual effect after the sharp refusals of the morning.
The frank face of Grant could scarcely help showing its appreciation of both girl and flower, as he said, “I am canvassing for a book: ‘The Past, Present, and Future of America.’”
Perhaps the girl did not care much for the book, but she liked the looks of the tall, manly youth before her, and in her heart admired a man who had energy and will enough to earn a living for himself. Most young men whom she had met had leaned upon their fathers; and it was seldom difficult to tell what laurels they would win in the jostle which we call life.
“May I see the book?” she asked, holding out one white hand, while the other clasped the roses.
“Can I hold the flowers while you look?” said Grant, while a satisfied expression stole about his mouth and large brown eyes.
“It is beautifully illustrated! I like pictures of people greatly. I am always wondering what they have accomplished, or will in the future.”
“Ah! then you are ambitious?”
“Yes; mamma thinks too much so for a girl. I have wanted to go to college,” said the natural young woman, “but she thinks it is useless compared with my music.”
Grant hoped she would go on artlessly talking about herself, but she suddenly changed the line of thought, as she said: “I am glad to see a book about America – I love our country! I have been with mamma to England and the south of Europe, but I saw nothing so dear as our own country and people. I think our men the noblest in the world.”
There was no thought of compliment, for she did not even look toward the young man to whom she was apparently talking. At this moment a woman, handsomely attired, stood in the doorway, and with clouded brow bade her come in.
“I was looking at a beautiful book, mamma,” said Marion.
“We want no books of an agent,” said the stern, proud woman. “If we need books we buy them at Hamerton’s” (one of the largest dealers in the East).
“I am in college,” said the young man, piqued at the woman’s rudeness, and half angered that the lovely girl should be found fault with. “I am earning some money in this way,” he added, not wishing to lie about the matter, and yet rather enjoying this study of human nature.
“I am glad to help poor young men,” – she remembered when the shrewd Mr. Colwell, her husband, made his first dollars in common work at railroading, – “but I never buy of agents! Why, we should be bored to death if we did! Besides, I think our country is running to education. Men who should be West on farms are striving to go through college, and then will starve as poor doctors or lawyers in the busy cities. We need men to build our railroads; Mr. Colwell says men are so scarce and labor so dear that he has to import rough foreigners. Education is the bane of common folks. It spoils our girls. Look at those in our high schools! – they’re too good to be servants. While their mothers are toiling over the wash-tub these young misses fit themselves to be teachers. They’d better go West and become farmers’ wives. They’ve got to marry common people, for they can’t get rich men.”
Grant thought to himself how these educated poor girls were to be the great moral force of our country in its grand future; but he made no answer as self-sufficient Mrs. Colwell went on:
“If Marion were to teach, why, all this education would be good for her, perhaps; but my daughter will never be obliged to.”
“But you didn’t see the book, mamma,” pleaded the girl, whose cheeks had become as red as the roses which Grant had handed back to her.
“No; and I’ve no time for it. Your father is waiting to take you to drive. Besides, I was surprised to see you conversing with a stranger.”
The young man lifted his hat to Marion as he passed out of the gate, but not till he had said a word of thanks for her kindness to an unknown student. He thought he saw the blue eyes moisten as they looked up to his, showing that she felt her mother’s harshness to a youth who appeared to be working his way alone in the world.
Marion Colwell was not given to sentiment, but she wondered a thousand times what would become of the handsome college boy, and she could not help taking a bud from the flowers which he held for her and pressing it between the leaves of a book, with some tender yet painful recollections. Marion seemed unusually quiet during the ride with her father, but no word was spoken about the book-agent; for Mr. and Mrs. Colwell lived so independently of each other that the daughter never thought of confiding her troubles to either.
At the end of the three hours the two college students met to recount their experiences and successes. Grant had not sold a single book, but he drew from his pocket a red rosebud, and showing it to Kent said: “I’m foolish, I do believe; but I’ve seen a girl to-day who has paid me a thousand times for all the annoyance of being a book-agent. Perhaps I shall never see her again, but I shall keep in memory one lovely face, and I know she has a noble soul. I took this bud, unbeknown to her, from a bunch I held for her while she looked over that book. I’ll not part with the book either, since she has looked at its pictures.”
Kent did not make fun of him, for he had a warm heart, and enjoyed the picture which Grant drew of the fair young face. The vacation came to its close. Some money had been made by each of the three students, Grant dividing his equally between James and Kent.
••••••••
Eight years had come and gone. James Wellman was in business, and had become successful. Kent had graduated with honor, but gone home to his widowed mother to die. Grant had studied theology, and for three years had been settled in a Western city, whither he had been drawn by his friend Wellman. A July morning came like that on which he had passed from house to house along the city streets to sell books. The young minister stood in his accustomed place, about to preach from the well-known text, “Cast thy bread upon the waters; for thou shalt find it after many days.” A lady, dressed in blue, who was a stranger to the congregation, entered, and was shown to a seat well in front. She looked long and earnestly at the speaker, as though she was aware whom she had come to hear. For a moment, as the minister caught a glimpse of the face, he changed color, but immediately regained his self-possession.
After the service he stepped directly down to the pew, and the parishioners said to one another: “Why, we didn’t know that the new school-teacher, Miss Colwell, was a friend of our pastor!”
He said, as he shook her hand, “I am glad once more to thank you for your kindness of years ago.” He spoke slowly, as one who has had hopes and conquered them. “Is your mother with you?” involuntarily rose to his lips.
“No; I am alone, and teaching in your city.”
“I have been to your Eastern home, but was told that you had gone West; and further than that I could learn nothing.”
And then the past years were gone over. Mr. Colwell had failed, not with honor, and had been glad to go West, as his wife had recommended Grant to do years before, and had become lost in the whirl of a great city. Mrs. Colwell allowed it to be reported that Marion was to marry a rich widower. A wealthy family came to occupy the Colwell mansion, and society interested itself in the new and forgot the old. And now Marion, poor and unmarried, had come to the public school as a teacher.
The minister called often at the school, and finally the gossips suspected that the cause of education was not the only motive for his visits. Once when he called he laid down a pressed and faded red bud. “Do you remember those flowers I held so many years ago?” And, blushing, she told him of a similar one which she treasured.
A look of joy and half surprise came into his face. “Did you, then, think of one whom you supposed a poor boy, Marion?”
“And do you think of one who is in reality a poor girl now?”
The wedding was a quiet one, Marion wearing, at Grant’s request, a simple blue dress, with red roses in her hand. What were Mrs. Colwell’s thoughts as she looked at the book-agent, now her son, no one could know, for poverty had not made her less proud, but it had doubtless made her more considerate and courteous.
“I would sell books again to find you, Marion;” and her pretty blue eyes looked their happiness in response.
