 | CHAPTER I. Locke Amsden, The schoolmaster |  |
1. CHAPTER I.
One native charm than all the gloss of art.”
Goldsmith.
Our story, contrary perhaps to fashionable precedent,
opens at a common farm-house, situated on one of the principal
roads leading through the interior of the northerly
portion of the Union. It was near the middle of the day,
in that part of the spring season when the rough and chill
features of winter are becoming so equally blended with the
soft and mild ones of summer upon the face of nature, that
we feel at loss in deciding whether the characteristics of the
one or the other most prevail. The hills were mostly bare,
but their appearance was not that of summer; and the tempted
eye turned away unsatisfied from the cheerless prospect which
their dreary and frost-blackened sides presented. The levels,
on the other hand, were still covered with snow; and yet their
aspect was not that of winter. Clumps of willows, scattered
along the hedges, or around the waste-places of the meadows,
were white with the starting buds or blossoms of spring.
The old white mantle of the frost-king was also becoming
sadly dingy and tattered. Each stump and stone was enclosed
by a widening circle of bare ground; while the tops
of the furrows, peering through the dissolving snows, were
plough-fields. The cattle were lazily ruminating
in the barn-yard, occasionally lowing and casting a wistful
glance at the bare hills around, but without offering to move
towards them, as if they thought that the prospects there
were hardly sufficient to induce them yet to leave their
winter quarters. The earth-loving sheep, however, had
broken from their fold, and, having reached the borders of
the hills by some partially trod path, were busily nibbling at
the roots of the shriveled herbage, unheedful of the bleating
cries of their feebler companions, that they had left stuck in
the treacherous snow-drifts, encountered in their migrations
from one bare patch to another.
The owner of the farming establishment, in reference to
which we have been speaking, was in the door-yard, engaged
in splitting and piling up his yearly stock of fire-wood. He
was a man of about forty, not of a very intellectual countenance,
indeed, but of a stout, hardy, and well-made frame,
which showed to advantage in the handsome and appropriate
long, striped, woollen frock, in which he was plying himself
with the moderate and easy motions which are, perhaps,
peculiar to men of great physical power. A rugged and
resolute-looking boy, of perhaps a dozen years of age, having
thrown himself upon one knee before a small pile of prepared
wood, lying near the kitchen door for immediate use, and
having heaped the clefts into one arm till they reached to
his chin, as if in whim to see how much he could carry in,
was now engaged in trying, with a capricious, bravado-like
air, to balance an additional stick on his head, by way of
increasing his already enormous load.
In another part of the yard, and as near his master as he
could remain undisturbed, lay the well-fed house-dog, reclining
upon his belly, with his muzzle, which was pointed in a
direction most favorable for a look-out, resting on a clean,
slow, creeping motions of a small carriage, that was now
seen in the distance winding along the road from the south;
of whose approach he, from time to time, as he considered
himself in duty bound, gave notice by a low growl, which, as
the vehicle at length emerged from some partially screening
bushes into plain and near view, was raised to a lazy wow!
The carriage in question proved to be a light, open wagon,
drawn by one horse, and containing a middle-aged man, of a
fine, gentlemanly appearance, and by his side a small female
figure, closely muffled in hood and cloak. Carefully guiding
his horse, and turning him from one side to the other of the
still icy road, to avoid the most sidling and dangerous-looking
places, the traveller at length came abreast of the house;
when the animal lost his footing, and after two or three
violent but fruitless flounders to regain it, by which the carriage
was nearly overset, finally landed flat on his side, and
lay as if dead.
“My stars!” exclaimed the farmer, pausing with uplifted
axe to see the mishap, “if that was 'nt a narrow escape from
capsizing, it 's no matter!”
A second thought now seeming to occur to him, he suddenly
dropped his axe, darted forward to the spot, and, seizing the
prostrate horse by the bits, held him down.
“Clear the wagon,” he said, hastily motioning with his
head to the traveller, “the horse will be as likely to overturn
you in rising as he was in falling. Jump down, and lift out
the girl, and I will then let him up.”
This advice was instantly complied with; when the horse,
being spurred to an effort, soon safely regained his feet.
“Your beast has lost a shoe, sir,” said the farmer, approaching
the panting animal, and lifting a suspected foot;
“yes, here is the foot, as bare as your hand. But you must
have another put on before you drive him another rod in
your neck broke.”
“I have no very particular wishes for that, certainly,” said
the gentleman with a smile; “but where can I find a smith
within any reasonable distance?”
“There 's one, and a good one too, about a mile from here,
on another road; but I think the horse can be taken across
my pasture to the shop much nearer.”
“Should I be likely to meet with any difficulty about
finding the way?”
“Why, yes, you might; and I 'll tell you what, sir — you
had better let me clap my boy on to the creature's back,
after unharnessing, and he will take him over and get him
shod, while you take your little girl into the house, and
remain here. Ben!” continued the speaker, shouting for
the boy who had gone in with the wood, with which we have
noticed him as loading himself, “Ben! Ben Amsden! show
your profile out here in the yard, if you will.”
The boy promptly made his appearance.
“That boy?” asked the stranger, doubtingly. “My horse
has considerable spirit — can he manage him safely?”
“He will think so, I guess,” replied the farmer, laughingly.
“What say you, Benjamin? We want you to ride this horse
over to neighbor Dighton's to get a shoe put on; and the
gentleman appears to have some doubts whether you can
manage him, seeing he has some spirit — what do you think
about it, sir?”
“Why, I guess I 'll agree to find neck as long as the
gentleman will find horse,” said the boy smartly.
“Well, then, lead him with the wagon into the yard; strip
him of the harness; take our bridle, and ride across the
pasture to the shop; tell Mr. Dighton to put on a new shoe,
and charge it to me, as we have deal; though you may ask
the price, that the gentleman may hand it to me if he wants
into the house.”
“I will assist the boy to unharness first.”
“O, no, it will be nothing but fun for him. Come, come
on. It is strange,” continued the man, after pausing a moment
to see the wagon got safely around into the yard, “it is
strange what a natural difference there is in boys. Now
this chap, as little knurl of a thing as he appears, will mount
and manage any thing in the shape of horse-flesh, even to
the breaking of colts; while my other boy, now tending the
sugar place over in the woods yonder, though nearly four
years older than this, don't appear to have the least notion
about a horse, or any thing else, scarcely, in the way of active
life, so long as he can get a book to read and think about.”
Mr. Amsden — for such, as the reader may have already
inferred, was the farmer's name — now ushered the travellers
into the house, and introduced them, as such, to his wife, a
dark-eyed and finely-featured dame, who received them with
simple kindness, and at once proceeded to assist the little girl
in unrobing herself of the thick outward garments in which
she was encased to guard against the damps and chills of the
season.
The girl, who proved to be the gentleman's daughter, was
apparently just entering her teens, neatly rounded, and rather
slender in form, and in feature and countenance the softened
and beautified image of her very fine-looking, though now
somewhat pale and emaciated father. The personal appearance
of both father and daughter, indeed, was of a character
to awaken at once the attention and interest of the beholder;
while the countenances of each exhibited so finely blended
an expression of benevolence and intelligence, as to carry
along with it the assurance of qualities within, which should
secure the interest and make good the prepossessions that
outward comeliness had created. The gentleman, as just
he soon stated, in the way of accounting for being on a
journey at such an unfavorable time, that, being about to take
a sea-voyage for the benefit of his health, he had broken up
housekeeping at his late residence, in a village some fifty
miles south of the place to which he had now arrived; and it
had therefore become necessary to take his daughter, who,
with himself, now composed all his family, to reside, in his
absence, with a relative, to whose residence another day's
ride would easily carry them.
A few moments, with the gentleman's easy and social turn,
was sufficient to place him on a footing of familiarity with
the family. And having effected this, and seen his daughter
beginning to appear cheerful and at ease, through the delicate
and motherly attentions shown her by the amiable hostess,
he proposed to Mr. Amsden a walk to the barn for an inspection
of his stock, and such other things as should afford
samples of his management and skill as a farmer.
“Certainly,” said Amsden, evidently gratified at the
interest which one, who did not appear to be of his calling,
seemed to take in his farming affairs, “certainly, sir, we will
go. And you, wife,” he continued, turning to the dame, who
was already giving signs of culinary preparation, “you can
look round a little while we are gone, and see what can be
done in the way of a dinner. These folks, as well as ourselves,
would like one soon, probably.”
“By being allowed to pay for it, we should,” replied the
gentleman.
“Time enough to talk about that when you get it,” rejoined
Amsden good-humoredly, as the two left the house on their
way to the barn.
On arriving at the yard, its various and thrifty-looking
tenants were successively pointed out to the observing stranger
by the farmer, who proudly descanted on the virtues of his
colts, and his mode of tending and rearing each, and the
profits he respectively derived from them. After this,
Amsden took his guest to a little elevation near the barn,
and directed his attention to the different portions of his
farm, describing the uses to which the various fields in view
were devoted, and dwelling on the advantages which, as a
whole, the farm possessed over those that surrounded it.
“It is a good farm, evidently,” responded the stranger,
“and as evidently well conducted. But yonder is your sugar-orchard,
I think you said: I should be pleased to see your
manner of managing that also.”
“Well, I have as good a sugar-place as any body else in
all these parts,” replied Amsden; “but I can't say much for
its management, as, considering sugar-making no great object
further than for the supply of my family, I have, late years,
left it almost wholly to the boys, who are allowed to carry it
on pretty much as they please. However, we will walk out
there, and see what is going on, since you have named it.”
A short walk brought them to the border of the forest,
where a body of three or four hundred straight, tall, and
thrifty rock-maple trees, standing on an area of about five
acres, composed the sugar-place. The tops of the trees were
gently swaying to a moderate west wind; and the sap, as
usual in a wind from that quarter, with the required freeze
of the preceding night, was dropping freely, and with pulse-like
regularity, from the spouts at the incisions, into the
cleanly looking tubs placed beneath to receive the pure and
flavorous liquid. Taking a path leading to a central part of
the sugar-lot, Amsden and his guest soon came in sight of the
boiling-place, as indicated by the cloud of mingled smoke
and steam which rose from the seething kettles and the hot
fires beneath them. The farmer, now espying some tubs at a
short distance from the path, that needed adjusting on their
go on; and the latter accordingly proceeded, with a leisurely
step, alone towards the boiling-place. On arriving within a
rod or two of the spot, he paused, and looked around for the
one in superintendence; when his eye soon fell on the person
of a boy of about sixteen, lying on some straw at the mouth
of the shantee, which opened towards the row of boiling
kettles in front. The lad had a ciphering slate, and a large,
old, cover-worn volume spread before him; and upon this
he was so absorbingly engaged, that neither the sight or
sound of his approaching visitor appeared to make the least
impression on his senses. Hesitating to disturb one evidently
so little expecting it, the stranger stood a moment, now
looking around for the absent farmer, and now glancing with
an air of interest and surprised curiosity at the picturesque
attitude, shapely limbs, and finely-turned head of the boy;
who, with bosom thrown open, hat cast aside, the fingers of
one had twisted in his curly, raven hair, and those of the
other grasping the nimbly-plying pencil, was thus engaged in
an employment so little looked for by the other on a common
farm, and least of all in the woods. The gentleman was not
allowed, however, much time for his musing upon so unusual
a spectacle; for, the next moment, our little student of the
woods leaped suddenly upon his feet, and, with the exulting
shout of Archimedes of old, exclaimed aloud, “I have done
it! I have done it!” adding, as he turned back and shook
his fist at the book, “now, Old Pike, just show me another
sum that I can't do, will you? you are conquered, sir!”
Having thus delivered himself, the boy turned round, when,
his eyes for the first time falling upon the stranger, he
instantly dropped his head, and stood covered with shame
and confusion.
“Locke!” exclaimed the farmer, emerging, at this juncture,
from the bushes on the opposite side of the fire, and going
have you been about? This smallest kettle has boiled down
into sugar, and is burning up, dirt, settlings, and all together!
Where on earth,” he petulantly continued, hastily swinging
off the kettle, “where on earth can have been the boy's eyes
and wits, to stand by and let ten or a dozen pounds of sugar
spoil for want of putting in a little sap! What is the
meaning of it? What is the case? Zounds, sir, why don't
you speak?”
But the now doubly confused object of this tirade of the
provoked farmer, was unable to utter one word in extenuation
of his delinquency; and, after one or two ineffectual attempts
to speak, sunk down on a log, and hid his burning face with
his hands. At once appreciating the feelings of the boy, and
touched at the sensibilities he exhibited under the mingled
emotions arising from wounded delicacy and conscious fault,
the stranger immediately interposed, by observing, as he
pointed to the slate and arithmetic still lying where the owner
had used them,
“Your boy is a mathematician, I perceive, sir; and yonder
is the innocent cause, and at the same time the excuse for
his oversight, as I have reason to suspect.”
“Yes, yes, I'll warrant it,” replied Amsden pettishly,
“it's just like him. His head is always so full of ciphering
questions, grammar puzzles, and all sorts of bookish wrinkles,
that there is no room for any thing else; and I can scarcely
trust him to manage the most simple business, he is often so
absent-minded and blundering.”
“And yet,” rejoined the other, “I should feel proud of his
faults, while they sprang only from such causes, if I was his
father. Come, come, my lad,” he continued, turning and
soothingly addressing the boy, “cheer up; you have committed
no very serious offence, I suspect. At all events, I
will venture to take the sugar which your father thinks is
little girl down at the house. She is very fond of the maple
sweet, I believe.”
“Pay for it? — buy it? No, you sha'nt, unless you really
want to buy some for yourself, and then you should have
some better than this,” quickly interposed the father, taken
wholly aback by this unexpected proposition and course of
the stranger; “no, indeed, sir. Why, it is all nothing. I
was only a little vexed at the boy's carelessness, that's all.
I care nothing about the sugar, even if it had been burnt up,
as it is not, I presume. But we will now see. And at any
rate, the little girl shall have as much sugar as she wants,
without paying for it either. Locke, bring us a clean tub to
turn it into, and we will see what can be done with it.”
“You are quite mistaken about the quantity of what might
be made of all that is in that kettle, father,” said the boy, now
brightening up, and bringing the receptacle asked for; “I
took the syrup from the kettle but a few hours ago, and,
gathering a few pails of the clearest sap I could find, and
straining it, I filled up anew, thinking I would boil down a
few pounds as nice as I could for brag-sugar.”
“Well, it does look pretty clear, and it is not done down
to sugar yet, I see. I was deceived by there being so little
of it,” remarked the father, in a moderated tone, as he turned
off into the tub the rich, red fluid, which, after all, had only
boiled down to the consistency of a very thin molasses. “O,
yes, this may be brought to something quite decent. Have
you any milk or eggs for cleansing, Locke?”
“Yes, sir, both.”
“Well, then, beat up the white of an egg, and add a little
milk, if you please; and by the time you have prepared the
mixture, I will have the syrup cool enough for clarifying.
We may as well finish it now, perhaps.”
In a few moments, the liquid was sufficiently cooled, the
small fire, before which the farmer, with skimmer in hand,
took his station, to be ready for the process of cleansing.
The liquor, beginning almost instantly to feel the heat, at
first gave out a sharp, singing sound, which, as the greenish-gray
cloud of impurities rapidly rose and gathered in a thick,
mantling coat over the surface, gradually changed into a low,
stifled roar, growing more bass and indistinct, till it suddenly
ceased with the first bubble that rose to the disrupturing
surface. The feculent coat, thus collected and broken, was
then quickly skimmed off, leaving the pure and brightly
contrasting liquid to rise, as the next instant it did, with
diffusing ebulitions, to the top of the kettle in a fleckered
mass of yellow foam, resembling some fantastic fret-work of
gold.
While the father stood over the kettle rapidly plying his
skimmer to prevent the contents from boiling over, the
stranger turned to the son, and entered into conversation
with him, with the apparent object of drawing him out; asking
him many questions relative to his studies, and often manifesting
both interest and surprise at the answers which were
promptly returned.
“Your son bears the name of a great and learned man,”
observed the gentleman, turning at length to the father. “Do
you intend he shall try to rival his namesake in knowledge
and fame?”
“Don't know any thing about that. But you are wandering
considerable further than you need to for his name. He got
that from his mother: her maiden name was Locke.”
“O, ho! But don't you think of giving him an education?”
“Education? why I am giving him one. He attends our
district school regularly every winter.”
“I meant a public education.”
“Then I say, No; I intend him for a farmer.”
“That is right — it is a noble calling, but one, let me tell
you, sir, that affords no argument against a public education.
I am well aware, that it is deemed unnecessary, by the people
of the Middle and Northern States, especially, to give liberal
educations to any of their sons, except those destined for the
learned professions; but I cannot but consider this a great
error, and one whose consequences are seriously felt by the
agricultural interest, which, in its various relations, must
ever remain the great and leading interest of the country.”
“How so?”
“Why, the first and direct consequence of the course I
condemn is, that it places nearly all the science, and most of
the intellect, of the country in the professions; and from this
spring a train of others, all tending to the same point. The
business of agriculture is thus left to be conducted by the
unscientific and more unthinking portion of community, and
its advance in improvement will, of course, be comparatively
slow. Grades are thus established in society, in which the
farming is made less honorable than professional business,
operating as an inducement for all the most enterprising and
ambitious to leave the former, already too much neglected,
and crowd into the latter, already so much overstocked as to
have become the fruitful source of demagogues and sharpers.
And besides all this, the farming interest, under the present
order of things, will never be efficiently or adequately represented
in our legislatures, where those interests will always
be best protected and promoted which furnish the most talent
to advocate and forward them.”
“Well, some part of that may be true, sir, especially your
notion about too many quitting work to go into the professions,
and become idlers and sharpers; but I really can't see what
use high learning is to a man in carrying on the business of
farming — can you?”
“Yes, sir. Even in the mere management of your grounds,
a thorough knowledge of the sciences will give you many and
great advantages.”
“What advantages, I should like to know?”
“One, and a great one, too, will be that it will show you
the true nature and capabilities of the different soils of your
farm, which can be accurately known only by a knowledge
of chemistry and geology. It was through these sciences
that plaster was discovered, and its use in supplying the
place of some ingredient which, by the same means, was
found to be wanting to make the soil fruitful. You have
used this article, perhaps, on your own farm?”
“Yes, I have; and if the article came by the sciences, I
should be willing, for one, that the sciences should take it
away again. A year or two ago, I laid out about a dozen
dollars in ground plaster to sow over an old, worn-out piece
of bottom land of mine; and I might have as well sown so
much ground moonshine, as for any good it did. Well, the
next year, I put a lot on to a heavy, wet piece of land, to see
whether it might not help that; and I come out with just
about as much benefit as before. In both cases, my money
was thrown away.”
“And yet, sir, that is one of those facts which go strongly
to prove what I have said. Without chemical analysis, it
can with no certainty be determined what ingredients are
lacking in any soil to restore its fertility. The knowledge I
contend for would have taught you this, and enabled you to
lay out your money where, instead of being thrown away, it
would have been doubled. It would have taught you, that
alluvial soils, or meadows, are rarely, if ever, benefited by
plaster; lime, potash, salt, or a mixture of some other soil
being required, to produce the necessary change. And so
with wet, heavy soils, whose defects are better remedied by
an addition of peat, loam, or gravel; while high and dry
by plaster alone.”
“Is that a fact? Well, I never knew it before.”
“Yes, sir; this, and much more of the same character, has
already been ascertained, not by practical farmers, but by
men of science, who have made these discoveries by only
occasionally turning their attention to the subject. And if
so much has been done by those who made it not their main
object and business, what might not be effected by a whole
community of educated farmers, whose whole energies and
interests were devoted to the work of improvement? Indeed,
sir, I seriously believe, that if our legislatures would establish
a fund for the liberal education of young farmers, with the
condition that they should remain such, they would do a
thousand times more towards promoting and elevating the
great interest of agriculture, to say nothing of the general
benefits which would follow — would do a thousand times
more than by all the premiums they could offer for best
products, or all the societies they could establish.”
“Well, I confess, sir, that your ideas, which are new to
me, look kinder reasonable. But what is the reason all these
things cannot be learned in our common schools? We have
them in all our districts, both summer and winter, and generally
keep our children in them more than half of the year,
from the ages of four to twenty.”
“Perhaps most of the sciences might be acquired in our
common schools, if they were conducted properly, and by
teachers of adequate qualifications. But as at present managed,
and with the low wages now given, it is next to a
miracle to find a teacher thus qualified. Now, for instance,
as regards your son here, I very much doubt whether you
will ever have a teacher in your district, who will be able to
instruct him much more, especially in those higher branches
which he is now evidently capable of entering upon with
schools. It will give him advantages in life, which he can
never otherwise obtain. Knowledge is power.”
“Well, sir, if knowledge is power, as in some respects it
probably is, it is often used, I fear, by those who have it, to
take advantage of the weak and honest laboring people, who
don't happen to be so well educated.”
“Such advantages may be, and sometimes doubtless are,
taken by some, who have knowledge without moral principle.
But the proportion of unprincipled men among the well
educated, I am satisfied, is much smaller than among an
equal number of almost any class of society. Allowing,
however, the proportion to be the same, or greater, how
would you disarm them of that power? In no other way,
certainly, than by placing the same weapons of knowledge in
the hands of the many, instead of the few. I am no advocate
for power to be used in the manner you mention. I am no
advocate for the doctrine,
`That those who think, must govern those who toil.'
who think and those who toil should be one and the same
class; and, as I have already intimated, I believe this desirable
object can never be effected, without affording the means of
a more general and thorough education.”
During the foregoing dialogue between Mr. Amsden and
his guest, — who stood over the kettle of boiling sugar, occasionally
dipping into it with their slender wooden spoons or
paddles, to sip the pure liquid, or the less cloying sweet of
the snowy scum continually gathering in concentric and
surgy lines around the point of ebulition, — Locke stood like
one spell-bound to the spot, eagerly drinking in the words
and opinions of the courteous stranger, who had so eloquently
expressed the feelings of his own breast, and given a definite
had often risen in his own mind. His heart, swelling with
irrepressible emotions, gratefully responded to every sentiment
he had heard; and he felt as if he could have fallen
down and worshipped, as a superior being, the man who had
uttered them. He had often before, as just intimated, harbored
thoughts, feelings, and wishes like those of the stranger;
yet they had been vague and uncertain, and he never dared
cherish them as practicable for himself, or indulge in any
expectation of their fulfilment. But now the train, which
had long been preparing in his bosom, was fired never more
to be extinguished.
By this time, the now slowly boiling sugar had settled
low in the kettle, and assumed that deep, orange hue, which
indicates a near approach to that point at which granulation
takes place almost as soon as the mass ceases boiling.
“Come, Locke,” said Mr. Amsden, raising aloft his skimmer,
from which each falling drop was followed by a fine,
silken harl, that stiffened and shivered in the breeze; “come,
it throws off the hairs pretty smartly, I see; we may as
well call it done, I think. You may bring,” he continued,
lifting off the kettle, “you may bring me a clean pail to take
it home in. And hav'nt you a tin cup or something, Locke,
into which you can take some by itself to carry to the gentleman's
little girl? — it might please her better.”
“We have nothing fit for that, here, father, I believe,”
replied the boy. “But stay — I made something the other
day that will do, I think; and I will give it to her, sugar
and all, to carry off with her, if she will accept it.”
So saying, he ran into the shantee, and returned with a
small, neatly-made, oblong box, holding, perhaps, about a
pint, which he had chiseled and cut out from a solid billet of
the beautiful bird's-eye maple, having provided it with a
curiously carved slide-cover, and tastefully stained the whole
had found in the woods.
“Upon my word!” said the stranger, glancing at the box,
as it was being filled and set aside to cool by its ingenious
and free-hearted little owner, “upon my word, Master Locke,
you seem to have a genius for every thing. That is one of
the neatest specimens of mechanical skill, considering your
means of making it here in the woods, which I have seen
this long while. My daughter, I think, will feel quite proud
of her present.”
“O, the boy knows enough,” said Amsden with affected
indifference, as he, with the pail of new sugar, and his son,
with the box, having filled up the kettles with sap, and
replenished the fires, now started with their guest for the
house, “he knows enough, no doubt; and if he would only
turn his mind on business to some account, he might make
considerable of a man.”
On reaching and entering the house, our young hero sent
a sheepish and inquiring glance around the room in search
of the object on which he had promised himself the pleasure
of bestowing his sweet and pretty gift; but when that fair
object met his admiring gaze, with her brightly blue eyes
and sweetly expressive countenance, his courage suddenly
failed him, and he found himself unable to approach and
make the offering, till her father, interposing, directed her
attention to the present, which he told her his young friend,
Master Locke, had generously proposed to make her; when,
feeling that there was now no retreat for him, he timidly
advanced, and silently presented the box to the smiling girl,
who received it, at first, with a playful “thank 'ee,” and then,
as she drew out the cover, and ascertained the contents, with
lively expressions of grateful delight. This breaking the ice
of his bashfulness, Locke soon found himself engaged with
his fair friend in a sociable conversation, which was maintained
forwardness, perhaps we might say, which characterizes the
manners of the sex at the age of the one in question.
The company were now summoned to the excellent dinner,
which the provident and ambitious mistress of the house had
prepared for the occasion. The meal, which she had spread
on her best cherry table, covered with a cloth of snowy
whiteness, the workmanship of her own hands from distaff to
hemming and marking, consisted, in the first place, of ham,
eggs, and other varieties of the substantial food usually
found upon the farmer's table. Then came the fine meal
Indian Johnny-cake, mixed with cream, eggs, and sugar, and
forming, when rightly made, perhaps the most delectable
esculent of the bread kind, that ever gratified an epicure's
palate. This last, and the light, hot biscuit, for those who
chose them, together with pies, both apple and minced, stewed
fruit, gooseberry preserves, honey, and new sugar, constituted
the desert, — the whole making a repast which gave proof
that the farmer has ample materials of his own raising, if he
has but a wife of competent skill in cookery to manage them,
to furnish a table which may be made to rival the boasted
banquet-boards of princes.
As soon as the dinner, which had passed off with great
sociability and good feeling, was finished, the travellers,
pleading the necessity of diligence on their way, immediately
commenced preparations for resuming their journey. The
horse, which, in the mean time, had been returned and well
cared for by the boy who had taken him in charge, was now,
by the same active little groom, speedily cleaned, harnessed,
and brought up with the carriage to the door. And, the
next moment, the gentleman, with the sprightly little Mary
(for such, it appeared, was the girl's name,) emerged from the
house, followed by the family, who now gathered round the
carriage to witness the departure of those who seemed to
which is usually created only by a long and intimate acquaintance.
“Now, Mr. Amsden,” said the stranger, turning to his
host, after placing his daughter in her seat, “now, I will
settle with you for the shoeing of the horse, our dinners, and
all other trouble, to say nothing of the hospitable kindness
with which you all have made us feel so much at home.
What, sir, will be your bill?”
“Ben, what did Mr. Dighton say he should charge?”
asked the other, turning to his boy.
“Forty cents, sir,” was the prompt reply.
“Well, forty cents, then, is the bill,” resumed the farmer.
“Yes, but the rest of your charges?”
“We will trust you for that.”
“I should prefer to pay, sir.”
“You may, if you will allow me to direct the manner of
payment.”
“Very well, sir; speak on.”
“Why, when you get settled down in life again, give some
other traveller a dinner, if he is as good company as you
have been, and that shall square the account between us.”
“I will, however, make your boys a present.”
“Better see whether they will take any thing first, sir.”
“O, no, no, sir,” quickly interposed Locke, as the gentlemen
was opening his purse.
“Not a cent for me, Mister; that aint the way I get my
living,” chimed in the spirited and proud little Ben.
“Ah, I see you are all determined to have your way at
this time,” smilingly remarked the stranger: “however, all
may come right hereafter, perhaps. But as the matter now
stands, I have only to express my sense of obligation to each
and all of you. And one thing more, before we part, Mr.
son of yours the chance for a good education.”
“Do you think he has capacities which would warrant
such a step, sir?” asked the gratified mother of the boy.
“Indeed, I certainly do, Madam; even to sending him to a
college,” replied the other.
“That would be impossible in my circumstances, provided
I thought as you do on the subject,” remarked Mr. Amsden.
“Let him go to a good academy, then,” rejoined the
stranger.
“Well, now, I don't exactly know about that,” replied the
other. “He may go winters to our district schools as long
as he pleases; and I think, for the present, at least, that he
should, and will be, quite satisfied with that. Is it not so,
Locke?”
“Why,” answered the boy diffidently, “I should be satisfied
to go to our district masters, if they could tell me the
reasons of things, which I always wish to know.”
“That is right, Master Locke, responded the stranger;
“you have expressed, in almost a word, the great aim and
essence of all true knowledge and philosophy — `to know the
reason of things.' Yes, my young friend, let that still be
your ambition; and, if your father will give you the opportunity,
I doubt not you will do honor to the motto you have
chosen.”
“Well, I would be a scholar, Locke, if I was you,” added
Mary, with charming naïveté; and if you will, and come and
keep school where I live, I will go to school to you, and
become a great scholar too, if I can.”
The travellers now took their leave of the family, and drove
from the yard, attended by the repeatedly expressed good
wishes of the good-hearted farmer, and his equally kind and
more high-minded companion. And, in these wishes, they
felt more than they had expressed! That was our young
hero; who, as the rest of the family returned into the house,
stood mutely gazing after the receding carriage, till its last
traces were lost to his sight; when he slowly turned away,
the big drops of tears standing in his eyes, and his lip quivering
with emotions which had been awakened by this brief,
but to him, as will appear in the sequel, important visit of
these interesting strangers.
| CHAPTER I. Locke Amsden, The schoolmaster | |