Chapter 13

And how his heart leaps with delight as he beholds that home in contrast with the old ones, and imagines the comfort they will find there. Not the wet grass, or slumping soil of a farm, but the white pebble path of a villa will he now tread, as he goes forth to enjoy the morning and the night. And while he is out, if he chooses not to sit down in his summer-house, and read, or look over his last paper, under one of his maples, and has nothing else to busy his thoughts, and no one to share his company, he can fling corn to his ducks in the pool, and feed his gentle deer, delighting to see them enjoy his care.

Who has not a right to build as handsome a house as money will buy? He cannot withdraw his eyes from the charming scene! He retires and returns again and again, to linger and look upon it. The clear and cool Cayuga shines beyond, as if hung for a mirror to reflect it; and he sees the whole magnificent estate, the house and its terraces, the grounds and trees, the walks and waters, the ducks and deers; even the tulips and pinks, as plainly in its placid splendor, as you can see the sun in the silver sky.

But he must turn, at least to breathe, for the fifth scene opens. Still he remains a member of the firm of Fairbanks, Frisbie and Fabens. Still at times he is seen in the store, waiting on customers, when the others are absent, sitting now and then in the counting-room to counsel or converse, or enjoying a cool hour on the back piazza. Still he is very happy, yet not quite satisfied.

He has run upon the idea that a high-school is wanted in Summerfield, and that he cannot more nobly enhance his happiness than by establishing a school of the first class, in a building erected for the purpose, endowing it amply, and making a present of it to the town. Ten thousand dollars more could easily be made, and it would enable him to do that very handsome thing for Summerfield.

In comes the money without effort, and without delay; the school is established on a pleasant eminence, in full view of his mansion, and it makes a fine ornament to the place; while he finds it a pleasant sight indeed, to see talented young men, and accomplished young women, going forth from Fabens' Academy, to improve society, and ennoble their own life with learning, and graceful manners and ways.

And while revelling in this new source of joy, his fortune continues to grow, and the sixth scene opens. It will be thought a novel enterprise in that community, and he is prepared for it, and even for a few sneers and witticisms; but these will not move him at all, and he resolves to build a meeting-house, and call a pastor, and settle a salary upon him. He has always supported Elder Darling's meeting--the Elder is an excellent man, and he will continue to support him; but he is not perfectly suited with the Elder's preaching; it wants heartier life, and a more evangelical power and effect; and he knows of many who hunger for a gospel of larger faith and charity; which shall feed and refresh the people, and raise their aims and views; which shall identify religion more with a pure and benevolent character; which shall not be sectarian; and, free from cant and vain pretension, shall enter into every-day life, and make smiles its hymns, and deeds of good its prayers. Such a minister can be procured, such a church established. He can establish it himself, and not mind the cost. He will do it, and ask no man's assistance. Up goes a beautiful church as there is in all the country, and on comes the eloquent preacher; and full meetings, and joyful seasons follow. If ever he was a man of perfect happiness, it is now.

And what can prevent the continuance of his bliss? The evangelical gospel sounds sweeter than ever in his ears. New interpretations of Scripture enlighten him, and higher views of God and heaven open like elysium around. And can anything, out of heaven, flood his heart with a fuller satisfaction, than on a still, bright, silent Sunday, such as God gives in holiest beauty only to the country, to ride in his carriage to that lovely church, which nestles like a white dove in among the hills, and hear preaching that will fatten his soul with celestial manna-dew, exchange warm greetings with hundreds who thank him for the privilege they enjoy at his hand, and ride home, rejoicing all the way, to be the agent by which a door is opened for light and truth in a new region?

His happiness continues to flow. All his reasonable expectations are fulfilled, and he seems to live longer in a single day, on a single Sunday now, than he once did in a twelvemonth; it makes him so happy to know he has made many others happy. But with the increase of fortune, comes the increase of desire, and he finds another thing lacking; a new project leaps into his mind, and the last scene opens.

There are a great many poor people in Summerfield. Several causes have combined to make them poor. Most of them are very worthy, and have interesting children. All of them are God's sons and daughters, and should not pine in want and grief amid so much wealth and country. If a Poor Man's Home were established on a large and productive farm, and put under judicious management, how much suffering might be alleviated! How many aged heads lie down on soft pillows of peace! How many aged hearts, unburdened of grief, and made to run over with flowing tears of gratitude! How many of the disabled and unfortunate, placed beyond reach of want and misery! How many bright children snatched from the errors and temptations that lurk in the way of poverty, and clothed and educated in virtues and lessons, that would place them on a footing with rich men's children, and lead them to lives of usefulness and honor! How many orphans provided for, and how many widows made to sing in their hearts for joy!

He has means sufficient to do most of the building himself, and endow the Home; and with a little help from others, the institution is completed; and he sees bright glancing wings of joy hovering at doors where grief has been a constant guest; Comfort wiping tears from eyes long accustomed to weep; and Virtue and Knowledge leading large processions of rescued children on their heavenward way. He is rich and happy as he can hope or desire to be on earth, and he lies down to sweet dreams on the last night of his Week of Castle Building, and with those dreams the visions of affluence close.

XXV.

A WEEK OF REALITY.

During that memorable week, while those splendid scenes of fortune passed his view as on a rolling panorama, there were moments when Fabens felt that the scheme was too magnificent to contemplate alone, and Mrs. Fabens and Fanny ought at once to be admitted to the blissful secret, and participate his joy. Then again, he happened to remember Julia's love for the old home, and her questioning, slow-footed caution, and he refrained from a disclosure.

But he could not refrain from sounding her mind a little, as he returned from the field for his meals, to ascertain if his own dreams could possibly be too extravagant, and if there were any hope of a consent from her, provided in the end he should have an earnest desire to accept the tempting offer. He asked her several questions of considerable meaning to himself, which she answered, with little suspicion of the thoughts that lay concealed beneath the surface of the words.

"Our fields never looked more beautiful to me, not even in June, than they have for a few days now of this lovely weather," said Mrs. Fabens, gazing from her favorite window upon the rich landscape in view, on the first day of the Week of Reality.

"We are somewhat retired, and cannot see a great distance north or east from the house, but what we can see is so bound up with all my dearest feelings and pleasantest thoughts, I would not change it away for more pretending views from new situations. I love to look at our east woods very well; and the hill pasture; and the orchard in blossom is a charming sight, and more charming still when tossing the yellow pippins to the sun, as in this pleasant breeze."

"You think the old farm is pretty near the centre of the world, I suppose," said Fabens.

"It holds my heart as if balanced on the world's centre," replied Mrs. Fabens.

"And nothing would tempt you to leave it? not even a larger house, or nearer sights of lovely water, or pleasanter walks?"

"No, indeed!"

"But, you always thought Judge Garlock's place very handsome."

"O, it is handsome to look at as you pass; it is nearer the lake than ours; and no doubt it is the dearest spot on earth to Mrs. Garlock, she has lived there so long; but I would not leave this place for that."

"But you forget her splendid house, her white pebble walks, her grounds looking like an Eden; and--"

"No doubt they are very dear to her, but I would not exchange houses, or grounds, or gardens, or sights with her."

"Not if we had more money, to live as they do!"

"No! not for a house full of silver dollars."

"Not to have such a splendid view from your door and windows of the silver-breasted lake, and the grand old hills beyond?"

"Hardly, if the river Jordan rolled there, and Canaan bloomed opposite; though I always thought that would be the loveliest sight on earth. But what are you talking about, Matthew? do we not see the lake from our house, and the hills, too, beyond?"

"Only from a distance."

"'Distance lends enchantment to the view,' as Fanny's poet sings."

"Only in little patches; and they are dull, and without interest, unless the sun happens to shine. But would you not like to live there if I was a merchant or lawyer; and had given a school, a church, and hospital to the town, and grand folks were flocking from all quarters to visit us?"

"No, I would not, as true as I live and breathe; not if you were King George, and kings and queens were flocking to see you. Nothing but Heaven would tempt me to change away the old home; we have taken so much comfort here. It seems a part and parcel of myself. I would as soon think of changing you off for Merchant Fairbanks, because he may be called a little handsomer, and goes dressed up like a lord every day about his dainty store. I would as soon think of selling Fanny, and buying Desdemona Faddle to fill Fanny's place, just because she has a mess of dangling curls, and paints her face, and wears more rings and flounces."

"How you do talk! That would be quite a different thing; wouldn't it, Fanny?"

"No, father, I think mother is right. I'm sure I never can love another home as I love this. I should feel dreadfully to hear you talk of selling. I never could love another home."

"Not if you had George there, to increase your happiness?"

"Another home to call father's and mother's I mean; where I could return and enjoy all the old things that are grown so fast to my heart. But why do you talk so, father?"

"That I was going to ask. You have no intention of leaving here, I hope, and why _do_ you talk so? You act wild."

"You began the talk, Julia, and I was seeing to what a stretch you would carry your feelings. But here, it is time I was out in the field at the plough again, and I will leave you now, to think it all over, and see if there is nothing on earth that would tempt you to sell the old home."

A drop of cold water, or the slightest shake will interrupt the reallest seeming dream; and half of this conversation would have brought Fabens out of what but a day before seemed a splendid reality. He went to his plough in the light of his awakened senses, and walked all the way on the actual, sober ground. His gorgeous air castles vanished like a train of fleeting clouds. A walk in the dirty furrow seemed long before night, a very pleasant and refreshing pastime; and he shuddered with shame more than once to think he had been so extravagant in many of the thoughts, that were set afloat by the merchant's offer. He came to himself that afternoon; and sitting down to tea, with a glance first at the north meadow and the white ash shade-trees blooming there; then at the east woods and orchard; then at the blue fringes of the mountains lifted sublimely before him in the south; then at the crystal Cayuga in the west and the green hills sleeping beyond; he exclaimed, "I must agree with you, Julia; we have views from our doors and windows as handsome as any I know of, and the old farm still looks very good to me."

During that afternoon, however, Mrs. Fabens had been thinking of Fairbanks and Frisbie, and it occurred to her that they might have said something to her husband about selling his farm; and from that, her mind returned to the borrowed notes. It had been her expressed desire that he would not contract a liability for any one, of more than fifty dollars, without security; and now she felt painfully curious to know, if the former notes loaned had been all taken up, why they had not been brought to her husband, that he might positively know that his liability had ceased. But Fabens was so magnanimous he had thought it unmanly to ask security of the merchant, or distrust the assurances of men who had dealt so handsomely as they.

She wondered she had not remembered to inquire about the old notes before, and was troubled till she could ask the question. At night she introduced the subject. "It may be all right," said she, "but something keeps whispering to me, that trouble awaits us. We have a comfortable property, as much as anybody ought to desire I know, but we have all worked hard and honestly to get it, and it would be hard to be defrauded of a hundred dollars. I would rather give all we can spare to the poor and needy, than to be defrauded of it."

"I confess to you, mother, what till this week I never felt," said Fanny with emotion; "I begin to lose confidence. I fear father is deceived. I don't like their coming so often. I don't like the way they make so many presents. I don't like their asking for so many notes, and I have heard too much of what begins to sound like flattery. Oh, I hope father will not have trouble!"

"_I_ hope too, that I shall not have trouble," said Fabens with rising agitation; "but you seem to wake me out of a singular dream. What _have_ I been doing? Why have I given them power so to deceive and defraud me, if they chance to have the wicked will? I must go and see if all is well. I fear, I fear they deceived me! What have I done?"

Early the next morning Fabens set off to see Fairbanks. He designed first to inquire if Fairbanks had preserved, and could produce the old notes represented as paid, and next ascertain whether the last one left him liable; and in his anxiety, and the wakefulness of his reason and judgment, he gave no thought to the idea of quitting his fine old farm for a merchant's life, except to wonder how such an idea had been permitted to enter his head. A cool hour's ride brought him to the village where Fairbanks traded, and his fears were in no wise relieved, by finding the store still closed, and failing to obtain an answer to his rap and call.

He stepped over to the tailor's shop across the way, and there he was informed that the store was closed by a sheriff the day before, on an old judgment from New York, and there were not goods enough on hand to cancel the liability. That the neighborhood was all in excitement, for astonishing things had come to light. That Fairbanks had obtained money at the banks in considerable amounts on the endorsements of several citizens; and still was owing for two or three crops of wheat and other produce; besides leaving a large board bill unsettled; horse hire, cigar and liquor bills, and hired help unpaid; and with Frisbie had left the town, no doubt, never to return!

"What _shall_ I do?--Can it be possible?--Can I believe it? You amaze me! How they did deceive me!" were the answers of Fabens to each unwelcome item of this news.

"Then they run away in your debt, too, did they, Square?" asked the tailor, as he finished the hurried tale of recent disclosures. "If he's in debt to you, you've a plenty of company. A good many were took in by the rascals. I begun to smell the rat after it was too late. Each of 'em owes me now for a suit of Sunday clothes. When I set pressing 'em off at midnight, I little thought they would be run-away suits, and I was working so hard for nothing. But I must pocket the loss, I suppose, and comfort me, remembering this is the first time a rascal has bit me. How much did they owe you, Square, considerable?"

"I know not as I can say positively, that they owe me anything," said Fabens, as soon as he could crowd in a word of reply to the talkative tailor's question; "but it must be, I shall lose by them. I loaned my note to Fairbanks, a few weeks agony [Transcriber's note: ago, agone?]--my note at the bank for three hundred dollars. I expect I shall have that to pay, and I know not how much more."

"Why, of all things! they've bit you hard, you may depend!" exclaimed the astonished tailor.

"Is it possible that they are such deceivers?" asked Fabens, in an agony of grief.

"They are dreadful creatures; there's no mistake about that, I guess," said the tailor.

"But they always looked honest and friendly," said Fabens.

"And so can old Bill Shazzar, and old Bill Zebub, look honest and friendly too, when they want to come it on a fellow," said the tailor.

"Who next can we trust?" exclaimed Fabens, wounded as deeply by the deception as by the loss. "Where was my reason? Where were my senses all this while? Why didn't I take my wife's advice, when she gave it with tears in her eyes? I dread to go to the bank and see how matters are."

XXVI.

ANOTHER WEEK OF REALITY.

Before Fabens left town for Auburn, to inquire at the bank, concerning his paper, an officer of the bank met him, having been to his house, and followed him here, and he disclosed the fact that Fabens was liable for a thousand dollars, not one of the old notes having been paid. "My worst fears are realized!" cried Fabens, the cold sweat starting out in beads on his forehead.

"Why was I so heedless? And is this all right, sir? Could you not have warned me of my danger before it went so far? You must have known that something was going wrong in that fellow's affairs; and why was I kept in the dark to this hour?"

He was answered that the villains had managed so adroitly, they did not suspect deception, till too late. "But we are not at all alarmed, Squire Fabens, concerning the amount for which you are liable to us," said the gentleman. "We _know_ you are good and honest. We will give you all reasonable time to cancel the notes. I regret sincerely, that you have met such a loss, Squire Fabens. But there, a farmer should never be liable for a trader. Let farmers endorse each other if they will; they know each other's risks and resources. But they know little of the risks and insecurities of trade, and less of the chances of deception connected with it, and they should never endorse for traders, or loan their notes. Hundreds of fine farms go in this way to pay other people's debts."

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

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

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

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

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

Fabens remembered his schemes of benevolence, and his project of a new church and minister, without regret; but he crimsoned with blushing shame, as he confessed the foolish idea to which they forced him to listen, in regard to selling the old homestead and becoming a merchant. "Just as though it could be possible for us to be as happy as we are, in another sphere of life!" said he. "What in the world do I want to make me happy and respectable, except more faith and goodness, and the means to confer more good, that I did not possess before the scoundrels came? I wonder that Matthew Fabens allowed them to make him such a silly fool!" But it was long before he told them the dreams he indulged in his Week of Castle Building.

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

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

"I do not know. It really looks dark before us after all," said Mrs. Fabens. "A thousand dollars does not grow on every bush. I see no way, but a slice of the farm must go, and a pretty large slice too; and that will be very hard. How much is the whole farm worth?"

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