Chapter 12

Upon this, Fabens went to his barn to look after his cattle and see if any would be likely to suffer in the storm; and finding all in comfortable quarters, he returned, saying, "I wish I could know that everybody in the world had as happy a home as we have to-night. I could then rest more warmly and sweetly. It is bitter cold night, and I fear many will suffer. I am glad I made the wood-bee for poor Troffater. His family can have the comfort of warm fires this winter. The neighbors turned out well, and a good big pile of beech and maple lies at his door. I shall sleep better for that."

They enjoyed their devotions, Fabens praying that God would bless His beloved poor, and all who were suffering and needy; while He kept their own hearts from unjust judgments, from deception and evil; and they were soon wrapped warmly and well in the slumbers of the night.

XXIII.

FAIRBANKS, FRISBIE, AND FABENS.

Not another month expired before Fairbanks paid a visit to Squire Fabens, and conversed a whole evening on topics that could not but interest the family; and Mrs. Fabens confessed he had never appeared so well to her mind before; and that if there were art and insinuation in his manner that time, it was so skilfully managed and deeply concealed she could not discover it.

Still something impressed her with the conviction that it would be quite as well not to rely too much on his integrity, until he was better known; and by no large trusts committed to his honor, to tempt him to an act of vice. But Fabens and Fanny could harbor no suspicions; while for the latter, Fairbanks showed more regard on this occasion than would have been compatible with a knowledge of her engagement to Ludlow, and respect for the sanctity of plighted love. Still, it appeared his unthinking way of indulging hearty friendship; and indeed it rather augmented than diminished Fanny's regard for him.

When about to return, Fairbanks remarked that he had been engaged beyond present preparations in the purchase of produce of late, and had expended more of his money than he calculated in the beginning; and if the Squire would lend him fifty dollars he should have it back again in a fortnight. The money was handed him without hesitation; and just a week from that time, Frisbie came and paid it, saying that Fairbanks always felt distressed when he could not take up his notes, and pay borrowed money before he agreed to. He spent another evening; and among other questions, he inquired, in an innocent way, if they knew George Ludlow.

"We know him very well. Why, what of him?" returned Fabens.

"O, nothing," answered Frisbie; "nothing. I happened to think of him just now; that is all. I believe Fairbanks saw him for the first time in your harvest-field last summer. He would not have remembered it, if Ludlow had not had occasion to mention the circumstance in connection with another affair the other day."

"Then you have seen something of him, have you?" inquired Fabens.

"O, but little, sir, very little indeed," said Frisbie. "He came the other day to trade out a due-bill, and--I believe Fairbanks is well enough satisfied about him now. We were not certain that you knew him very well."

"There was no difficulty with him, I presume?" said Fabens, not indifferently.

"O, no, nothing of any consequence whatever; nothing that we would breathe abroad, or wish to remember," said Frisbie, with a meekened look.

"May I ask if anything dishonorable on his part?" inquired Fabens. "We have supposed him one of our best young men--one of the _very_ best in town; and we have known him from a child."

"I am sorry I mentioned his name: I see it disturbs you," said Frisbie. "I would not weaken one's confidence in another for anything in the world--unless I had the weightiest reason. And this was nothing of importance, for one of his friends to know."

"But may _we_ not know it, and be relieved of our anxiety?" asked Fabens, with rising emotion.

"Why,--yes, I would as lief _you_ would know it as not," said Frisbie. "_You_ will say it was a trifling affair, and little worth minding after all. Hundreds of young men do the same, and never repeat it, and are just as well thought of, too, by a good many people. Temptations lie in wait to ensnare us all; and the greatest wonder is, not that now and then one becomes criminal, but that so many people, good as you and I, Squire Fabens, do not oftener step aside from virtue's way."

"But we thought George Ludlow the last to be tempted. He is certainly a most respectable young man. His very looks bespeak an innocent heart. I seldom meet him without desiring to exclaim as Jesus did at the approach of young Nathanael--'Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile!' And then he is so industrious and regular," said Fabens warmly.

"I am very glad you think and feel as you do. It is truly refreshing to witness such confidence in men. And I told Fairbanks that George looked as though he worked hard, and wanted to be respected."

"But tell me, what of his error, Mr. Frisbie? I insist upon knowing."

"You shall know, Squire Fabens. I would as lief _you_ would know as not; you will not breathe it where it can hurt Ludlow. You know we are bound to lift up the fallen--not to crush them."

"But he has not fallen, I hope! What was his error?"

"Do not let it trouble you, Squire, do not let it trouble you at all. I think just as much of him, far's I know, as ever I did. The crime--if crime _you_ would call it, is this: he came to our store to trade out a due-bill, as I said, and after he had gone, we missed a pocket-handkerchief."

"He or some one else may have taken it by mistake," interrupted Mrs. Fabens, rocking her chair in agitation.

"That is very likely, as I told Fairbanks," said Frisbie. "And it is best for us to think so. We had better judge ten guilty persons innocent, than condemn one innocent man. It was a _silk_ pocket-handkerchief; and as it lay on the counter just before he left, Fairbanks thought Ludlow must have taken it; and following him over to the tailor's shop, where he left his bundle, I opened it, and found a handkerchief, just like ours, wadded up and tucked into one end of the wrapping paper. _Little_ things sometimes indicate more than we wish to believe. But then he looked a little honest, when he came in, and said he knew not how on earth it got there."

"I don't believe he did know," said Fabens. "How easy it would have been for you; or whoever put up the goods, to have put that in by mistake."

"Just so I told Fairbanks," said Frisbie; "and it must have got there in some such way. It was crumpled up so, my first thought was that it was tucked in by stealth. I inquired of our new customer, Captain Troffater--I believe they call him Captain, I very confidentially named the circumstance to him, and he said it _might_ be a mistake of ours; but he did not know about it, and it was best for merchants to keep a sharp lookout, when they did not know who was in their store. But there, as--"

"I will not believe George stole it," interrupted Fabens earnestly. "He is incapable of such an act; and it is much more reasonable to believe it was done up by mistake."

"I have brought home things several times in that way, and nobody suspected _I_ meant to steal," said Mrs. Fabens. "The clerks confessed their hurry, and their liability to make mistakes, when I returned them."

"We do make such mistakes too often, as I told Fairbanks; and it must be he took it in that way," concluded Frisbie. "At any rate, I had rather believe so, and have you _all_ believe so, than believe him guilty. I am sure I would not harm the fellow; and I would not weaken your confidence in him. I am always so grieved myself to know that a person is not as good as I believed him to be, I would not attempt to convince any one of confidence misplaced for the world--unless I had the weightiest reason. Yet, I confess it grieves me still more to see confiding people deceived, they feel so bad after it."

Upon this, Frisbie rose and repeated his invitation to Fabens, to go over and see them, saying, as he left the door, that "he hoped Fairbanks would not be an old bachelor always, but get him a good wife, and have a home, and live like somebody, that ladies and gentlemen might visit him. But what do you think he says, when I jog him on the subject? That there is only one girl in Summerfield he could like well enough to marry, and I point in a certain direction, and tell him I can guess who he means!

"Fairbanks is getting notional like all old bachelors. His mother taught him some of it. She thought so much of him when she kept house for him on the Hudson, she dared not let him stay away from home over night, for fear he would have the croup.

"He grows more and more particular in his choice of friends, and sets a higher and higher mark for the young lady of his choice. I tell him he is too particular. But he must have his notions; and I will say this for Fairbanks, whoever gets him, will get a prize worth setting her cap for. His mother always said, if he hadn't a happy and loving home, it wouldn't be his fault."

Frisbie left, and while Fanny's quince-blossom blushes all rallied to her cheeks and mounted to her forehead at the allusion in his last words, they all wondered why any one could suspect George Ludlow of crime, on evidence so trivial; and they thought none the less of him, or the merchant, or the clerk.

In the course of a few weeks, Fairbanks and Frisbie came again, and Fairbanks borrowed a hundred dollars, spent a pleasant evening, and evinced a still warmer regard for Fanny Fabens. A week before the money was to be paid, he returned and said, he had it all with him, and if the Squire wished to make immediate use of it he would insist on paying it over; at the same time intimating the great obligation it would confer on him to permit him the use of it a few weeks longer; getting an extension of time till he could return from New York, and obtaining the loan of Fabens' note, payable to his order at the bank, for a hundred and fifty dollars.

Before the time of extension expired, the borrowed money was paid, with interest urged, and a few handsome presents to Fanny and Mrs. Fabens, for the accommodation. And on being well assured that the note at the bank had been taken up, and the signature cancelled, Fabens loaned him another note for two hundred and fifty dollars.

In two months more, other elegant presents were made to Fanny and Mrs. Fabens, and Fairbanks and Frisbie, together, as a token of their particular and high esteem, presented Fabens a superb cane, of a limb from the Liberty Tree, as they said, then waving on Boston Common; richly mounted with silver, bearing his name, and the names of the generous donors, on a silver eagle, set in the ivory head; with appropriate inscriptions, and all polished like the smoothest glass.

"This gift," said Squire Fabens, so touched with emotion, he faltered and hemmed in his speech, "this gift kindles a warm spot under my vest here," laying his hand on his heart. "A gift always affects me, if it is ever so small. And this, gentlemen, is _really_ a handsome gift _indeed_. I have no words to express my thanks."

"Thanks would only burden us the more, as we have been the most obliged," said Fairbanks, with his blandest bow, and meekest smile; and other kind words were spoken, and confident assurances repeated; and another note obtained for three hundred dollars. During that delightful visit, in words employed with the most winning selection, Fairbanks and Frisbie said so much to the Squire about his credit abroad, about the favorable development of his head for a mercantile life, about the advantages which he knew merchants always had over farmers, about the pleasures of store-keeping, the opportunity of visiting New York frequently, and making honorable acquaintances there and elsewhere, and several other desirable objects, that when alone in the field, they proposed to him to come with them into a grand copartnership of the name of "Fairbanks, Frisbie and Fabens," and assume all the business of Summerfield; he was actually taken with agreeable surprise, his head growing giddy, as by some irresistible charm; and he looked upon the farmer's life and labor, as the life and labor of a drudge; glanced forth upon visions of opulence, honor and ease; and hoped to put away, without too much sacrifice, his stony acres, and enter upon that high and tempting course.

His mind wandered and returned, as between sleeping and waking. He remembered, at last, what Julia would be likely to say, if informed immediately, and in full, of the scheme. He remembered how diligently she had wrought, how prudently managed, to help him to his handsome property. He knew with what affection she regarded that home and farm, and every fruit-tree, and shade-tree and sugar-maple; every flower-bed, and herb-bank, and rose-tree and vine; every comfort and convenience around them; and how it might wring her heart, and how Fanny might weep to see the old homestead go to another; and he concluded, it was best on the whole, to take time for reflection, and if at last he determined to sell, and become a merchant, he would let his family know but little of his plan at a time, and prepare them gradually, as Fairbanks considerately advised, to incline to his will, and consent to try the change.

Before the end of another week, and before Fabens had decided on their proposition, Frisbie came again for the loan of another note, of three hundred dollars, and left, saying, "they were perfectly willing he should take his own time, to make up his mind about coming into the new firm; that this note should be looked after and paid as promptly as all the others had been, and he would find that John Fairbanks as clever a fellow as ever dealt with him."

XXIV.

A WEEK OF CASTLE BUILDING.

The last assurance of Frisbie was indeed very kind, but unnecessary; for Squire Fabens was well convinced before the last visit, that Fairbanks was all he had been represented to be; and that conviction rose from a simple and cool opinion to a warm and loving faith, when he considered all the gifts they gave; the generous solicitations, which merchants but seldom extended to farmers; and the liberty they allowed him, to take his own time and look the matter carefully over.

It was a mean suspicion, he thought, which could longer fear deception. Had it been their design to deceive, why all that frankness; that fair and candid proposing; that trusting to his own mind to weigh, and his own time to return an answer? Villains would have been more exacting in their terms, and briefer in their plans and proposals. Villains would have talked in a lower tone, attempted to hurry him to agreements, and hastened the signing and sealing. With those gentlemen, all was generous, candid, moderate, indulgent; and even if he concluded not to accept their magnanimous offer, he should always remember the kindness in which it was made.

A whole week was before him; yes, two or three weeks if he wanted it, to weigh the proposal and return an answer. He gave his whole mind to it, and a week was found sufficient for the deliberation. During that week he seemed to live many years of a life, wide and wonderful; stirring and instinct with actions, incidents and scenes; a life and possessions, progressive as the rise of day, and rapid as the bloom of springtime. It was a week of Castle Building. The days of the week introduced a succession of views that swept in action and speech before him like the scenes of a thrilling drama.

Scene first was opened. It pleased his eyes, and sent blissful sensations running around his heart. It showed him the store of the company, enlarged and renovated, with a capacious counting-room, and a pleasant door in the rear, beneath a piazza opening to the cool air and placid smile of the sweet Cayuga, as it slept or stirred, embosomed among the lovely hills.

In that store, he saw himself, now moving in the press of business; now examining their posted legers; and now seated in the comfortable counting-room, counselling on their growing concerns, or conversing with an old friend, or neighbor, as the smooth pine whittlings rolled like ribbons from his hand; and now on the back piazza, enjoying the air and prospect.

It was a happy change. It was all shaded sweetly from the intolerable sun; it was more stirring than farm work; it was more gentle, and suited to his years. It was cleanly; and his cool linen wristbands would keep all the week as snowy white as Julia had done them; while she would have lighter washings, and more leisure time.

It was a profitable change. Money was made faster there, Not that his soul was on fire with a passion for money; he loved money less than most of his neighbors; he was free and manly with his money as you would not find ten in a thousand. Still, honest gains were pleasant to him; the amount he had accumulated somehow prompted a desire for more; and in a store he could gain faster, and in larger amounts, and perhaps retire in a few years, from all business, more independent than now, enjoy the satisfaction of giving more gracious charities, and dispensing sweeter reliefs; and settling a handsomer sum on Fanny when she married, and again when he died.

It was an honorable change. Say what they would, farmers looked up to merchants, and considered their own avocation inferior. Many farmers honored merchants more than those of their own sphere, and would be glad to be merchants themselves. As he moved about that store, or whittled in that counting-room, or sat on that back piazza, and took of the cool summer breeze, fresh kisses of beauty borne up from the laughing lake, he would still be called Squire Fabens, but it would come with more emphasis and meaning than now, while delving in the vulgar soil.

Scene second was opened. The store was the same, but the business extended, calling another clerk to the counter; the seats were there, and the pleasant views around; the company sulky, polished like a razor, danced on its light elliptics, behind a proud pawing horse at the post; and the sun literally revelled in the yellow gold that flamed on the sanded sign over the door.

His eyes were still more pleased, and there flocked around his heart sensations of more exalted bliss. The chances of his fortune were very large, and sure; but he would feel rich on a quarter of what would be required in older sections, and in cities. If he could have ten thousand dollars, and a clear conscience and good name left, he would feel richer than many with a million. He would be rich enough, and thank no man for more. No man ought to accumulate more. With that fortune he could settle down, in the pleasantest home.

That home rose before him in the scene. It stood fronting the village green. It supported its piazza and Paris green blinds, and was white and modest in all appearance. It was a two-story house of course, for a story and a half would look too much like a squatter's home, in a village; yet it was not over large. A large house would give Mrs. Fabens too much care and work, and she would not have a servant to wait on her. The house was just suited to his family. It was furnished neatly but prudently; having a sofa indeed, and one large mirror; but brick fireplaces, frugal lamps, a plain carpet in the parlor, and maple chairs with simple flag-seats.

In that home, how much comfort he could take when his friends gave him calls; when Fanny and her children came home on a visit, and when some poor weary mendicant entered for shelter, alms and rest! To that home he could retire in a few years, free from the cares of business, anxious for nothing, but the good of his neighbors, still young in his heart, and fresh in all his feelings to enjoy life's blessing and peace.

Scene third was opened. The store remained, with an increase of business, and an enlargement of the building. He still continued in business; but it was from choice, and not necessity; for all of his ten thousand was made; and it was made so easily, and in so much less time than he anticipated, and so pleasantly withal, he might just as well keep on to twenty thousand; if a clear conscience might remain, and he might be a little more happy.

Mrs. Fabens could be lady of a handsomer home, and perhaps persuaded to keep a servant or two, and take some comfort in her old age. His first object should be to force happiness on her; for a better wife never blest a devoted husband. Mrs. Fabens should be urged to extend the sphere of her enjoyments, and Fanny should be well provided for. He would try for twenty thousand. Then a larger house could be built, and a good horse and carriage attend at the door.

That sum was accumulated, and that home and its opulent comforts and equipage rose in the scene. He was glad he possessed it. The poorest of his friends, the most humble of his fellows were welcome as ever there, and he was happier, showing how a rich man could unbend, and how much more was in his power to bless them.

Now he could travel some. Neither he nor his family has seen anything of the world at all, and he would take them around to see it. They should go to Saratoga a week, thence to Albany, thence to New York, and Philadelphia. Perhaps they would go through the country in their own private carriage, taking all the comfort of the journey. It would be grand to visit Niagara, and bring home in their souls the sublimity of the falls. May be they would go to Boston, and set their feet on Bunker-hill, where his father fought in the Revolution; and if he should ever be honored with a seat in the Legislature, or in Congress, he would take his family with him, for he could do it as well as not.

Scene fourth was opened, and that was pleasanter than all the rest. But he found that even twenty thousand would not be sufficient to accomplish all his plans. Yet, he was in no dilemma. Fairbanks, Frisbie and Fabens, had grown up into a mammoth business, and it would be as easy to make his thirty thousand, as to turn his hand over. Make it honestly too: and the money was all made, and he said now he had enough in all conscience, for one man to possess. Now his comfort would be complete.

He wondered why he should have taken it into his head to build his house in the village, where he could not turn himself without knocking his elbows, and where he could get no good views of nature, and hardly land enough for a patch of green grass to spread-out washings on.

Judge Garlock had a country-seat overlooking the Cayuga, scarcely a bow-shot from the pebbly shore, and he must have one too. He sells his village home, purchases ten acres on a gentle and beautiful slope, builds him a splendid house, with polished marble mantels, with cornices, centre-pieces, and folding-doors, furnished in several rooms with mahogany chairs and sofas, with ottomans and divans; the large parlor graced with a fine piano, for Fanny and her sweet daughters, when they shall come home; and his lovely acres are made more lovely by a profusion of trees, circles and lines of white pebble walk, pink-beds and tulips; and flourish not long without a deer-park and duck-pond, as symbols of ancient times.