Chapter 6

A change to a better locality had often been suggested to Dexter; but his invariable reply was, that "people shouldn't try to run before they were able to walk,--he was satisfied with Salt Lane and his neighbors": though of late he had made such replies with gravity, thinking of his daughter.

And now that the necessity was facing him, he met it like a man. He talked the matter over with his wife, and the claim of their child was urgent in the heart of each while they talked, and it could not have surprised either when suddenly their hopes met in her benediction. For Columbia's sake they must find a pleasant place for the new nest, some nook where beauty would be welcome, and gentle grace, and quiet, and light, and fair colors, and sweet odors would be possible; so pure and fair a child she seemed to father Dexter, so did the mother's heart desire to protect her from all odious influences and surroundings, that, when the prospect of change was before them, it was in reference to her, as well as trade, that the Company would make it.

Swift was taken into their confidence, and he walked with the pair around the streets one evening to see the shop Dexter's eyes had fixed on. It was a modest tenement in a crowded quarter, on whose door and windows "_To Let_" was posted. Silas had been out house-hunting in the afternoon, and this place appeared to meet his wishes; he had inquired about the rent, it did not seem too high for a house so comfortable, and it was probable that by to-morrow night the family would, after a fashion, be settled within those walls.

They sat down on the door-step and talked about the change with serious gravity, mindful that the old tenement they were about to leave had sheltered them since their marriage-day, that they had prospered in Salt Lane, and that the change they were about to make would be attended with some risk. Andrew Swift sighed dolefully while Jessie or Silas Dexter alluded to these matters of past experience: it was no easy matter to talk him into a cheerful mood again; but the brave pair accomplished it on their way home, when certainly either of them had as much need of a comforter as he.

To have heard them, one might have supposed that no tears would be shed when the tenement so long occupied by the flag-maker should come down. Old Mortality will not be hindered in his thinking.

Andrew offered his son Silas to assist his neighbors in the labor of removal, and his wife came with her service; and the rest of Salt Lane was ready at the door to lend a helping hand, when it was understood that the life and soul of the lane was going away to High Street.

Dexter's face was unusually bright while the work of packing went on. He knew that for everybody's sake more light than usual must be diffused by him that day. You know how it is that the brave win the notable victories, when their troops have fallen back in despair, and would fain beat a retreat. It is the living voice and the flashing eye, the courage and the will. What is he, indeed, that he should surrender,--above all, in the worst extremity?

How is death even swallowed up in victory, when the beleaguered spirit dashes across the breach, and, unarmed, possesses life!

Dexter told Andrew Swift that Silas was worth a dozen draymen, and in truth he was, that day; for he, and every one, were animated by the spirit of the leader. Courage! at least for that day, though they dared not look beyond it.

Thus these people went to High Street: into the house with many rooms, four at least; into the rooms with many windows, and high ceilings, which you could _not_ touch with your uplifted hand,--rooms whose walls were papered, and whose floors should have carpets, for Dexter said the house was leased for ten years, and they would make their home comfortable. What ample scope they had! Many a fancy they had checked before it became a wish in the old quarters, they were so cramped there, though never in danger of suffocation, Heaven knows. Grandly the great arch lifted over the old moss-grown roof. But now they need stifle no fancy of all that should come to them; there was room in the house, and behind it,--yes, a strip of ground in the rear, and against the brick wall an apricot-tree and a grape-vine! Very Garden of Eden: was it big enough for the Serpent?

It was a sight to see the happy family while they talked over their possessions.

Over the shop, fronting the street, was a large apartment, by common consent to be used for parlor and show-room: young Swift was to decorate this, Dexter said, Columbia should be his helper, and he and his wife would criticize the result. Dexter talked with a purpose when he made these arrangements, but he kept the purpose secret until the work was done.

In the three windows ornamental flags were hung, which should serve for signs from the street: this was young Swift's design. In the middle window, Columbia responded, should be the George Washington flag. Yes, and to the left Lafayette, with Franklin for the right. Even so. Then above the middle window they secured the gilded American eagle. Oh, the harmony that prevailed among the young decorators!

Then "_Principles, not Men_" remained to be disposed of. They did it in such a way that the gilded motto shone on the white wall. The mantel was a masterpiece of arrangement, and solely after Columbia's suggestions. There was the monumental cat for a centre-piece, with the more recent creations of Silas Swift for immediate surroundings, and a banner at either end floating from the shelf.

You can imagine, if your imagination is genial and kindly, how very queer and fanciful the room looked with these decorations; and the gentle heart will understand the loving humility, the pleasure, with which Jessie surveyed all, when the children's work was done.

It was a pretty scene when Dexter came up, sent by Silas for an opinion, while the latter kept the shop. At first he laughed a little, and exclaimed, while he walked about; then Jessie turned away, and gave him an opportunity to brush the tears from his eyes unobserved; but presently she began to circle round him, unconsciously it seemed, till she stood close beside him; then he took her hand and held it, and she knew what he was thinking, and that he was proud and happy.

"It beats all!" he said more than once. And Columbia was talking of Silas, showing his work, and repeating his words, till Dexter broke out,--

"We must keep Silas! We can't get along without Silas! He mustn't go back to Salt Lane. I'll teach him business in High Street."

And the father did not seem to notice when his child slipped away down the stairs, to the shop, to the lad, who was thinking rather sadly, that, now his work was done, there was no more chance for him here: she had come to make him smile as much by her own delight as by his satisfaction.

But all this excitement must pass off. And in spite of the general gladness and gratulation, probably a more lonely, homesick party could not have been easily found than the Dexter family in their new home.

Dexter could not reproach himself for his removal, as he thought the matter seriously over. It was a forced removal, and certainly he would have been without excuse, had he gone into worse quarters instead of better, since better he could afford. It was not extravagance, but homesickness, that tormented him.

He was too generous, when all was done, to torment his wife with such misgivings as he had; and erelong the trouble, for want of nursing, died, as most of this life's troubles will, after their shabby fashion. But, indeed, how can they help it? that, too, is the will of Nature.

And was not Dexter himself, in the new neighborhood as in the old? His customers were still of the same class. But his surroundings were of a superior character,--there was a better atmosphere prevailing in High Street, and more light in his house. He did not love darkness better.

Pretty and well-dressed women were to be seen in High Street, and they never, except by mistake or disaster, wandered through Salt Lane. Standing in his door, and observing them according to his thoughtful fashion, Dexter remembered that his daughter was growing rapidly into a tall, handsome girl, and foresaw that she could not always be a child. He saw young misses going past with their school-books in their hands, and if he followed them with his eyes as far as eyes could follow, it was not for any reason save such as should have made them love and trust the man. He was thinking so seriously about his daughter, up-stairs at work with her mother, embroidering scarfs and banners.

He had only Columbia. She learned fast, when she went with Silas Swift to the school in Salt Lane,--so they all said, and he knew she was fond of her book. He had no ambition to make a lady of Columbia,--oh, no! But he was looking forward, according to his nature, and--who could tell what future might wait on her? He based his expectations for his child on his own experience. Neither he nor Jessie had ever looked for such good fortune as they had; and a step farther, must it not be a step higher, and accordingly new prospects?

Prophecy is unceasing. In what does the prescience of love differ from inspiration?

One morning Dexter was sent for by the principal of the seminary of the town, to assist in the decoration of her school-room preparatory to the examination and exhibition of her pupils.

While at work there, aided by Silas Swift, who was now his assistant in business, and notable for his skill as a designer and painter and painter of transparencies, and whatsoever in that line was desired for public festivities, processions, illuminations, and general jubilation of any character,--while at work in the great school-room, Mr. Dexter was unusually silent.

This was no occasion for, there was no need of, much speaking or of merriment. It was not expected of him. He was not dealing with, while he worked for, others now, but he was dealt with constantly, to an extent that confounded and embarrassed him. He did not make the demonstrations people sometimes do in such a case, but was silent, and half sad. Everything that passed before him he saw, it made an impression rapid and deep on his mind. The pictures drawn and painted by the pupils, and hung around the walls for exhibition, the pupils themselves, passing in and out,--girls of all ages, ladies to look at, all of them,--suggested anew the question, Why should his daughter be shut off from the privileges of these? He felt ashamed when he asked. Yet the question would be answered; and without palliation, self-excusing, or retort, he meditated.

Finally he said to Silas Swift, who worked with him in silence broken only by question and answer that referred merely to their business,--

"Look!"--and his eyes followed a young girl who had been hunting for several minutes among the desks for a book.

The youth obeyed,--he looked, but seemed not to understand the flag-maker as quickly or as clearly as was expected of him.

"Columby," said Dexter, with a wink and a nod, that to his mind expressed everything.

"Oh, yes," said Silas, as if he understood.

His penetration was not put to further proof. The mere supposition of his apprehension satisfied his employer, who could now go on without embarrassment.

"She ought to come to school," said Dexter.

"Oh!" exclaimed Silas, with surprise sufficient to convince the father that the young man had not attempted to practise a deceit.

"Yes," said Dexter, "she ought, she's old enough,"--as if that were all he had been waiting for.

"I think so," answered Silas Swift, with a decision encouraging to hear, and final as to influence.

"You do? Yes, I ought to afford it, if I lived on a crust to manage the bills. Why not? What's the difference 'twixt her and the rest, I'd like to know?"

"She could beat the whole batch at her books," said Silas, not doubting that he spoke with moderation.

"Pretty quick, wasn't she?" said the pleased father. "Yes, I know Columby!"

"And she deserves it."

"Deserves! You don't think I've been waiting to find that out! Well, Sir, put it that way, I say, Yes, she does deserve it."

Dexter and young Swift, having spoken thus far, thought on in their several directions, with serious, steady, strong, far-reaching looks into the future.

Thus it was that Columbia Dexter took her place in the great school, where girls, it was said, were regarded and taught as responsible human beings.

Silas Swift looked so grave, whenever the families mentioned Dexter's resolution, that Columbia, who had made him repeat already many times his reflections and observations in the school-room that day when he and her father were employed in its decoration, said to him one morning, when they happened to be alone together,--

"I'm afraid you don't think well of what we're going to do."

Whereupon he, somewhat proudly for him, answered,--

"I told your father, when he asked me, what I thought, before he had made up his mind."

"What did you say?" she asked,--though she could have guessed correctly, had he insisted upon it, but Silas was not in the mood.

"I said it should be done," he answered, seriously.

"I should go to school?"

"Yes, it is but right."

"Then why do you look so solemn?"

"You're going away from us."

Her hand was lying quietly in his, when she answered,--

"Going away? I shall see you three times every day. What do you mean?"

"When there was your father and mother and me, 'us four, and no more,' there were not dozens to think about. You'll have dozens now."

"I hope they will be pleasant," she said, looking away, that he should not see how bright her eyes were, when his were so grave.

"I hope they will. And I'm sure of it. Never fear. I suppose, too, they must make you like themselves, some ways. I'd be glad, if I thought you'd make any of them like you."

"How's that?" she asked, half laughing, but she trembled as well. What would honest Silas say next, he was making such a very grave business out of this school-going?

"True,--modest,--sensible,--respectful,--a lady, ten times more than those they make up so fine," said he, slowly. And still he held her hand as quietly as if it did not thrill with quickening pulses; and his speech and composure showed what power of self-control the young man had,--for he was fearful when he looked forward, anticipating the change this year might bring to pass in and for Columbia Dexter.

But Dexter and Company looked forward with no forebodings, when they bought the needful school-books, and saw their daughter fairly occupied with them. They had not been ashamed to reveal their hopes and fears to the principal. She really listened in a way that made them love her, you will know how,--as if she had the interest of the girl at heart,--as though she would not deal so sacrilegiously with their dear child as to paste a few flashing ornaments upon her, worthless as dead fish-scales, and swear she was covered with pearls. Honest and loving sponsors! virtuous, confiding parents! they were ready to promise for Columbia; she went from their hands a pure, industrious, obedient girl, only fourteen; they were sure she would take pride in making good all deficiencies of her past education. And the woman promised in turn,--chiefly thinking, I infer, that here at least were responsible paymasters. Why not? She taught for a living. Only we never like to suppose that poets sing merely for money, or that kings reign for the sake of the crown; we do not imagine a statesman delights in his martyrdom for eight dollars a day. I know one woman who teaches because it is her vocation; she loves the work God allows her. But even the worst school that's used as a hot-bed could not have ruined a plant like this bearing the Dexter label.

Thus this great fact of the flag-makers' married life transpired,--their child went to school with the children of gentlemen. Dexter could tell that figure among dozens of girls; under one modest bonnet was a young face with brown eyes and brown hair, a fair, sweet countenance, which he loved with a love we will not dwell upon. In the sacred narrative, as in the sacred temple, is always a place hid from the eyes and the feet of the congregation. We may be all Gentiles here.

Like responsible sentinels, Dexter and Jessie stood at their post. Like debtors to the great universe, they made their calling sure. They were living thus peacefully while nations went to war, while panics taught the people it was not beneath their wisdom to look to the foundations they built their pride upon,--thus, while great world-events were going on that must concern every soul under the whole heaven. But never shall the man be lost in the multitude; and was it not, is it not, of incalculable importance that mortals by their own firesides should learn to believe in peace and good-will,--else how shall come the universal harmony?

Therefore I dwell thus on Dexter's humble fortunes. Let us not fear too much reverence, too patient observation; every living creature is one other evidence, speaking his yea or nay,--by joy or sorrow, shame or honor, testifying to the eternal laws of God.

Sometime during the last six months of Columbia's second year at the seminary among the books and new associates, Silas Swift had some strange secret experiences, which came to their inevitable expression when he told Mr. Dexter that he must leave his service. He perceived, he said, that he could not spend life in a shop,--he must have other employment. He hinted about the sea, but on that subject was not clear; but he was clear in this,--tired of his life, sick, and knew not the physician. Was a serpent distilling poison under the apricot-tree?

Dexter was amazed. Silas anticipated everything he said,--was prepared to answer all; and he answered in a manner that showed the flag-maker something instant and effective must be done. He talked the matter over accordingly with Andrew Swift, and the two men were at their wits' end; they did not understand, and knew not what to prescribe for the case, so desperate it seemed. But Jessie said, "Take him in for a partner, Silas. Let _him_ stand for Company. You and I are one; so the sign, as it goes, is a fib, you know."

The two men looked at Jessie as if she had been an oracle. This very promotion of their son had long seemed to Swift and his wife the most desirable issue, of all their expectations; but they had not thought to look for it these many years. However, Andrew was ready to pay down, any day, whatever sum Silas Dexter should specify in order that his son might be admitted to equal partnership.

So they waited together till young Swift came into the little room back of the shop, where they were all looking for him. They laid their plan before him. What could he do? Neither explain himself, nor yet defy them all. He surrendered; and the next day the old sign, DEXTER & CO., meant what it had not meant the day before. The word of any one of these people was as good as a bond to the others; therefore no papers of agreement were made out, but Andrew paid down the money, because that was his way of satisfying himself,--and son Silas was now a partner.

Everybody concerned was so well pleased with this arrangement, that he whose pleasure in it was specially desired had not the heart to speak his mind, or to resolve further than that he would do his duty. Indeed, he soon began to believe that he was satisfied.

Young Silas thought he saw good reason for bringing forward his partner's motto into fresh conspicuity in these days: he believed in that motto, he purposed to work by it, but it was not merely his policy to give his faith manifestation. He made several efforts, after his own odd, original style, to impress the pretty Columbia with the significance of that sentiment. Often his talk with the young lady had the gravity and weight of a moral essay, and she took it well,--was not impatient,--would answer him as a child, "I know it is so, Silas,"--did not imagine how much these very lectures cost him, or that he delivered them with as much inward composure as an orator might be supposed to feel on the brink of a precipice, where the awful rocks and depths gave echo to his utterance.

Why should he so much disturb himself on her account?--she was so studious, so blameless, what great need of this oversight he was exercising continually?

Young Alexander, now Midshipman Alexander, once a cabin-boy, promoted step by step on the score of actual merit and brave service performed,--Midshipman Alexander, son of an old sailor's old widow, who lived in Salt Lane, to whom Andrew Swift and Silas Dexter and other well-disposed men had lent a helping hand when poverty had brought her to some desperate strait,--this young Alexander, who had been coming home once in every three years since his twelfth birthday, and who in the course of many years of voyages came to look on Dexter's house as his home on land, after his mother died,--he interfered with the peace of Silas Swift.

He returned from service, after every voyage, a taller, stronger, nobler, wiser, handsomer man. He had a career open before him; he could not fail of honorable fortune. Every inch a hero Alexander looked, and was; nobody ever tired of hearing his adventures; no one grew unbelieving, when he spoke of the future,--all things seemed so possible to him; and then he was really not possessed of the demon of vanity, the ill-shaped evil monster, but was straightforward, and earnest, and determined, and capable.

And Dexter, any one could see, was growing dreadfully proud of his Columbia.

Silas Swift felt the sands moving under his feet. He dared not build on a foundation so insecure. But, oh, he wished himself away from High Street, ten thousand, thousand miles! He fell into dreaming moods that did not leave him satisfied and cheerful. Surely, other quarters of the globe had other circumstances than these which kept him to a life so dull, under skies so leaden. Alas! the waving of the banners did not any more uplift him, leading him on as a good soldier to battles and victories. He tried to get the better of himself,--after the last visit of this Alexander, he was tolerably successful; he studied hard, ambitious to keep at least on an equality of learning with Columbia,--and he went far ahead of her, for certain desperate reasons. But when Dexter began to treat him with profound respect, as a man of learning should be treated, according to his notions, the poor young fellow, mortified and miserable, put away his books, and loathed his false position.

The old time to which through all prosperity Silas clung with fond fears, the dear old time was all over, he said to himself one day, when Columbia called him up into the parlor, clapping her hands ever suspecting that the theme might please another less,--there was but one for him as if he had been a slave, a signal he well understood, and was proud to understand,--when she asked him to bring the step-ladder, and to help her, for the curtains must come down from the show-room, it was going to be a parlor now, and no show-room again forever. With heavy misgivings, with a feeling that they were hard on to "the parting of the ways," Silas obeyed her.

Even so, according to her will was it that the drapery, the flags rich in patriotic portraiture, the Washington, the Franklin, and the Lafayette, must come down. Some pictures she had painted, some sketches she had made, were to take their place: her father had insisted on having them framed, and now they should hang on the walls.