University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Squire Stacy, as he was always called, who was the village
lawyer, was very generally acknowledged to be a strictly honest,
and in his way, a good hearted man. But as he was eccentric
and never did anything like other people, his acts and motives
were not always rightly appreciated, except by those who
intimately knew him. He was also so shrewd in reading the
characters and motives of others, and in detecting their weaknesses
and faults, that he was more dreaded than loved generally
by the villagers, who usually kept aloof from him, unless they
desired his professional services, on which they very justly placed
the utmost reliance: For many of the very traits that had prevented
him from being a favorite in social life, had contributed
doubtless, to success in his profession, in which he had acquired
an honest fame and a fair competence. But we need not enlarge
on his peculiar traits, for they will be shown sufficiently
for our purpose in that characteristic act of his life which involved
the fortunes of the young friend in whom we have seen
him take so great an interest.

About a dozen years before the period of our story, as Stacy,
one day, was returning on horseback from a neighboring town,
where he had been to attend a justice's court he stopped at a watertrough
by the side of the road near two or three poor looking dwellings.
And while awaiting the slow and dallying motions of
his horse in drinking, he amused himself in watching the motions
of a group of boys playing near the spot, and in indulging
in what, to him, was always a favorite employment, that of trying
to read their individual characters, present and prospective.
His eye first fell on a boy much larger than the rest, who was
unfeelingly domineering over a little timid fellow, wholly unable
to defend himself.

“Everything there shows the brute and coward for life, and his
actions confirm it,” said the Squire to himself. “Now for another.

And his eye next rested on a straight, compactly built little
fellow, standing on a flat rock, with no other clothing on him
than a coarse, ragged shirt, and a still more ragged pair of trowsers,
with one of the legs entirely torn off as high as the knee.

“Ah! now there is something worth studying in that boy,
ragged as the little Lazarus is,” said the Squire with interest---
“head, face, features, all faultless! and that expression! Why,
an almost perfect model of promising indications! But let us
look now for some exhibition of character.”

And with increasing interest he watched the boy's countenance,
which with alternating expressions of indignation and
pity, was keenly bent on the scene enacting between the hectoring
big boy and his distressed little victim.

“Zeke Doty!” presently exclaimed the ragged subject of the
Squire's observations, leaping from his stand on the rock, and
advancing a step towards the bully, “Can't see that any longer!
—can't have it!”

“Hoo!” sneeringly replied the other, “Seems to me, if I was
one of the town's poor, and a come-by-chance to boot, I should n't
crow quite so loud. I will do as I please, for all you, sir.”

“No you won't!” rejoined the former. “You let that little
fellow alone, and stop calling me names, or I'll fight you!”

The great boy, however, only jeered the more, and was beginning
to worry his victim again; when the other flew at him
with such resolution, and followed up his blows with so much
effect, in spite of the hard knocks he received himself, that his
antagonist, though of nearly twice his size, soon yielded and
took to his heels.

“Well done!” exclaimed the Squire. “Ah! I was right---all
the elements of a firm and noble nature stand revealed in that
single act, and intellect I know he has. If I could but have
the training of that boy---and why not? I want a boy, and he
may want a place. Let's talk with him a little.”

“Well, my lad,” said he, riding up to the boy, who was wiping
the blood from his nose, “you have got pretty badly hurt, haven't
you?”

“Some, but not so much as he did, I guess,” coolly answered
the boy.

“What is your name?”

“Lot Fisher.”

“Who is your father?”

“Don't know, sir. My mother's name was Hannah Fisher;
but she is dead now; and I live with Mr. Bean, who makes
shoes in that house, there.”

“Would you like to come and live with me, at the village?”

“Don't know but I should---what do you do when you are at
home?”

“I am a lawyer.”

“But they say lawyers do lie so---”

“That is a story you got from those who had lost their cases.
I don't lie, and I would not have a boy that would.”

“I'll go then, if Mr. Bean will let me.”

“Very well, we will go and talk with him,” said the Squire,
riding up and calling the shoemaker to the door.

“Well, what about this boy, Sir?” he asked, as the man
made his appearance, “have you any claims to him?”

“Why not in particular, Squire Stacy, I believe it is. The
boy being one of the town's poor, I bid him off, you see, about
three years agone to keep at a quarter of a dollar a week, besides
what I could get out of him; and so have kept him till
this year, when the selick men said he was old enough to earn
his way, and if I didn't want him, I must get a place for him,
which, seeing he didn't seem to take to my trade, I thought I
should.”

“That you can do easily. I'll take him off your hands.”

“What, for yourself? I don't know but I oughter tell you
the boy was kinder unfortunate about his birth.”

“So much the better—he will then know he must depend on
himself. But can he go now?”

“Why, yes, s'pose so.”

“Well, let him on with his hat and jacket, then.”

“He did have a hat,” said the man, “though I guess he has
lost it. But where's your jacket, Lot?”

“Why 'twant good for nothing,” replied the boy, “and when
I laid it down 'tother day, the hogs tore the last sleeve off.”

“Never mind,” said the Squire, “leap up here behind me and
we'll off in a tangent for home.”

Lot was accordingly mounted, in his scanty rags, without hat

or coat, behind the eccentric Squire, who, in this manner, proceeded
on his route, entered and rode through the village, heedless
of the wonder or sly looks of the villagers, and, landing the
boy at his house, installed him at once in his new home.

Stacy had judged correctly of the native character of the boy,
but he soon perceived that much must be done for him in the
way of instruction and guidance, else the strong traits of disposition
and intellect he possessed, which, under judicious management
might make him a useful and perhaps a distinguished
man, would make him very likely, if left to the guidance of
chance, a curse to the community, of which he should be an ornament.
The Squire, therefore, in pursuance of his own notions
on such matters, commenced his system of training; and
his first step was to inspire the boy with self-respect, by dressing
him as well as any of the boys of the village—by always treating
him with respectful kindness, and by never failing to praise
every good action, and only to express regret and sorrow at his
misbehavior and faults. This course, with the instruction constantly
accompanying it, transformed him, in a very few years,
from the wild, impulsive creature he was at first, into the most
obedient and docile of boys. In the mean time, he was allowed
the advantages of schools—the common schools till he was well
grounded in the rudiments of learning, and then the classical;
but of the latter, only enough to whet the intellectual appetite,
to teach him how to learn—to study on his own strength, and in
short, to think for himself. And such was his progress, and general
improvement in every thing, that at eighteen he was permitted
to enter on a regular course of studies in the law office,
at twenty one he was admitted as a practitioner at the bar, in
the county, with acquisitions both scientific and legal far superior
to many a graduate from college and law schools; when,
with the advice of his master, he settled, under the most flattering
auspices, in a neighboring village. Let us now return to
the thread of our narrative where we left it.

“Now Lot,” said the Squire, after they had taken a seat by
themselves in the office, “what do you imagine to be the true
cause of Old Jude's opposition to your proposed union with his
niece?”

“I certainly do not know, unless, as he led me to suppose, it
be the circumstances connected with my origin.”

“Not by any means: He cares not two straws for that; and
if the blind god had not made your eyes a little filmy, when
you look in that direction, I think your usual sagacity would
have enabled you to see that such a cause would be wholly
without effect on such a man as Old Jude, who as regards the
social relations, or any of the claimed proprieties and distinctions
in society, not involving the matter of dollars and cents, has no
more moral perceptions than a horse.”

“True, and I confess I was surprised to be called to meet objections
of that kind in him. It was then as I had partly anticipated,
want of wealth, was it?”

“No—as closely as the old man hugs money bags for himself,
that, if I read his dark character aright, is not the true secret
here.”

“Why, what can be his objection, then?”

“It is because you are a lawyer.”

“A lawyer!”

“Yes, a lawyer—such an one, at least, as he probably thinks
you will make, and especially one who stands in the relation
you do to me.”

“Your words are still too much of a riddle for my comprehension.”

“I presume so, and will be till you hear my story, which you
shall now have:—

Colonel Hosmer, when, in his last sickness, he found he could
not recover, sent for me, who had ever been his friend and legal
adviser, and earnestly requested me to accept the trust of administering
on his estate after his decease, and of becoming the
guardian of his daughter; his wife, he said, being too feeble in
health, and otherwise unequal to the management of so large a
property. I apprised him that his brother, in such a case, could
by our statute, claim those trusts; and I thought he would never
consent to forego his right and suffer a rival estate to go into
other hands. He then proposed making a brief will and me the
executor. That place I, also, firmly declined, knowing how
much Old Jude's persecutions, were to be dreaded by those who
crossed him where he concieved he had interests at stake. The

Colonel, who appeared disappointed at my refusal, then remarked,
by way of explaining the reason of his request, that though
his property would probably be safe in his brother's hands, should
the latter continue to be prospered, yet should he meet with any
great reverses in his own affairs, temptations might arise, to
which it were better for all parties that he should not be exposed.
The Colonel then asked, and finally drew from me a solemn promise
that if his brother took charge of his property, as he supposed
he must, that I would keep an observant eye on the manner the
trust was discharged, see that his wife and daughter were never
wronged, and in all things, act towards them as a friend and
father. He then handed me what he assured me was an exact
inventory of all his property, together with an appended schedule
of all debts honestly due from him, duplicates of which, it
seems he had prepared and kept for an emergency like the present
one. With these papers, which I have kept under lock and
key ever since, I left my dying friend, who, as I understood sent
immediately for Old Jude, proposed to him the same trusts he
had offered me, and, in the last words he ever uttered, charged
him to be kind and just to the widow and fatherless. So you
see now, Lot, why I should interest myself in all that concerns
the family of my lamented friend.”

“I do. But have you contrived to keep up all the while this
supervision of their affairs without the fact being known? As
long as I lived with you I never knew or suspected anything of
the kind.”

“No, nor any others, I presume. Yes, I have kept it up with
anxious vigilance. At the time I accepted this secret, and certainly
very unusual trust, and for several years after, I had not,
it is true, but little expectation of ever being called to exercise
it, except in the mere offices of friendship. But it was not long
before I began to have reasons to think otherwise. And my suspicions
being thus early aroused, I have traced Old Jude, from
that time up to the present, through all his secret and subtle
windings of iniquity, not only respecting his brother's afairs, but
his own, which, in the way he was managing, I thought it part
of my duty to investigate.”

“Do you then think him guilty of managing to defraud his
niece and ward of a portion of her property?”

“If he claims any af the property that now passes for his, I
do,—not only a portion, but the whole.”

“What, Sir! how am I to understand you, Mr. Stacy?”

“That, if Lucy was paid off all that justly belongs to her,
Old Jude would not be left with a shilling in the world!”'

“You astonish me! and I can scarcely realize this of the so
generally accounted rich Jude Hosmer; nor can I conceive how
it can be, that with his sharpness, with his extreme economy in
family expenses, and with no vices to impoverish him, he has
not even gained instead of losing property.”

“True he has sharpness in deal, even to the most unconscionable
exaction,economy to pinching, and none of what you mean
by vices; but instead of the latter, he has pursued, instigated
by his insatiable thirst for gain, a course of secret crimes,
and it was this which, at length, proved the principal source and
means of his impoverishment and losses. He began at first by
bribing witnesses in his law-suits; and his success for awhile,
as is often the case with those who enter on a career of crime,
blinded him to the final consequences. These bribed men under
threats of exposing him, or of volunteering to those seeking
new trials in important suits, to do away or explain their former
testimony, have continued to make fearful drafts on his purse.
Besides this, the public became so generally impressed with a
belief in his foul practices, that after a while he stood not even
a fair chance of obtaining his just rights before our courts and
juries; and he consequently lost several heavy suits, when he
ought to have recovered. He next went into the purchase and
sale of counterfeit bank bills, of which you recollect, there were
suspicions afloat at the time. Well, Sir, the story of those prisoners
whom he doubtless helped to escape was all true; and yet
it embraced only one branch of his extensive operations, in
which, finally to save himself from infamy and a prison, he had
to silence a combination of his accomplices and agents, who found
it safer and easier to plunder him than the public, by paying them,
in all enormous sums of money. And having had quite enough
of this, and become almost desperate by his losses, he lastly, in
seeming exemplification of the noted adage “whom God would
destroy he first makes mad,” plunged into heavy speculations in
the paper cities, then just got up, as a test on human gullibility,

one would think, and this gave the finishing blow to his own
private property.”

“But is it not generally understood,” asked Lot, “that his
brother's estate, at the same time, has turned out badly through
unexpected indebtedness and defective titles?”

“Yes, but that story all come from Old Jude, and has been
given out from time to time, during the past half dozen years, to
prepare the public mind for a quiet accomplishment of his designs
on the estate.”

“What first led you to suspect any such designs on this
estate?”

“Why, I was not quite satisfied, at the outset, that he should
have taken out letters of administration and guardianship on the
bonds of the widow alone, and I think the court should have
required further bonds, in so large an estate; but he declining
to procure other signers, the court, knowing him to be very
wealthy, appointed him on the bonds he offered. I did not like
the aspect of the thing, however, at the time, I remember; for it
looked to me, as if he was glancing at the probability of his wishing
some day to appropriate a portion of this estate to himself,
and was thus guarding himself against the troubles that might
arise in being watched and called to account by bondsmen.”

“But at the death of the widow was he not required to give
new bonds, and by that time, also, to settle the estate?”

“Yes, he was notified to that effect, and here the Judge of
Probate was clearly delinquent in duty in not enforcing its requirements.
But as he appeared so willing to give new bonds
when the subject was named to him, though he always had some
plausible excuse for not doing it then, and as every one considered
him so rich that it could only be necessary as a matter of
form, he has been always suffered to pass on without any bond
but his own. And so he has managed with regard to a-settlement
with the court. The great bulk of the estate was in notes
and mortgaged securities, of which he never returned any inventory,
and having pretended to sell the real estate to pay debts
and expenses, the amount and situation of the estate were, as he
supposed, known only to himself. Well, though he was several
times told by the different judges, that he ought to settle, yet as
he seemed always willing, though never quite ready, he was

permitted to glide along, as with his bonds, partly through the
negligence of the judges, there being no one interested that could
call him to an account, and partly through their fears of attempting
to enforce the law on a man of his influence: For in addition
to the power incident to wealth, Old Jude was often a warm
politician, when he could make anything by it, and always contrived
to exercise so much influence in the election of the judges,
that they were made to feel that their term of office was in a
great measure in his hands. Thus in regard to the management
of this estate. I have sometimes thought I could see an almost
literal fulfillment of the significant words of one of the old prophets
respecting the approaching corruptions of the Hebrew government—
The great man uttereth his mischievous desire, and so
they wrap it up.”

“All this looks, indeed, like a forearming for the excution of
some such design as you alledge; but how far has he proceeded
in fact?”

“So far that little remains to be done. About the time he
met with the first serious reverses in his own fortune, which I
have named, he commenced changing the notes and securities of
his brother's estate into his own name; and I soon found, that
just about in proportion as he lost his own property, he prepared
the way for embezzling that of his ward. And thus, in realization
of his brother's fears, he has gone on till he has destroyed,
as he believes, all evidence, by which any parcel or portion of
that property can be identified. These acts, with many more I
could name, when taken in connection with what he has latterly
declared to his niece and others about the failure of the estate,
afford sufficient proof not only of the intention, but the act, of
embezzling the whole of his brother's extensive property, or at
least turning its rightful owner off with some paltry setting out
in furniture. But with all his precautions, he will be afraid of
the investigation his course might have to undergo, in case his
niece married one whom he could not hope to blind.”

“And has he never suspected you in the part you have been
secretly acting?”

“I think he has; but he is by no means aware how much I
know of him. And not suspecting my motives and the moral
obligations I am under to ferret out his misdeeds, he probably
thinks what I do know will only be made use of in making up

a bad opinion of him. But he evidently fears me; and he has
much more reason to do so than he dreams of; for in following
him in matters that really concerned me to know, I have become
possessed, as I before intimated, of most, if not all, of the dangerous
secrets of his dark, tortuous and plotting career. And I
tell you, Lot Fisher, that Old Jude Hosmer, as much as he is
feared and courted by others, and as firmly and as strongly as he
thinks he has planted himself, stands tottering on a precipice,
from which I think I have the power to hurl him to destruction.”

“This is as new to me as it is surprising,” said Lot, thoughtfully,
“but how do you propose to make use of this power?”

“To compel him to do justice to his niece. If he will do this,
his crimes against the State, as the occasion has passed by, shall
be kept still secret, if he offends no more. But should he refuse
the condition I shall place before him, and attempt to stand out,
he must then be overthrown by every means that can be brought
to bear upon him And you, Lot, must be the man, as the husband
of Lucy Hosmer, to take the lead in fighting the great battle
which will then ensue.”

“If I was the husband of Miss Hosmer, I should probably
take proper measures to secure her rights; but as I am not, and
have not the least authority to act for her, how do you propose
that I should avail myself of the knowledge you have imparted?”

“I would lay the whole case before her. She will keep the
secret; and she will, also, have the sense to perceive, that her
interest and her happiness alike require, that she make you, as
soon as she is of age, her legal protector, whether her uncle consent
or not.”

“No,” said Lot, after a thoughtful pause, “I can never do that
All that I could say would be but to tell her, in effect, that she
was entitled to a fortune—that I would prosecute her uncle and
recover it, if she would marry me. No, never! It would carry
with it an air of mercenary calculation, that I will never have
associated with my name.”

“I spoke as a lawyer, you have spoken as a lover. And perhaps
it is well for us, in this mercenary world, that there is one
passion devoid of selfishness. I am not surprised that you take
this view of the subject. Still the emergency seems to require

that some step to apprise Lucy of her rights should be taken soon
—before she is of age, which is some time this year, I think. It
would probably alter her resolution about waiting for her uncle's
consent to her marriage. And besides this, there is danger that
Old Jude, as soon as she can legally act for herself, will be coaxing
her into a settlement, which, unless she is previously informed
of her rights, he will have in his own way. Perhaps I had
better see her myself.”

“You should be the one, if any body; but remember I can
give you no authority; nor do I wish you, when communicating
with her, to connect my name, in any way, with the subject.”

“Certainly not; for I can appreciate the delicacy of the circumstances
under which you are placed. But if I should conclude
to have a talk with Old Jude, as I may, I should directly
urge his consent to her union with you, hinting enough of what
I know, if I could not get along without, to bring him to a compliance.
For I can see, that no strong steps can be taken to secure
Lucy's estate, which is greater than you even now dream
of, till your union with her. Then, if you and she wish it, I
shall be ready to act, not only with all my skill as a lawyer, but
with all my good will as a friend to you both.”

“You know, Squire Stacy, how certainly I should retain you
in any case which I could strictly call my own; and I doubt not
Lucy would as certainly do the same. But, at present, I can
only thank you for your kind intentions.”

“Ay, Lot, but you may expect I shall be acting a little in anticipation
of the only legal authority under which I can ever act;
for no such authority, you are aware, could be conferred in the
secret trust I accepted from Lucy's father. But whatever move
I may make, it will be done with the utmost caution, and in a
manner, perhaps, that you may not, at the time, comprehend;
for expedients of no common character may be required to meet
the doublings of my subtle opponent, who is really more to be
dreaded, in a contest of this kind, than any three lawyers in the
land. And here, before we part, let me enjoin the same caution
and vigilance on you, not only in keeping all I have told you a
profound secret, but by placing a double guard on your whole
conduct. I know you have the best of all shields against the
shafts of enemies and opponents of all kinds, a good moral character.
But Old Jude is no ordinary opponent, and you know not

what means he may resort to by way of preventing a connection,
in which he doubtless sees much to fear.”

The conference here ended and the parties rose to leave the
place; when their attention was attracted by a slight ruffling
noise, as of hastily moved paper, in the back room of the office,
the door between the two rooms being sufficiently ajar to admit
the sound. The Squire instantly went into the room, and, drawing
up the paper curtain, which hung down over an open window
in the rear of the building, and which had doubtless occasioned
the noise, looked out, but discovered no person, though an
eaves-dropper, owing to a line of shrubbery, that stood near the
building, could have easily escaped undetected.

“I was careless in leaving that door ajar, and still more so in
not shutting down that window,” said the Squire, as they now
left the office; “but I think it could have been only some slight
puff of wind that ruffled the curtain, so our secret is still with
ourselves, I presume.”