LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 CALIPORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 

 
 BTI: 
 
 MRS. J. F. MOORE. 
 
 " Lean not unto thine own understanding." 
 
 "Wherewith shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed 
 thereto, according to thy word." 
 
 Sioston : 
 ^Published by 3lenry 3toyt, 
 
 JVo. g, Cornhill.
 
 Enfred, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
 HENRY HOYT, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massa- 
 chusetts. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY C J. PETERS & SON, 
 5 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 PHILIP'S HOME 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 PHILIP ALONE .......... l' J 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 \ 
 
 A BOUND BOY .......... 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 CAPTAIN REEVES AND HIS FAMILY ...... 45 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS ......... 83 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED .... .... 93 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 MARKET-GARDENING ......... 108 
 
 CHAPTER VLII. 
 AN ACCIDENT, AND ITS RESULTS ...... 143
 
 4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A SUNDAY RIDE 169 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY 191 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 CONFESSION 217 
 
 CHAPTER XEI. 
 A NEW OCCUPATION ... 238 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN . . . 
 
 CHAPTER XTV. 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS 285 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 SCENES op A NIGHT 305 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 JEROME'S TRIAL 321 
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 TWENTY-ONE '....331
 
 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 PHILIP'S HOME. 
 
 OU could only see the top of his 
 head. But it was just such a head 
 as made you wish he would lift it, and 
 show the face that was bowed over, 
 and at that moment contracted with study as 
 profound as that intellect in its morning 
 was capable of grappling with. The round 
 head hung motionless, except now and then a 
 slight toss, just enough to throw the mass of 
 brown curls that covered it into new and more
 
 6 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 picturesque groupings. At last the head was 
 fairly lifted. The usually bright face was 
 clouded, the brow slightly drawn down. 
 Lifting his eye, darkened with weariness and 
 discouragement, to his father's face, and holding 
 his slim finger between the leaves of his book, 
 Philip said, " I've just a good mind to." 
 
 " To what, my son ? " asked Mr. Landon. 
 
 " To look and see what the answer is. 
 I've tried every single figure all the way 
 from one to nine, and it isn't enough yet ; 
 and Mr. Anderson said we must never go 
 above nine." 
 
 Philip was in the intricacies of long division. 
 He had, as he had said, tried every one of the 
 nine digits for the next figure of his quotient, 
 and none would bring the right result. He 
 had forgotten that his error might lie farther 
 back. 
 
 " If I only knew what figure to put up 
 here," he continued, " it would come so easy ;
 
 PHILIP'S HOME. 7 
 
 and, if I should peep in and see, it would save 
 me so much trouble." 
 
 Mr. Landon looked smilingly upon the per- 
 plexed face of his little son, and said, " Can't 
 you think what else Mr. Anderson said about it, 
 whenever nine was not enough to multiply 
 by?" 
 
 Philip passed his hand through his tangled 
 curls, and thought a moment. " Oh, yes ! I 
 know now : and I see as plain as daylight where 
 I made the mistake." 
 
 In a moment it was corrected, and Philip's 
 task was accomplished. Putting away his slate 
 and book, he drew his low chair nearer his 
 father, and laid his tired head on his knee. His 
 father was reading ; but Philip knew the dear 
 caressing hand would in a moment more be laid 
 on those beautiful brown curls of his, and so it 
 was. It was not the curls Philip was thinking 
 about, but only the hand. The touch of those 
 fingers, passing in and out among his tangled
 
 8 LINSWE FARM. 
 
 locks, rested him so. But it was the curls the 
 father thought of, and the head that rested 
 lightly on his knee. The touch brought peace 
 and rest to his heart too. He was weary from 
 his business ; but the tired look faded out as he 
 read on, one pleasant paragraph after another, 
 his fingers still straying among the locks of 
 silky brown hair ; and Philip's face grew bright, 
 as the light from the gas burning over his 
 mother's work-table lay upon it. The warm 
 glow from the grate heaped with burning coal 
 danced through the room, lighting up every dim 
 nook under the table and under the sofa, 
 brightening the carpet and the curtains, and 
 seeming to touch and rest with special joy 
 wherever the gas-light could not penetrate. 
 
 Father and son sat still in their quiet enjoy- 
 ment for a time : but Philip was never still very 
 long ; and he soon lifted his head, and, raising 
 his bright eyes, sparkling with their usual mirth- 
 fulness, to his father's face, said, not however in
 
 PHILIP'S HOME. 9 
 
 words, but simply in the expression of his beam- 
 ing face, " Are you most ready to lay down 
 that book and have a frolic with me?" 
 
 Yes : Mr. Landon was nearly ready. He felt 
 the sparkle of those blue eyes resting on him, 
 though he was still looking intently at his book. 
 A moment more, and the book dropped ; and 
 Philip knew that the time for his nightly frolic 
 had come. Springing up, and passing his hand 
 caressingly over his father's head, and stroking 
 his full beard, and then entering at once into 
 the unlimited privilege of the moment, he tossed 
 up his father's hair in confusion, and played 
 various other pranks with him, till the dignified 
 man of business looked little more dignified than 
 his playful boy. 
 
 By and by the play ended, and Philip stood 
 for a moment quietly beside his father's chair. 
 
 " So you wanted to peep, did you ? " asked 
 Mr. Landon. 
 
 " Yes : I wanted to ever so bad. Other 
 boys do."
 
 10 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " But, I hope my boy never will. I should 
 be very much ashamed of him if I knew he 
 appeared in his class with an example correctly 
 wrought, the result obtained by dishonest 
 means. You wouldn't steal, would you, 
 Philip?" 
 
 " I guess I wouldn't," replied the boy. 
 u That wouldn't be stealing, would it? " 
 
 " It would be dishonesty ; and you know, my 
 boy, how often I have told you that * honesty is 
 the best policy,' always, Philip. That is the 
 principle I have acted upon all my life ; and I 
 have succeeded pretty well," he added, glan- 
 cing complacently around the comfortable apart- 
 ment, his eye finally resting on his wife, who 
 sat at the opposite side of the table, busy with 
 her sewing, from which her eyes wandered 
 occasionally to a rosebud of a face, half buried 
 in the pillows of a crib which she had been now 
 and then rocking lightly, as the little nestler 
 within had stirred.
 
 PHILIP'S HOME. 11 
 
 Yes : Mr. Landon had succeeded. He had 
 commenced life with no capital except a fair 
 education, industrious habits, and a strict law 
 of integrity, to which he had scrupulously 
 adhered through all the temptations of an 
 early struggle with poverty. He had come 
 through that struggle, had established a thriving 
 business, built a comfortable house, and now 
 sat a king in his own household. Through 
 all his efforts, his confidence had been in this 
 ruling maxim of his ; and like the heathens of 
 old, who sacrificed to their net, and burned 
 incense to their drag, he, in his inmost heart, 
 paid the tribute of his worship to the principle 
 of honesty, an idol as truly as if he had 
 personated it in a graven image, and fallen 
 down unto it. No thought of an overruling 
 Providence ever entered into his mind ; no 
 acknowledgment of the hand that had bestowed 
 his blessings ever rose to his lips : but, proudly 
 s the Pharisee of whom the Saviour spake, he
 
 12 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 stood up before God and man, saying not to 
 God, but to his principle of integrity that he 
 carried always in his heart, " I thank thee 
 that I am not as other men are : " though further 
 than that, even with the Pharisee's prayer, he 
 could not go, for he neither fasted nor prayed, 
 nor gave tithes for religious purposes. He 
 simply lived unto himself and his family, so far 
 as it is possible for any one to do so amid the 
 various complications of human society. 
 
 " Bedtime, Philip," said his mother. 
 
 Obedience was the law of that household, 
 and Philip at once went to his mother's side. 
 He knew what to expect next. There was no 
 household altar of prayer in that home. It was 
 Mrs. Landon's great grief; and, so far as it lay 
 in her power, she had from the first resolved to 
 supply the deficiency. Every night she read 
 to Philip a portion of God's word, and then 
 went to his room to pray with him before 
 leaving him for the night. He expected it as
 
 PHILIP'S HOME. 13 
 
 confidently as he expected his good-night 
 kiss. 
 
 That night she read but a few verses ; but 
 she read them with an impressive tone and a 
 deep solemnity of manner that were prompted 
 by an anxious heart. She felt that the boy 
 standing beside her, so soon to go forth amid the 
 temptations of a busy world, needed something 
 more than a maxim of morality to shield him. 
 Therefore she read, " Wherewith shall a young 
 man cleanse his way ? By taking heed thereto, 
 according to thy word. With my whole heart 
 have I sought thee : oh ! let me not wander 
 from thy commandments. Thy word have I 
 hid in my heart, that I might not sin against 
 thee. Blessed art thou, O Lord ! teach me 
 thy statutes. With my lips have I declared 
 all the judgments of thy mouth. I have 
 rejoiced in the way of thy testimonies, as much 
 as in all riches. I will meditate in thy precepts, 
 and have respect unto thy ways. I will delight
 
 14 LINSIDE FARM, 
 
 myself in thy statutes: I will not forget thy 
 word." 
 
 Mr. Landon listened while she read. He 
 admired the tender modulations of her voice ; 
 he rejoiced that his boy had such a mother : 
 hut, further than that, his thoughts did not go. 
 Resting complacently upon the uprightness of 
 his character, it never occurred to him that 
 either Philip or himself needed the word of 
 God for a guide, any further than to lead to a 
 firm establishment of that same integrity in 
 which he took so much pride. 
 
 Mrs. Landon finished her reading, and left 
 the room with Philip. Mr. Landon knew she 
 would in a moment more be kneeling by the 
 bedside of her boy, commending him to 
 the watchful care of Him who never slumbers 
 nor sleeps ; he knew how fervently she would 
 pray that the dear child might be kept from 
 the way of the destroyer ; he knew, too, that 
 he would himself be remembered in those
 
 PHILIP'S HOME. 15 
 
 petitions, for Philip often betrayed the secrets 
 of that hour : yet, knowing all this, he 
 thought of nothing further, as he remembered 
 his thriving business, his comfortable home, his 
 wife in whom his heart trusted, his growing 
 boy, and his sleeping babe, than that he had 
 succeeded well in life. 
 
 The next morning, Philip went to school with 
 his carefully-wrought examples neatly traced 
 on his slate, and feeling over his work the same 
 sort of complacency with which his father was 
 in the habit of contemplating the results of his 
 life-long labors. At the door he met a class- 
 mate, and not only a classmate, but a rival. 
 
 As these ten-year-old aspirants in juvenile 
 learning met, and eagerly compared their 
 previous preparation made at home for the class 
 of the day, an observer would have been 
 struck with the various contrasts between the 
 two boys. Philip, being always the better 
 dressed of the two, invariably assumed an
 
 1C LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 attitude of superiority when Andy Fleming 
 appeared. And Andy as naturally allowed 
 him to do so. If it were only that Philip 
 stood upon the top step, and Andy below him, 
 in some way this relative position was always 
 expressed. Andy's frowsy head, and coarse, 
 patched, and not over-clean garments, formed 
 a striking contrast to Philip's glossy curls and 
 neat, well-fitting, and stylish suit. But the 
 contrast was not limited to their apparel. 
 Philip's bright face beamed already with the 
 impression of the manly qualities his father so 
 carefully cultivated within him ; while Andy's 
 keen, gray eye, though glittering with a cer- 
 tain expression of smartness, seldom rested 
 fully and fairly in your face, even for a 
 moment. 
 
 They gravely examined each other's work, 
 alike in every particular except order and neat- 
 ness. Philip then returned Andy's slate, 
 saying, "I bet you looked in the book."
 
 PHILIPS HOME. 17 
 
 " Of course I did. Do you suppose I'd be 
 such a fool as not to look, when I could do it 
 in half the time by looking, and be sure of 
 getting it right besides ? I'd like to know who 
 don't look ? " 
 
 " I don't," said Philip, drawing himself up 
 proudly. " You don't catch me doing any 
 such mean trick as that." 
 
 " Good reason why," said Andy sharply. 
 " Your father does it all for you. Good reason 
 why you don't look." 
 
 Philip condescended no answer ; but, seizing 
 Andy by the arm, with the advantage of 
 standing a step higher than he, he hurled him 
 from the steps with a force that sent him reel- 
 ing to the ground. Philip, having taken this 
 satisfaction for his wounded honor, walked into 
 the house without waiting to see the effect of 
 Andy's fall. 
 
 It did not occur to him to remember how 
 nearly he had yielded to the temptation to peep,
 
 18 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 nor how truly his father's suggestions had 
 helped him over his difficulty. 
 
 Andy, not much hurt either in mind or 
 body, recovered from his fall, and entered soon 
 after. In the class, the two boys presented 
 their correct work, and received equal praise 
 from their teacher, regardless of the widely 
 different circumstances in the midst of which 
 their work had been performed. 
 
 In Andy Fleming's miserable home, there 
 was no one to whisper to him a sentiment of 
 morality or honor. The boy's acuteness was 
 permitted to develop itself in any way that 
 came most natural to him ; and if he, by a 
 sharp exercise of his wits, could deceive his 
 teachers, and gain a higher reputation than he 
 deserved, so much the better.
 
 PHILIP ALONE. 
 
 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PHILIP ALO NE. 
 
 ' 
 
 IVE years later, three graves, 
 two of full size, and a little one 
 beside, were grouped around a granite 
 column which Mr. Landon had reared 
 to mark the resting-place chosen for his family 
 in a new and beautiful cemetery. Close by the 
 margin of a little lake, and underneath a 
 group of spreading beeches of native growth, 
 he had chosen his place of family sepulture, 
 and had superintended the erection of the plain 
 shaft marked with the word " Landon." 
 Here, in imagination, he had seen himself laid, 
 an old and withered man, and his wife beside 
 him, with perhaps children and grandchildren 
 clustering around ; but all that was to be many
 
 20 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 years hence. At the end of five years, these 
 three graves, and an orphan boy of fifteen, 
 bound out to a farmer two miles away, were 
 all that remained of that happy household. 
 The house was occupied by strangers, and the 
 name had disappeared from all business trans- 
 actions. 
 
 First the babe, then his wife, then Mr. 
 Landon himself, had been removed by death. 
 The estate had fallen into the hands of ex- 
 ecutors, who had found it necessary to sell the 
 home and the store-building, in order to bring 
 the business into any manageable shape. 
 Nothing being left for Philip's support or 
 education, there was no alternative but to place 
 him where he could at least earn his daily 
 bread. Yet the executors, it was said, had 
 made a handsome thing of it ; at least they had 
 managed to secure a good compensation for 
 services rendered, so many said. Of all this 
 Philip knew nothing. His knowledge of the
 
 PHILIP ALONE. 21 
 
 integrity of his father had given him the im- 
 pression that all business-men were equally 
 upright ; and, for years, not a shadow of suspi- 
 cion crossed his mind that he had been unfairly 
 dealt with. There were no near relatives to 
 look after the interests of the orphan boy, and 
 he could only submit to the hard requirements 
 of the law. 
 
 When he had first been asked what he would 
 like best to do, while still stupefied by the final 
 shock that made him a poor and friendless 
 orphan, he had answered, " I would rather go 
 on a farm than any thing else." Any change 
 seemed desirable to the poor boy. He had no 
 heart to live in the town where his happy days 
 had been passed. It seemed to him it would 
 be more than he could bear, to pass daily his 
 dear old home, his school haunts, his father's 
 place of business. Besides, he had always had 
 a leaning to country-life. The bracing air, the 
 open, breezy plains, the green grass, the over-
 
 22 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 looking hills, all drew him by a powerful 
 charm. He had occasionally gone out for a 
 day of relaxation from school, and planted corn 
 with a school-fellow, or raked hay, or bound 
 sheaves in the harvest-field ; and, making it 
 half work, half frolic, and quitting when he 
 pleased, he fancied that he loved a farmer's life, 
 and therefore declared this his choice. Mr. 
 Glenn, who was Philip's guardian, and also the 
 most active of the executors, indeed, the one 
 who did all the business, and did it in his own 
 way, thought no other arrangement would 
 answer the purpose so well as that Philip 
 should be bound. He wanted no fickleness, he 
 said. If Philip went to a farm, he must go to 
 stay. So the papers were made out that bound 
 Philip to Linside Farm for six years, till he 
 should be twenty-one. " It will be only six 
 years," Mr. Glenn had said to him ; " and then 
 you will be a man ; and if you don't like the 
 business, why, then "
 
 PHILIP ALONE. 23 
 
 Six years ! To Mr. Glenn, in -his prime of 
 life, it seemed but a little while, a mere experi- 
 ment ; but, to Philip, six years seemed almost 
 an eternity. It was the stupendous chasm 
 that divided his boyhood from his manhood ; 
 and he almost felt that in six years, if it ever 
 should pass by, it would be too late to make 
 any further changes in his path of life. Still, 
 he was content. The thought of going into 
 the country called up to his mind the merry 
 days he had spent, now and then, out under the 
 sweet sky, amid the rustling corn and fra- 
 grant clover. Besides, he must go somewhere. 
 He was homeless, and the thought of con- 
 finement in a store or shop was not to be tole- 
 rated. 
 
 So the indentures were made out, and he was 
 a bound boy. He did not feel the bonds then. 
 It was simply an agreement to stay so long ; or, 
 rather, it came to his mind as security, for a 
 borne for so long ; and, with as much cheer-
 
 24 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 fulness as a homeless orphan boy could be 
 expected to feel, Philip looked forward to Lin 
 side. 
 
 The name possessed a sort of fascination for 
 him. He was a little inclined to romance. 
 The name had been applied to the place by the 
 farmer's sentimental, novel-reading daughter. 
 She had discovered that " Lin " was a Scotch 
 name for a babbling brook, finding its way over 
 rocks and pebbles, with now and then a little 
 plunge. And as just such a brook ran by her 
 father's farm, forming its boundary on one side, 
 it struck her fancy to call the place Linside. 
 She gave herself credit for great originality in 
 coining the appellation ; and so persevering was 
 she in calling her home Linside, inviting her 
 friends to Linside, having all her letters 
 directed to Linside Farm, Chesterfield, that 
 the name had finally outlived the ridicule 
 of being a notion of the romantic Miss So- 
 phronia, and had come into general use as the
 
 PHILIP ALONE. 25 
 
 name by which the farm of Mr. Reeves was 
 known. 
 
 It was fall when Philip went to Linside 
 Farm. It had been some months since his 
 father's death. During that time, while the 
 estate was being settled up, Philip had staid at 
 the house of Mr. Glenn.- Mr. Glenn was 
 owing the estate ; and he had kept Philip, so it 
 was said, till his board-bill, by careful manage- 
 ment, was made to balance the indebtedness ; 
 and then the above-mentioned arrangement was 
 made, whereby the friendless boy was well pro- 
 vided for, so said Mr. Glenn. 
 
 The night before Philip was to take up his 
 abode at Linside Farm, he walked to the cem- 
 etery, where, grouped around the central 
 column, his father and mother and baby-sister 
 lay. It was a beautiful October evening. The 
 soft haze of Indian summer lay over the land- 
 scape, the trees had put on their autumn glory. 
 Tn his lonely walk of two miles, Philip's heart
 
 6 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 yielded to the impression of calm beauty 
 around him, and, though sad, he was not 
 depressed. Wandering pensively along, he 
 came to the turnstile that admitted him to 
 the burial-grounds. He felt in no haste to 
 reach the consecrated spot that held his heart's 
 treasures, but sauntered slowly through the 
 withered grass, reading here and there the 
 familiar names inscribed on the monumental 
 stones, and recalling the happy scenes of his 
 past life. Here lay a companion of his mother; 
 there a friend of his father ; there, again, a play- 
 mate of his own boyhood ; and again a meek 
 brown-eyed little girl, whose recalled image 
 seemed a vision of Paradise. 
 
 Perhaps it was not a good preparation for 
 the duties upon which he was about to enter, 
 thus vividly to recall the happy past. Yet who 
 has not heard in his heart, at times, that cry of 
 Nature that will not be stilled except beside a 
 grave ?
 
 PHILIP ALONE. 27 
 
 So Philip wandered till he came suddenly 
 upon the little enclosure within which slept his 
 own dead. Alas ! there was nothing else now 
 
 in the world that he could call his own, save 
 
 
 
 those three graves. They were his by a title 
 no litigation could ever annul. He had a key 
 in his pocket with which to unlock the small 
 gate ; hut, in the fulness of his youthful 
 strength and agility, he placed his hand upon the 
 low iron fence, and leaped over on the dry grass. 
 He sat down upon the base of the column. 
 The three were sleeping near, so near ; and 
 yet, should he call never so loudly, and with 
 never so much anguish in his cry, they could 
 not answer him. Oh for that hand to stray 
 once more among the brown curls ! They were 
 less glossy now, and the bright rings were more 
 closely shorn. Oh for that mother's voice to 
 breathe one more holy psalm, one more 
 prayer ! 
 
 For a time the boy's spirit seemed utterly
 
 28 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 crushed. It is sad, when, to one whose hairs are 
 already gray, life becomes an intolerable burden ; 
 but sadder yet, when, to a fresh young heart, its 
 long pilgrimage, stretching forward, seems to lie 
 through a dreary waste ; when the shoulders, 
 still young, feel the pressure of oncoming years 
 as a load they would gladly shrink from taking 
 up. 
 
 But, both in body and mind, Philip was 
 healthy. No morbid sentimentalism had ever 
 been cherished in that sunny spirit ; and, after 
 the first tide of loneliness and grief swept by 
 like a merciless wave, flinging him weak and 
 exhausted on a barren shore, strength and 
 hope returned. His father's last words 
 seemed to be spoken to him from the grassy 
 mound at his feet. " My son, you are left 
 alone ; but you have a life to live. Live honor- 
 ably." 
 
 " I will," said Philip aloud. He was 
 startled by the sound of his own voice ; yet it
 
 PHILIP ALONE. 29 
 
 seemed to give him strength to hear it. A 
 slight echo brought back his words to his ear. 
 " I will," he repeated : " I have a life to live, 
 and I will live honorably." 
 
 A little more ^self-knowledge would have 
 made the boy speak less confidently. A sanc- 
 tified self-knowledge would have led him to 
 pray. But he did neither. He simply said, 
 " I will." 
 
 The sun had gone down on the opposite side 
 of the little lake, leaving the water a sheet of 
 burnished gold. Philip's thoughts wandered 
 from himself, from the graves around him, and 
 feasted on the beauty of the world. " Ah, yes ! 
 what a beautiful world, if there were no graves 
 in it," he said at length. " But the graves 
 make it seem cold and dreary." 
 
 By and by he rose ; and again, over the little 
 sheet of water that lay before him, rung out 
 his firm " I will." 
 
 Then, taking the key from his pocket, he
 
 30 
 
 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 opened the gate, and stepped out. He felt less 
 boyish than half an hour before. He left the 
 three graves, and beside them another grave, 
 wherein lay buried all his past. For him now 
 there was only a future.
 
 A BOUND BOY. 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A BOUND BOY. 
 
 lay on the 
 
 banks of Rock River, a small 
 stream, so called from the nature 
 of its bed. 
 
 When Philip returned from the cemetery, 
 his greatest desire was to get out of Chester- 
 field as early as possible the next morning, and 
 beo-in his new life. Mr. Glenn was to take 
 
 O 
 
 him out with his trunk, containing his earthly 
 fortune, in his own buggy. Something de- 
 tained Mr. Glenn for several hours, so that it 
 was nearly ten o'clock before they were ready 
 to start. As they crossed the Rock-River 
 bridge to go to Linside Farm, about two miles 
 away on the other side of the river, Philip
 
 '>- LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 felt for a moment that he would give any thing 
 if he could only go back. How could he leave 
 all he had ever known and loved, and go out 
 into an unknown world to make his way alone ? 
 The first thought that gave him strength was, 
 " I must ; " and, as his strength gathered, he 
 repeated, as the night before, " I will." 
 
 Mr. Glenn drove on rapidly, absorbed in his 
 own thoughts, taking no more note of the hoy 
 at his side than if he had been some article of 
 merchandise. 
 
 At length Philip timidly remarked, " I wish 
 I was going farther off." 
 
 " I don't," replied Mr. Glenn sharply. 
 " It's as much as I know how to do to spare 
 time to take you out here. I'm in an awful 
 hurry this morning. The truth is, you might 
 have walked, if it hadn't been for this trunk. 
 Many a boy has gone to a new home with only 
 a bundle on his back. You're uncommon well 
 off, if you only knew it."
 
 A BOUND BOY. 33 
 
 Philip ventured no reply. 
 
 After a few moments, Mr. Glenn added with 
 a softened manner (perhaps he was touched 
 with the boy's silence), " What do you want to 
 go farther off for, Philip ? " 
 
 " 'Twould be newer," answered Philip. " I 
 
 mldn't be tempted all the time to be running 
 
 er to town." 
 
 Mr. Glenn laughed a short, uneasy laugh. 
 " I don't think you'll be much troubled that 
 way, Philip v But you're uncommon well off, 
 I must say, and " 
 
 Mr. Glenn stopped short. He was going to 
 add, " Beggars mustn't be choosers ; " but .his 
 eye met the calm blue eye of the orphan, and 
 he could not say it. 
 
 Nothing more was said until they came in 
 sight of Linside Farm, Philip's home ! Alas 
 that he should come to it from such a cosey nest 
 of love as he had once known I 
 
 The farm lay on the left side of the road as 
 
 3
 
 34 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 they approached it from town. Mr. Reeves had 
 lately built a large brick house, after having 
 been for several years urged to do so by his 
 wife and his daughter Sophronia. The house 
 looked comfortable, but stood exposed to the 
 bare sunlight. The gravelly soil had been 
 levelled off somewhat evenly in front of the 
 house, and a native growth of grass and clover, 
 mingled with coarse, unsightly weeds, covered 
 the ground. Not a tree nor a shrub had been 
 planted, nor a turf laid, though Sophy hud 
 managed to lay out a patch of ground in beds 
 and walks, which then were sere and brown 
 after the frosts, but which had been gay with 
 marigolds and poppies a few weeks earlier. 
 
 Before reaching the house, they had passed 
 the stables, built close to the public road, with 
 a reeking barnyard which extended to the very 
 borders of the street. Outside the barnyard 
 fence, in the road, lay several pig-troughs ; and 
 the ground was covered with corn-cobs, looking
 
 A 'BOUND BOY. 35 
 
 as if they might have been the accumulations 
 of years. 
 
 " I think I'll get Mr. Reeves to let me clean 
 up all this, the very first thing I do," said 
 Philip. " I suppose he doesn't have time." 
 
 Mr. Glenn looked at him and smiled. Philip 
 thought the smile was in commendation of his 
 proposition ; but Mr. Glenn said nothing. 
 
 As they stopped in front of the house, Philip 
 glanced up, wondering which of those win- 
 dows above would look out of his room, and 
 hoping it might be the one that looked towards 
 the babbling brook that crossed the road a few 
 rods farther on. 
 
 " Well, jump out," said Mr. Glenn, " and 
 hoist out your trunk in a jiffy ; for, as I told 
 you, I'm in an awful hurry." 
 
 " Aren't you going in with me ? " asked 
 Philip. 
 
 " Me ! No. I don't know the family. I've 
 only seen Capt. Reeves. Make haste, boy."
 
 36 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip, with a good deal of effort, got his 
 trunk to the ground ; and Mr. Glenn, nodding 
 to him, said " Good-by," and, whirling his 
 horse quickly round, started back to town on a 
 round trot, leaving Philip with his hand raised 
 for a parting grasp, and his ears open to drink 
 in the good wishes and farewell words of Mr. 
 Glenn. He was alone in the world now, and 
 the consciousness of the fact came over him 
 with terrible power. 
 
 " It won't do for me to stand here, not a 
 minute," he thought. " I shall break down." 
 
 So, resolutely seizing his trunk, he dragged it 
 inside the gate, and then walked to the door 
 and rang the bell. It was answered by Miss 
 Sophy in person. 
 
 " Is Mr. Reeves in ? " asked Philip timidly. 
 
 " No," said she, and waited for something 
 further. 
 
 " Shall I come in ? " asked Philip. " I sup- 
 pose he expected me to-day."
 
 A BOUND BOY. 37 
 
 " You're the boy ? " she asked in amaze- 
 ment. " Go to the back door ; " and instantly 
 shut the door in his face. 
 
 Philip's hot young blood boiled for a 
 moment ; but, as on the bridge, " I must " 
 solved his questions and cooled his rising 
 wrath. Going back to the gate to fetch his 
 trunk gave him a little time to recover himself; 
 and, by the time he had tugged with it around 
 a path evidently much more frequented than 
 the one that led to the front door, he was quite 
 calm, though somewhat out of breath. 
 
 " O 
 
 Here he was evidently expected ; for the 
 door opened before he reached it, and a woman 
 looked out and greeted him with a smile. 
 
 That smile went to his heart more than Miss 
 Sophy's rudeness. That smile he was to see 
 many times, darted upon him warm and cheery, 
 like a gleam of sunshine. 
 
 " Come in," said Mrs. Reeves. " Let me 
 see : what's your name ? "
 
 38 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Philip Landon," he replied, as he stood 
 before her, cap in hand. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I remember. Come in, Philip. 
 Bring in your trunk. You might as well take 
 it right up to your room." 
 
 This was what Philip wanted. He desired, 
 more than any thing else, to see the room he was 
 to occupy. His own room at home had been a 
 bright and sunny room, opening out on a 
 balcony that overlooked half the town, and 
 gave a splendid view up and down Rock River, 
 upon which he had been content to feast his 
 eyes for hours together. 
 
 He followed Mrs. Reeves, who opened a 
 door leading out of the large dining-room 
 which he had entered. Up a narrow, winding 
 back-stairs she disappeared, he following. 
 
 As she reached the top, she looked back, 
 saying, " Oh ! you haven't got your trunk. 
 Bring it right along. I don't want to come up 
 again to show you where to put your things."
 
 A BOUND BOY. 39 
 
 "I don't know whether I can get it up 
 alone," he replied doubtfully. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, you can. Catch hold and try. 
 My man would say you are not worth much if 
 you can't do that. 
 
 Jerome Reeves sat in the dining-room and 
 looked on while Philip tugged at his trunk till 
 the veins in his forehead seemed ready to burst ; 
 but he offered no helping hand. 
 
 " Don't bang the wall with it ! " cried Mrs. 
 Reeves from above. 
 
 Philip strained every muscle, and at length 
 succeeded in reaching the top of the stairs 
 without leaving a scratch on the wall on either 
 hand. Mrs. Reeves seized the trunk with a 
 vigorous pull as it came within her reach, and 
 the thing was accomplished. 
 
 " Why, 'tis heavy, I do declare," said she. 
 " What in the world have you got in it ? " 
 
 " My clothing and books," replied Philip, 
 wiping his face and gasping for breath.
 
 . 40 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Well, bring it along, if you can ever get 
 your breath again," she continued good- 
 humoredly. " Why, how it makes you pant, 
 boy! I do declare I don't believe you are 
 any stouter than my Jerome, down there ; and 
 his father says he ain't worth a hill of beans. 
 Well, here's your quarters. Set your trunk 
 over there ; and now- hang up your clothes and 
 get all fixed up before Mr. Reeves comes in. 
 You'd better change your clothes, and get all 
 ready for work, too," she added, glancing at his 
 tidy suit. 
 
 " These are my commonest clothes, Mrs. 
 Reeves," he replied. " Whose clothes are these 
 hanging here ? " 
 
 " Oh ! they're Tom's. He's the hired man, 
 you know. He said you might have a share of 
 his room." 
 
 Oh, yes," said Philip. 
 
 " Well, fix up now, and be all ready to go 
 to work after dinner. Mr. Reeves don't have 
 any lazy folks around him."
 
 A BOUND BOY. 41 
 
 She was gone, and he was alone in his room, 
 his room ! which he had been in such haste to 
 see, reeking with stable-odors, and foul with 
 mud, and but half his at that ! 
 
 The room was over the kitchen. That part 
 of the house was only a story and a half high. 
 In the middle of the room, at its highest point, 
 he could reach the ceiling with his extended 
 fingers. Then it sloped to within about two 
 feet of the floor each way ; and on either side 
 were two windows, each of three panes of glass 
 set side by side. These windows could only be 
 reached by crawling down to them on hands 
 and knees. But straight to them Philip did 
 crawl, and opened all four of them, to let in the 
 free, sweet, pure air. How delicious it seemed ! 
 
 A. glance through the windows was all he 
 had time for then. First, towards town, two 
 miles away, climbing up the bank and strag- 
 gling off into the swee rural regions beyond, 
 lay Chesterfield, full in sight. As if to mock
 
 42 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 and tantalize the poor boy, the first spot upon 
 which his eye rested was his own old home. 
 Even at that distance he could recognize the 
 window that had been his window, and the 
 balcony upon which he had lain so many sweet 
 summer evenings, listening to the swallows that 
 sailed, twittering with delicious joy, over his 
 head ; and later, as the sunset faded, and 
 the shadows deepened, to the katydids, 
 and other sounds of insect-life that filled the 
 quivering air. He could not bear it. He 
 drew hastily back, and went to the other side. 
 Yes : it looked towards the babbling brook. He 
 could hear it ripple. There was refreshment 
 and peace in that. He lay on the floor and 
 listened. But, somehow, he could not see what 
 was there. He could see only the town 
 opposite. He could see only that well-re- 
 membered home, that window, that balcony, 
 his no longer. 
 
 Then he remembered something he had once
 
 A BOUND BOY. 43 
 
 x 
 
 heard his father read about people that 'were 
 " pity --TS of themselves." " No, that I must 
 not '," he exclaimed vehemently. " My 
 father commenced poor. He commenced with 
 nothing. I will be brave. I will make my 
 own fortune, as he did." 
 
 \. mocking tone seemed to answer, " His 
 fortune!" Alas, where was it? Philip reso- 
 lutely excluded the thought. " If he could 
 only have lived, it would have been all right. 
 As it is, I can do as he did. I have a life to 
 live, my own life, and nobody's else." 
 
 Turning resolutely to business, he opened his 
 trunk, and hung up his best suit, as far as 
 possible from Tom's unclean clothes, and 
 then 
 
 That was all he found to do. There was no 
 bureau, no closet. The sole furniture of the 
 room was its bed, a stand with a tin wash-basin, 
 but no water, nor any sign of any having been 
 there. Besides, there was a single chair and his
 
 44 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 trunk. So he closed the trunk, and slipped the 
 key in his pocket, and went down stairs. 
 
 " Just in time," said Mrs. Reeves. " Bring 
 me a pail of water. Out there is the well." 
 
 Philip brought the water, and then walked to 
 the window. Towards Chesterfield again ! Ho 
 turned hastily away, repeating his wish uttered 
 to Mr. Glenn that morning, that he were ten 
 miles away, instead of two. 
 
 But he was bound.
 
 CAPT. R'EEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CAPTAIN REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 'URING all the time of Philip's 
 passing in and out, Jerome had not 
 once raised his eyes from the news- 
 paper he was reading. When he 
 did, it was only to announce some event of the 
 war then in progress, to which his mother re- 
 sponded in a few indifferent words. 
 
 Philip had been looking with much interest 
 at Jerome, as he half reclined near the window. 
 He seemed about Philip's own age, but slight 
 in figure, and a little pale. Philip wondered 
 somewhat at his dress, which seemed not at all 
 adapted to labor, but rather to a quiet and 
 studious life, such as Philip had been accus- 
 tomed to, both for himself and among his
 
 46 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 associates. He felt drawn to Jerome, as boy to 
 boy, without a shadow of doubt that soon they 
 would be well acquainted, and have many 
 merry days together in the farm-life which had 
 looked so attractive to him from a distance. 
 
 Mr. Reeves came in punctually to dinner at 
 twelve o'clock. There was always a hurry 
 and commotion in the kitchen as twelve o'clock 
 drew near, especially if, by any accident or mis- 
 calculation, dinner was in any danger of being 
 ten minutes late. This rarely happened. To- 
 day, as usual, when the long black fingers of 
 the clock approached the momentous twelve, the 
 dishes began to gather on the table ; and all was 
 ready, as he liked it, when the captain ap- 
 peared. He was often called captain, and 
 enjoyed it exceedingly ; having led a company 
 of volunteers in the first three months' service 
 of the war, from which he had returned some 
 months previous. 
 
 " Ah, you are here ! " he exclaimed, as his 
 eye fell on Philip's face.
 
 CAPT. REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 47 
 
 Philip looked up and smiled in acknowledg- 
 ment of the above salutation, and waited for 
 whatever the captain might have to say further. 
 He said nothing more. 
 
 The dinner was announced. Jerome laid 
 aside his paper, and took up what Philip had 
 not before noticed, a crutch, with an iron stir- 
 rup on it, elevated some distance from the floor, 
 in .which he rested his right foot ; a stiff bent 
 knee making it impossible for him to bring it to 
 the floor. Here was the secret of his delicate 
 appearance, his neat apparel, and his quiet 
 habits. 
 
 " He studies, of course," thought Philip. 
 " How nice that must be ! " 
 
 Miss Sophy appeared from the front rooms 
 of the house, attired in a showy morning- 
 wrapper, which trailed half a yard upon the 
 floor as she walked. 
 
 Her father managed, as usual, to set his broad 
 foot upon it once or twice before she reached
 
 48 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 her chair : at which Miss Sophy darted angry 
 glances at him over her shoulder, and he ex- 
 claimed not less angrily at the absurdity of 
 women for wearing such trumpery. 
 
 As the family were gathering around the 
 table, Philip stood apart, waiting for an invita- 
 tion to join them. He heard other voices in 
 the room beyond, but gave no heed to them. 
 He observed a peculiar glance from Miss 
 Sophronia as she entered the room, but still 
 waited to be summoned to the vacant seat 
 beside Jerome. 
 
 " Ma, isn't the dinner ready out there ? " 
 asked the young lady. 
 
 " Oh ! yes : I forgot. Philip, your dinner is 
 ready for you in the kitchen." 
 
 He darted away, but turned back his angry 
 eyes, as a sneering laugh from Miss Sophy met 
 his ear. As he turned, a vision flashed upon 
 him. A little girl came running to take her 
 place at the table.
 
 CAPT. REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 49 
 
 " Always tardy, Pauly," said her father ; but 
 she stopped on her way, and smothered his 
 reproof with kisses from her rosy mouth. 
 Philip could not but stand an instant and gaze 
 at the round arms flung around the neck of 
 Capt. Reeves, the rosy cheek pressed to his, 
 and the bright eyes, so full, so brimming over, 
 and sparkling with frolic, that no one ever 
 noticed whether they were black or blue or 
 gray. 
 
 Capt. Reeves himself seemed transfigured, as 
 he felt upon his face and neck the caressing 
 arms and dimpled cheeks of his darling, the 
 blossom laid so late in life upon his seared and 
 dry heart. But for Philip it was only a "mo- 
 mentary glance. 
 
 Miss Sophy's voice called out, " Go to your 
 seat, Pauline : Philip, shut the door ; " and he 
 turned from the " stray babe of Paradise," to 
 the great farm-house kitchen, that lay on the 
 other side of the door. 
 4
 
 50 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " That boy thinks he is a gentleman," said 
 Miss Sophy. " I never saw the like." 
 
 " A gentleman ! " answered the captain sneer- 
 ingly. " What is a gentleman, Sophy ? I'd 
 just like to know what a gentleman is." 
 
 "Let the boy alone, Sophy. He'll learn soon 
 enough what he has got to be here," said the 
 mother compassionately. " What if it was 
 Jerome here, your brother, turned out of house 
 and home, and with nobody to see to him, poor 
 fellow?" 
 
 The mother's eye grew moist as she looked 
 at her helpless boy, older by two years than 
 Philip, though quite as boyish looking. But 
 the captain darted a sharp glance at the poor 
 cripple, in whom he had been so bitterly disap- 
 pointed. Jerome did not lift his eyes to meet 
 that glance : he had seen it too often. 
 
 The next moment they were all absorbed in 
 the important business of helping and being 
 helped ; little Pauline's plate receiving all the 
 choicest tid-bits within her father's reach.
 
 CAP?: REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 51 
 
 " There is a call for more troops, father," 
 said Jerome. 
 
 " Well, why don't you go ? " answered the 
 captain fiercely, seizing this as he did every 
 opportunity to fling his son's helplessness into 
 his face. 
 
 " Oh, if I only could ! " exclaimed Jerome 
 fervently. " I wouldn't stay to finish my 
 dinner." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! I remember you did your fight- 
 ing when you were a boy;" referring to the 
 boyish burst of passion that led to a scuffle 
 with a playmate, and ended in Jerome's being 
 brought into the house with the injured knee 
 that had crippled him for life. 
 
 " My boy," said his mother fondly, " I could 
 almost be glad now that you are disabled." 
 
 " 'Tis as it is," said Jerome bitterly. 
 
 " Papa, are you going to war again ? " asked 
 little Pauline, lifting her dilated eyes to her 
 father's face.
 
 52 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " No, pet : papa can't go. He must stay at 
 home and raise something for his little Pauly 
 to eat." 
 
 " We could eat apples; and they grow with- 
 out raising. Couldn't we, mamma ? " 
 
 Pauly's remark caused a laugh, and the sub- 
 ject of the war was dismissed. 
 
 Philip, meanwhile, had seated himself at the 
 kitchen-table, in company with Tom and Kate 
 the cook. These two engrossed the conversa- 
 tion ; and Philip was left with nothing to do but 
 to satisfy the cravings of hunger, which, 
 naturally enough, under the circumstances, 
 were not ravenous. 
 
 The three pushed back their chairs from the 
 table long before the dinner in the dining-room 
 was finished. Sophronia had of late years 
 introduced, little by little, into the management 
 of family affairs all she had been able to 
 gather up of the customs of fashionable society, 
 overcoming gradually, by sheer force of will,
 
 CAPT. REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 53 
 
 the preferences of her father and mother for 
 homely ways. She had not yet carried the 
 point of having their one handmaid called from 
 her dinner to clear the table for dessert. Her 
 mother had thus far maintained her own rule 
 in this matter ; and Kate was allowed to eat 
 her dinner in peace at the same hour with the 
 family, though, as we have seen, in a room 
 apart. At present, Sophronia was obliged to 
 content herself with removing the plates and 
 distributing the dessert herself; but she was 
 not without hope of further reforms. 
 
 While she was thus engaged, the family 
 heard the chairs sliding back on the bare 
 kitchen-floor ; and Capt. Reeves called out, 
 "Pauly, tell the boy to come here." 
 
 " What boy, papa ? what shall I call him ? " 
 "What's his name, mother?" asked the 
 captain. " I suppose you've found out." 
 " Philip, Pauly : call him Philip." 
 "I think Phil is quite enough," remarked 
 Miss Sophy.
 
 54 LINSIDE FA-RM. 
 
 Meanwhile Pauly opened the kitchen-door, 
 and called, " Philip, papa wants you." 
 
 There she stood, that vision again, that one 
 hint of heaven, in the midst of so much earth- 
 liness. Philip stooped, he could not do other- 
 wise, and kissed Pauly's rosy cheek ; and 
 Pauly threw her arms around Philip's neck, 
 and kissed him. Sophronia darted angry glances 
 at him ; but the unsophisticated boy did not 
 see them, nor feel them burning into his very 
 heart, as he learned to do afterwards. 
 
 The next moment he stood waiting to receive 
 his master's orders. 
 
 " This afternoon," said the captain, "I want 
 you to dig potatoes. There's five acres of them 
 to be got in ready for market ; and you'll just 
 keep at them till they're all in." 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Philip. 
 
 " And do you understand, now, I want you 
 to be smart. It's a boy I want, you see, a boy 
 for work. Here's Jerome ought to be doing
 
 CAPT. REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 55 
 
 just that sort of thing ; but you see he's no 
 account." And the angry flash fell again on 
 his only son. " Like as a father pitieth his 
 children," says the Scripture, " so the Lord 
 pitieth them that fear him." But surely it 
 was not that father that was taken as a model. 
 
 " But, look here, boy : you're not dressed for 
 work. Go take off your Sunday clothes, and 
 get ready for business ; and be quick too," he 
 added in a sharp, business-like way, though 
 not cross. 
 
 " These are my oldest clothes," replied 
 Philip. " I intended this for a working-suit." 
 
 " Mother," said the captain, " haven't you 
 got an old suit of Jerome's to put the boy in ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I can find one." 
 
 " Well, get them, quick. We've got to sit 
 here a while longer, I suppose, to suit Sophy's 
 notions ; but work must go on." 
 
 " Capt. Reeves," said Philip, "I would so 
 much rather wear my own clothes, if you
 
 56 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 please. This is a good stout suit, and will 
 stand work pretty well." 
 
 " Look here, boy," said the -captain : " it's 
 pretty clear there are some things you don't 
 understand. Your clothes are my clothes 
 now ; and I choose they shall be taken 
 care of. So, if you please, young man," 
 he added with emphasis, " or if you don't please, 
 just take that suit and put it on, and be quick." 
 
 Philip took the clothes Mrs. Reeves had 
 brought, and disappeared up the narrow back- 
 stairs to his room. Just at the top of the 
 stairs there burst upon him again that full view 
 of Chesterfield ; and somehow, as it always 
 would happen, his eye rested on that familiar 
 home, that particular window, that balcony. 
 For a moment it seemed as if the sight struck 
 him with a blow under which he must stagger ; 
 but the next moment he seemed to hear his 
 father's voice saying, " My son, you have a life 
 to live. Live honorably." With an audible
 
 CAPT. REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 57 
 
 voice Philip again answered, " I will, father ; I 
 will." 
 
 He sprang into his room, and quickly 
 changed his garments, not stopping to look at 
 the patched knees, and the jacket out at the 
 elbows, and not knowing that another " boy " 
 had worn them since Jerome. He passed his 
 hand once through the clustering brown curls 
 (there was no other hand to stray among them 
 now), and re-appeared in the dining-room in 
 his unwonted attire. 
 
 " Now you look like business," said the 
 captain, scanning him from head to foot, and 
 at last looking up into his flushed face. Philip 
 met his look with a calm, steady eye, though he 
 could not drive away the two bright spots that 
 burned in his cheeks. " Tom will show you ;' " 
 and the captain motioned him away. 
 
 Pauly sprang from her seat at the table, and 
 intercepted him before he reached the door ; and, 
 lifting once more her plump face and beaming
 
 58 LINS7DE FARM. 
 
 eyes, said, u Never mind the old clothes, Philip : 
 I like you just as well ; " and darted back before 
 Sophronia could interpose a word or a look. 
 
 " That boy isn't used to hard work. Be easy 
 with him at first, won't you, father ? " said Mrs. 
 Reeves. 
 
 He laughed : a laugh that simply shook his 
 ample sides, but brought no kindly expression 
 to his face. " That will do for you to say, 
 mother : that'll do for you. But the only way 
 to break such a boy is to chuck him right in." 
 
 " Papa, are you going to break Philip ? " 
 asked Pauly. 
 
 " I won't hurt him, Pauly. I'm only going 
 to break him to work, as we do horses when 
 they get big enough." 
 
 *' I wish nobody didn't have to work hard," 
 said Pauly sorrowfully. " Not boys, nor horses, 
 nor nothing." 
 
 " But they do have to, Pauly." 
 
 " You'll let him play sometimes, won't you, 
 papa ? "
 
 CAPT. REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 59 
 
 " Play, Pauly ! That's your business, not 
 his. Sophy, give me another of those peaches : 
 they're splendid. Here, Pauly ; " and he tossed 
 her one of the rosiest and finest. Pauly took 
 it up, looked at it for a moment, and slyly 
 slipped it into her pocket. 
 
 " Going to save it to eat by and by ? " 
 
 " No : I am going to give it to Philip. You 
 didn't give him any." 
 
 Pauline had her way, as she always did. 
 
 Philip, meanwhile, had followed Tom to the 
 five-acre field of potatoes, with his hoe on his 
 shoulder. Tom went far enough to show him 
 the field, and then left him. 
 
 Philip went on, leaped over the fence, and 
 stopped to survey the scene of operations. 
 The field lay alongside the brook that leaped 
 from rock to rock, making tinkling music all 
 along its way to join Rock River, five miles 
 below. Just here it was broad and shallow ; 
 and Philip thought what glorious fun it would
 
 60 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 be to spring down its rocky banks, and leap 
 from stone to stone lying up bare from arnid its 
 noisy, dancing waters, and stand, in the joy of 
 boyish strength and courage, on the very top of 
 a rock that some rods away received and 
 dashed off to either side the stream that leaped 
 from above, and plunged down into deep, still 
 pools below. A dash of the spray would have 
 refreshed him so ! The brown woods across the 
 brook he knew were full of trees loaded with 
 nuts. He had roamed through them often ; and 
 now he could hear the shouts of boys, some 
 near, some faint and far away. He well knew 
 what sport they were having. Over all 
 woods, water, and plain lay the October haze, 
 softening the golden sunlight that fell alike on 
 the dancing brook and on the unpoetic potato- 
 field. 
 
 But his business now was not with the 
 October haze, nor the glancing water, nor the 
 sweet sunshine, nor the great trees, that, beyond
 
 CAPT. REEVES AND HIS FAMILY. 61 
 
 the brook, loomed up in the misty air ; save as 
 these all gathered around him, with their silent 
 witness of the goodness and the glory of God, 
 ready to feed his soul with angel's food, though 
 his hands must be busy, and his muscles ache 
 with unaccustomed labor. 
 
 He turned from the brook ; and there, climb- 
 ing up the river-bank, always in sight wherever 
 he went, lay Chesterfield. It reminded him of 
 something his mother had once read to him, 
 about being compassed about with a great cloud 
 of witnesses. It seemed as if his old haunts, 
 his friends, his companions, his former life, yes, 
 and the three graves beyond the city, among 
 the silent hills, each sent its keen-eyed ghost to 
 watch him from those shining heights. The 
 cloud of witnesses that really did look down 
 upon him, youthful runner in a race upon 
 which hung such momentous issues, he did 
 not think of at all. Yet they were watching 
 him.
 
 62 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon, a light 
 step tripped near him, a bright glance and a 
 merry laugh ; and little Pauly laid her ripe 
 peach in his dusty hand. 
 
 It was hard to tell which gave him most 
 refreshment, the luscious, juicy peach, or the 
 sparkle of the merry eyes that looked up to his. 
 However that might be, he certainly was 
 refreshed, and went on with his work till night 
 with renewed vigor.
 
 riFE IN THE WOODS. 63 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 F T length the potatoes were all stored 
 away to wait for spring prices ; the 
 corn was gathered into the crib; the 
 fall ploughing was done, and wheat 
 sown, and stacks of hay and fodder that had 
 been accumulating during the summer and fall 
 stood ready for winter use ; barns and cattle- 
 sheds were overlooked and put in complete 
 order for the sheltering of stock during the 
 winter : for Capt. Reeves was a good fanner, 
 and looked well both to the crops and the stock 
 on his premises. They were all money in his 
 pocket. 
 
 Philip had never yet come to the point 
 which he had announced to Mr. Glenn as the
 
 -f LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 first thing he should undertake. The unsightly 
 feeding-troughs and heaps of refuse still lay in 
 the road ; while more nearly in front of the 
 house was the common gathering-place of the 
 cows for milking and feeding. Philip had soon 
 learned that he was not expected to make sug- 
 gestions. 
 
 He saw little of Jerome. Not a step of 
 progress could he make in cultivating the ac- 
 quaintance of the crippled boy. He was almost 
 always in the same seat, on a lounge by the 
 dining-room window, while his mother bustled 
 about, busy with her household cares, and Pauly 
 danced hither and thither like a stray sunbeam, 
 bringing light and gladness wherever she came. 
 Sometimes she stood by Jerome as he read the 
 daily paper or pursued his studies, her fingers 
 wandering over his hair or stroking his cheek. 
 The pale, listless face always settled into perfect 
 rest when she was by, and sometimes was even 
 lighted up with a gleam of pleasure. Then
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 65 
 
 Pauly was by her mother, and her cares seemed 
 lighter, and her vexations more endurable. 
 Then she would vanish into those mysterious 
 regions towards the front of the house, which, 
 for all Philip knew of them, might be fairy- 
 land. He only knew that Miss Sophy was 
 always summoned thence when meals were 
 ready, and disappeared again in that direction 
 when they were over ; and, once or twice, the 
 sound of sC piano had penetrated even as far as 
 the farm-kitchen, and sometimes had stolen up 
 to his forlorn bedroom as he was dropping off 
 to sleep, seeming to him like echoes from an 
 almost forgotten past. 
 
 Philip began to feel at length that they were 
 about ready for a quiet winter, and he won- 
 dered when the captain would speak of his 
 going to school. He knew it was part of the 
 agreement entered into on his behalf that he 
 should have a certain amount of schooling: how 
 much he did not know ; but he had settled it in
 
 66 LINSIDZ FARM. 
 
 his own mind that it would certainly be as much 
 as three months every winter. 
 
 One evening, near the close of November, as 
 he, with Tom and Kate, sat around the groat 
 kitchen-stove, the captain suddenly appeared 
 among them. His errand was with Tom ; and 
 he took no more notice of Philip and Kate than 
 if they had been blocks of stone. 
 
 Walking straight to Tom, he laid down 
 thirty dollars on the table before him, saying, 
 " Here's the balance of what I owe yon, Tom. 
 I suppose you are going in the morning." 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Tom ; and the captain 
 left. 
 
 " Are you going away, Tom ? " asked 
 Philip. 
 
 " Yes. The captain can't afford to keep 
 me any longer." And Tom laughed sneer- 
 ingly. " I'm glad I ain't as poor as Capt. 
 Reeves," he added. " He's going to grind my 
 work out of you now, Phil."
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 67 
 
 Philip made no reply, but dropped his eyes 
 on an algebra he was trying to study. The 
 subject was not resumed. He continued poring 
 over his algebra and slate, doinji the best he 
 
 O O 
 
 could amidst the incessant clatter of tongues 
 kept up by Tom and Kate. He knew Jerome 
 was quietly reading history in the next room. 
 How he envied the privileged boy ! He would 
 almost have been content, he fancied, to become 
 crippled like him, if that would have brought 
 him the same advantages. From the parlor 
 beyond came sounds of Sophronia's piano, and 
 singing and laughter. She had company : slut 
 almost always did in the evening. Philip's 
 thoughts for a while wandered sadly from the 
 book on which his eyes persistently rested ; and 
 when Tom at length took up the candle and 
 said, " Come, Phil, let's go to bed," he gath- 
 ered up his book and slate with the feeling that 
 there was very little use in his trying to study 
 any more : he might as well give it up.
 
 68 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 As they passed through the dining-room, 
 Jerome raised his languid eyes from his book, 
 and looked enviously at Philip's boyish figure 
 and elastic step. Could the two boys have 
 looked into each other's minds, they would 
 have been mutually astonished. Both, perhaps, 
 would have had the thought flashed upon them, 
 that God distributes his gifts more equally than 
 his murmuring creatures sometimes think ; so 
 that while no one has all things, every one has 
 many things for which to give thanks. 
 
 Philip was somewhat wakeful, wondering 
 how the change of affairs would be likely to 
 affect him. Sometimes he thought Tom's 
 work would all come on his shoulders ; and 
 that hereafter he might expect to feed the stock 
 entirely, as he had already been in the habit of 
 doing in part. But again he remembered the 
 captain's remarkable care of every living thing 
 on the place, and how he had never trusted 
 even Tom, without a constant oversight of his
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 69 
 
 own. He was not only careful, but absolutely 
 notional. 
 
 At length, Philip settled quietly to the con- 
 clusion that Tom had been dismissed for the 
 reason that work was pretty much wound up 
 for the season, and that he should certainly be 
 sent to school. With that conclusion he fell 
 asleep, dreaming of daily walks to and from 
 Chesterfield, and of happy hours awaiting him 
 in the old familiar schoolrooms. 
 
 When he awoke the next morning, Tom was 
 already gone ; and the empty pegs on the wall 
 where his clothing had hung showed that his 
 departure was final. Tom had risen early, and 
 was at that moment half way to town ; de- 
 termined, if he could avoid it, not to lose so 
 much as a day's work in his change of employ- 
 ments. 
 
 As Philip passed through the dining-room, 
 the captain spoke to him. 
 
 " Sir," said Philip.
 
 70 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " I want you to go to the woods with me to- 
 day." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Get the team ready. We shall start right 
 after breakfast." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 u Tell Kate to put up your dinner to take 
 along." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Philip passed on. He would have been 
 unwilling to acknowledge the bitter pang of 
 disappointment that shot through him. He 
 had wrought up his expectations to a pitch of 
 absolute certainty that the next order he 
 should hear from the captain would be to go to 
 school. If that privilege, or rather right, were 
 given him, Philip felt that he could live through 
 the monotonous round of his farm-life, and 
 scarcely feel its dreariness. 
 
 After breakfast, they went to the woods. 
 The captain threw on the wagon two axes, a
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 71 
 
 beetle and wedge, and then sprang on, taking 
 the lines out of Philip's hands, and driving 
 himself, because he loved to. 
 
 A light snow had fallen during the night, 
 but the sun had come out gloriously in the 
 morning. They were silent during the ride ; 
 the intercourse between master and boy being 
 usually limited to giving and receiving orders. 
 So Philip was at liberty to revel in the beauty 
 of the newly-fallen snow as it lay so soft and 
 light on field and hill, clinging to the dry and 
 withered foliage of the trees, and everywhere 
 sending back the clear rays of the morning 
 sun in dazzling brightness. 
 
 Across the brook, about a mile away from 
 Linside farmhouse, lay the wood-lot to which 
 their course was directed. Chesterfield was 
 behind them ; but, as if by some secret fascina- 
 tion, Philip's eyes, as he sat on the edge of the 
 wagon-rack, clung to the climbing streets and 
 happy homes of the town on the hill that rose
 
 72 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 from the farther side of Rock River. Under 
 the beams of the morning sun, and the dazzling 
 glitter of the newly-fallen snow resting on the 
 roofs, and clinging to every projecting window- 
 cap and moulding, decorating with fairy-like 
 tracery every steeple and cupola, the city might 
 have stood, to his boyish fancy, as an emblem 
 of the Celestial City to which Christian went 
 up from the farther shores of Jordan. 
 
 But it was not the beauty alone of the shin- 
 ing prospect that caught the eye of the boy ; 
 nor even his own home, standing there in full 
 view, upon which his eye always rested first 
 when turned in that direction. He had had 
 that first glance homeward, with the heart- 
 pang that always accompanied it ; and then he 
 had feasted on the beauty of the scene : and 
 after that, as long as they were within sight, his 
 eye clung to the various school-edifices dotting 
 the city here and there, with the High School 
 overlooking the whole from the highest point
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 73 
 
 of ground. To its inviting portals lie had many 
 times looked up while his home was within a 
 stone's throw of it, never doubting that he 
 should pass through its various departments till 
 fitted for college. But now, free to all as its 
 privileges were, and belonging to him as a 
 birthright, they seemed as far off and as unat- 
 tainable as a castle in the clouds. 
 
 As for Capt. Reeves, all this was behind his 
 back. Even the pure snow, in which his horses' 
 hoofs and the wheels of his wagon were mak- 
 ing the first impression, was nothing to him. 
 He was absorbed in the careful driving of his 
 great handsome bays, his own especial pride 
 and pleasure. Philip need not have been 
 troubled about the care of the horses and stock 
 coming upon him after Tom's departure. Ho 
 would not have thought of any such thing if 
 he had known the captain better. Capt. 
 Reeves was no amateur farmer : not he ! 
 
 By and by they turned into a woods-road, in
 
 74 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 which they were obliged to keep 'dodging the 
 branches that interlaced above them, and which 
 every now and then showered down the feath- 
 ery snow upon them. 
 
 " Confound the snow ! " said the captain. 
 
 It was the first word he had spoken since 
 they started, and it was also the last until they 
 reached a small clearing in the woods. 
 
 The captain sprang to the ground, and 
 directed Philip to take the implements of work, 
 while he carefully tied and blanketed his 
 horses. 
 
 He then walked around the little clearing, 
 looking here and there before deciding where 
 to begin. At last he fixed upon a tree to be 
 first felled, and ordered the tools to be laid at 
 its foot. 
 
 If Philip had been a little more familiar with 
 Scripture, the action might have suggested to 
 him the words of John the Baptist in the wil- 
 derness : " And now also the axe is laid unto
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 75 
 
 the root of the trees ; therefore every tree 
 which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn 
 down and cast into the fire." But no sucli 
 thought came to the boy's mind. He was 
 simply absorbed in the preparation for work to 
 him so novel. 
 
 At length the captain spoke. " Here is 
 your winter's work, Philip, here in this wood- 
 lot." 
 
 How loud the captain's voice sounded in the 
 stillness of the lonely forest ' It seemed to 
 Philip as if every tree repeated the sentence, 
 " Here's your winter's work, Philip." 
 
 He simply responded, " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You cut on that side, while I cut on this ; 
 and look out the tree don't fall on you." 
 
 With the eye of a practised woodsman, he 
 had carefully calculated the direction in which 
 the tree was likely to fall ; and his remark had 
 no further meaning than that he delighted to 
 play upon what he was pleased to call the 
 greenness of a raw hand at the business.
 
 76 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Soon the vigorous strokes of their axes 
 resounded through the woods, and by and by 
 the tree began to settle slowly over towards 
 Capt. Reeves, as he knew it would ; and 
 presently, with a tremendous crash, the splendid 
 product of a century's growth fell prostrate. 
 
 " What a pity ! " said Philip involuntarily, as 
 he glanced along its shapely trunk and spread- 
 ing limbs, lying a mass of ruins. 
 
 " No dawdling !" exclaimed the captain con- 
 temptuously ; and Philip was again left to 
 his own reflections. 
 
 Again the prostrate tree might have sug- 
 gested to him, " If the tree falleth toward the 
 south or toward the north, in the place where 
 the tree falleth there it shall be ; " with its 
 accompanying lesson respecting the end of 
 human probation, and the eternal fixedness of 
 all beyond. But he did not think of it. 
 
 At length, in a pause of their work, he could 
 no longer refrain from asking the question, that,
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 77 
 
 all the morning* had been revolving in his 
 mind. 
 
 " Capt. Reeves," said he, " am I going to 
 school this winter ? " 
 
 " To school, boy ! What put that into your 
 head ? " 
 
 " I thought why, I thought, sir, it was part 
 of the agreement," stammered Philip. 
 
 He could not have said a worse thing. 
 
 The captain replied, " You mind your part 
 of the agreement, and I'll mind mine ; and, look 
 here, young man, you needn't trouble yourself 
 to tell me about my part." 
 
 The ringing axes were busy again, lopping 
 off the branches, preparatory to coming at the 
 straight body-wood. There was no further 
 talking, except now and then a direction from, 
 the master, or a question from the boy. Not- 
 withstanding the disappointment he had met, 
 Philip could not be greatly depressed in the 
 midst of such vigorous exercise in the crisp,
 
 78 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 bracing November air. His -spirits gradually 
 rose ; and, but for the presence of the captain, 
 he would have been whistling and shouting 
 over his work. That presence always rested 
 upon him like a heavy weight. 
 
 By and by, the sun rose high in the heavens ; 
 and the captain, carefully noting that its 
 direction indicated the approach of noon, pre- 
 pared for departure. 
 
 " I've come out and worked with you this 
 morning," he said, " to get you started : .low I 
 expect you to go on yourself. Here' , your 
 winter's work, as I told you, chopping and 
 cording up wood ; and, mind you, the faster the 
 piles grow, the better I shall like it." 
 
 Philip knew that very well ; and he responded 
 with the customary " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Now I shall go home," continued the 
 captain. " You can eat your dinner, ar, i then 
 work on till night. And bring your a 
 every night, mind."
 
 LIFE IN THE WOOJJS. 79 
 
 The captain took his axe on his shoulder, 
 and went to the other side of the clearing, 
 where he had left his horses. Philip felt 
 relieved ; and, as soon as he was fairly out of 
 sight, he sat down on his log to eat his dinner. 
 The silence of the woods was unbroken, save 
 now and then by the chirp of a late-lingering 
 bird. There was too much novelty in his 
 situation to be quite dreary, and his morning's 
 work had given him a fine appetite. 
 
 The activities of Nature seemed all sus- 
 pended. The shrill cry of a blue-jay, or the 
 noisy clamor of a flock of wild geese that flew 
 over his head, just starting from their summer 
 haunts in some watery nook to seek a sunnier 
 clime, were the only sounds that broke the 
 silence while he ate his solitary meal. After 
 his nooning, he took up his axe and went 
 cheerily to work again, glad to hear the sound 
 of his own labor. As he recollected the 
 captain's remark, " Here's your winter's work,
 
 80 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip," he wished it were a little less monoto- 
 nous ; but he had no choice in the matter. As 
 the sun lowered in the west, he shouldered his 
 axe and plodded wearily homeward. His 
 supper was awaiting him in the kitchen. That 
 over, he passed through the dining-roorn to 
 bring his book from up stairs, to study, as 
 lie usually did at night. Jerome was there. 
 He nearly always was. He lifted a wistful gaze 
 to Philip's face as he passed through, but said 
 nothing. Philip looked at him half enviously, 
 and passed on. 
 
 It soon became an old story with Philip to 
 take up his implements and his dinner-pail, and 
 set off on his morning walk to the woods. But 
 the solitude of the employment made it exceed- 
 ingly irksome. He could hear around him the 
 strokes of other men and boys, similarly em- 
 ployed, but not one in sight. He could, in a 
 measure, keep trace of their work by the occa- 
 sional crash of a falling tree, or the burning of
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 81 
 
 their heaps of brush ; but not an articulate sound 
 ever met his ear, though sometimes a faint shout 
 came borne on the still air, as, all day long, and 
 every day, he worked at his allotted task. 
 
 The captain occasionally looked in upon the 
 clearing, to see how matters progressed. One 
 day, about midwinter, he spent some hours at 
 work with Philip. As he was leaving at noon, 
 he said, " It seems to me, Philip, your pile grows 
 very slowly. I thought may be you didn't 
 know how to work ; and so I have been working 
 with you to show you how, and to see how you 
 manage : and I don't see but you get along well 
 enough when I am by." 
 
 Philip looked up astonished ; for his father's 
 maxim had been always before him, and he had 
 specially prided himself upon his faithfulness 
 and diligence. 
 
 But the captain looked dissatisfied, and Philip 
 began to wonder within himself whether he 
 should ever be able to satisfy him. 
 
 6
 
 82 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 After that day, the captain was more fre- 
 quently on the ground. His visits were galling 
 to Philip, for they made him feel that he was 
 under suspicion of being unfaithful in his labor. 
 One day, Philip noticed Capt. Reeves care- 
 fully taking the measure of the pile of wood as 
 it lay, and noting the results in his memo- 
 randum book. The next day he did the same, 
 and the next the same. 
 
 After the third measurement, he suddenly 
 called out, " Philip ! come here, young man." 
 
 Philip came to where he stood, and saw at 
 once that he was terribly angry ; but he met 
 his flashing eye with a calm, steady gaze. 
 
 " I've been measuring your work," said the 
 captain, " and you haven't done half a day's 
 work in three days." 
 
 " Capt. Reeves, I have," said Philip calmly. 
 
 " You dare to contradict me ? " said the cap- 
 ttm. 
 
 " I know, sir, that I have worked faithfully
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 83 
 
 My father long ago taught me to do faithfully 
 whatever I have to. do, whether I am watched 
 or not." 
 
 " There's the proof of your faithfulness. 
 There's very little more wood here than there 
 was three days ago." 
 
 " I don't know, sir, but I have had a suspi- 
 cion that some one has been stealing." 
 
 " A very cunning supposition, very. But I 
 suspect another reason. I've seen your book 
 in your pocket every morning. Have you got 
 it here now ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Bring it here." 
 
 Philip obeyed. Capt. Reeves took the 
 book in his hand, and tore out leaf after leaf, 
 half a dozen or a dozen at a time, and, delib- 
 erately tearing them into bits, scattered them to 
 the winds, and then hurled the empty covers 
 with -his full strength into the woods. The 
 coolness with which it was done gave Philip
 
 84 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 time to recover his self-command ; and, with 
 firm-set lips, he looked on without a word till 
 the work of destruction was completed. 
 
 " There, young man," said the captain : " I'll 
 teach you to go to studying when I send you to 
 work." 
 
 " Capt. Reeves," said Philip, much more 
 calmly than the captain had spoken, " you 
 have reason to suspect me of dishonesty ; but I 
 give you my word of honor that neither that 
 book nor any other has ever kept me from 
 faithfully doing your work." 
 
 " Your word of honor ! " sneered the captain. 
 " I'd like to see the proof of your faithful- 
 ness. I want something besides empty boast- 
 ing." 
 
 " If you will watch the logs I am working 
 on, you will see, sir. I have no objection to 
 being watched, if it is only done thoroughly." 
 
 " I will, I will. I shall take you at your 
 word. I will watch you hereafter ; " and, care-
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 85 
 
 fully noting the unfinished work that lay 
 scattered on the ground, the captain left. 
 
 Philip took up his axe, and worked with 
 desperation for an hour or two. He dared not 
 stop to think of the loss of his precious Latin 
 grammar, that for weeks had been his com- 
 panion in those hours of otherwise wearisome 
 solitude. He had studied it while taking his 
 
 O 
 
 nooning ; he had placed it open before him, and 
 glanced over its declensions and conjugations 
 and rules, and then repeated them audibly 
 to himself while faithfully pursuing his work, 
 measuring their rhythmic cadences with the 
 steady strokes of his axe or beetle. 
 
 At length he did think. Conscious of his 
 integrity, he was under no fear of detection ; yet 
 he knew appearances were against him. A 
 suspicion had often crossed his mind that his 
 wood was purloined ; but he had not yet made 
 himself so sure of it as to say or do any thing 
 with reference to the matter. But the thought
 
 86 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 that he was under suspicion of unfaithfulness 
 stung him terribly. He thought and worked, 
 and worked and thought, till at one moment he 
 was ready to fling his axe after the covers of 
 his Latin grammar, and go, he cared not 
 whither. 
 
 At length the fire of his anger burned itself 
 out, and his pride of integrity re-asserted itself 
 in full power. " He shall know that I am 
 honest," he exclaimed. " I shall not long be 
 under this suspicion." 
 
 From that day forward, Philip knew that he 
 was constantly and keenly watched. At the 
 most unexpected times, and from the most 
 unlikely directions, the captain would appear in 
 the wood-lot, silently take his notes, or give 
 some order, and leave again. The result of it 
 all was a clear conviction in the mind of the 
 captain that his boy was faithful, notwith- 
 standing the fact that the petty purloining that 
 had at first brought suspicion upon Philip was
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 87 
 
 carried on constantly. But of this conviction 
 Philip never had the benefit. He felt always 
 the cold eye of suspicion resting upon him, and 
 the result was an increasingly defiant trust in 
 his conscious uprightness. 
 
 Yet, after all, the foundation of this upright- 
 ness was simply the maxim that his father had 
 for so many years carefully instilled into his 
 mind, that " Honesty is the best policy." It 
 was not a fixed principle to do right for the sake 
 of right, but to do right because it was best for 
 himself. " My father's integrity carried him 
 through," he often thought, " and made him a 
 prosperous man, and it must and shall do the 
 same for me. Only five years from next 
 spring, I shall be free. I can stand it." 
 
 By and by there was a change. The 
 captain became weary of a watch that never 
 afforded the smallest advantage to his savage 
 delight in fault-finding. Yet he had so fully 
 made up his mind that Philip must be watched,
 
 88 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 that he could not at once relinquish his 
 vigilance. So, without Philip's knowledge, the 
 task was deputed to Jerome. 
 
 Great was Philip's astonishment, one mild 
 sunshiny morning, to see Jerome come limping 
 into the narrow enclosure that for the winter 
 constituted Philip's world. At first he was not 
 only astonished, but absolutely alarmed ; and, 
 dropping his axe, he sprang forward to meet 
 him, feeling sure that the crippled boy, whom 
 he had never before seen outside the comfort- 
 able dining-room, must be in need of some 
 assistance. 
 
 " Did you walk all the way out here ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Why, yes, of course. Why not ? " 
 
 " I thought you were not able. Why, it's a 
 full mile." 
 
 " I'm able enough. I walk every day a mile 
 or two miles. It is all I am good for." 
 
 Jerome's face settled to its usual expression
 
 LIFE IN THE WOODS. 89 
 
 of indolent apathy, as he had by that time 
 readied the place where Philip was at work, 
 and seated himself on the log, while Philip 
 resumed his chopping. 
 
 Jerome looked moodily on. At length he 
 said, " I would give my whole interest in the 
 farm if I could swing an axe like that." 
 
 Philip stopped in amazement. 
 
 " I would," Jerome repeated. " If I could 
 step like you, and work like you, I'd give my 
 whole interest in the farm." 
 
 " Why, there are lots of things you can do, 
 Jerome, if you can't do that." 
 
 " I know it," replied Jerome. " But he 
 won't let me." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " My father. He won't let me. He was 
 determined to make a working farmer of me ; 
 and, because I'm not fit for that, he throws ma 
 aside, and calls me good for nothing." 
 
 " But you can't help being lame."
 
 90 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " I could have helped it. And that is what 
 makes him mad. He can't get over it, that in a 
 foolish childish quarrel, I disabled myself for 
 life.' I am sure I am punished enough for it," 
 he added bitterly. 
 
 " Yes, I think so. And yet I've often 
 thought if I had your chance to study, I would 
 almost be willing to be lame, like you." 
 
 " Yes, I can study a little. But it's dull 
 studying alone. Father never gives me the 
 least encouragement, and he won't let me go to 
 college." 
 
 " So we have been envying one another, 
 have we ? " 
 
 " It seems so." 
 
 Jerome relapsed into a moody silence, while 
 Philip continued his vigorous work. Stroke 
 after, stroke kept his blood bounding and 
 tingling to his finger-ends ; while Jerome grew 
 pinched and blue in the chill air, passing away 
 the time breaking off, bit by bit, a dry twig he 
 held in his hand.
 
 UFE IN THE WOODS. 91 
 
 By and by he resumed the conversation. 
 
 " I tell you, Philip, I'm troubled. I don't 
 know what is to become of me. I am eighteen 
 years old now, and haven't a shadow of an idea 
 what I am going to do when I am a man. I 
 don't see that I am likely to be fit for any 
 thing." 
 
 " Are you eighteen ? " asked Philip in 
 surprise. " I didn't think you were any older 
 than I ; and I am not sixteen yet." 
 
 " I'm not any older, not as old in some 
 respects. I'm not fit to-day to take care of 
 myself, while you can go on independently." 
 
 " I know what I would do if I were you," 
 replied Philip hastily. " I'd study." And the 
 ring of his axe showed with what vigor and 
 energy he could apply himself to his favorite 
 pursuit if permitted. 
 
 " Well, what then ? " 
 
 " What then ? Why, I don't know what 
 then. But you would be just so much better 
 prepared for any thing that might turn up."
 
 92 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Nothing ever turns up for me." 
 
 A man of experience, any man of forty, 
 would certainly have exclaimed with astonish- 
 ment, " Discouraged at eighteen ! " But, really, 
 to Jerome and Philip, life stretching before 
 them offered but few attractions, though for 
 reasons widely different in the case of the two 
 boys. Yet they were a help to one another. 
 Philip's vigorous " I'd study " sank into the 
 listless brain of the lame boy with a weight that 
 might tell some time, if not at once ; while 
 Jerome's envy of Philip's strength and ability 
 to labor and help himself made him appreciate 
 more keenly the value of that strength. Philip 
 watched Jerome, as, after a while, he took up 
 his crutch and laboriously walked homeward ; 
 and felt afterwards a glow of energy in the exer- 
 cise of his vigorous strength, that amounted to 
 positive enjoyment.
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 93 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 
 
 'FTER that day, Jerome became a 
 frequent visitor in the wood-lot. 
 Philip now and then suspected that 
 he was sent for the purpose of 
 watching him, as Capt. Reeves had ceased to 
 perform that task himself. The thought of be- 
 ing suspected of not performing his duty faith- 
 fully rankled in his mind like being charged with 
 theft. Still, Jerome's presence gave him the 
 sympathy of boy with boy, and brightened the 
 solitude of his weary winter's labor. It had be- 
 come evident that Philip's wood-piles were sub- 
 ject to constant thefts ; but the annoyance 
 which Capt. Reeves felt at being thus deprived 
 of his own was visited upon Philip's head.
 
 94 LINS1DE FARM. 
 
 Several times, while Philip had been busily 
 plying his axe, he had noticed a stranger, a 
 young man, walking leisurely, near the close of 
 day, among the trees and brush that sur- 
 rounded the wood-lot ; sometimes closely scan- 
 ning a tree or bush, sometimes picking up a 
 stone and examining it with care, but never 
 coming near enough to make any approach to 
 an acquaintance. He was young, yet there 
 was an air of dignity and manliness about him 
 that made Philip regard him with a shy 
 respect. 
 
 As spring approached, his visits to the woods 
 increased in frequency, and his researches were 
 pursued with greater activity and keener zest. 
 Sometimes he could be seen brushing aside 
 with his foot the heaps of decayed leaves from 
 the foot of a tree, or from the sunny side of an 
 old log, and stooping to gather up something 
 from the ground. Again he would climb a 
 tree to break off some of its twigs, which he
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 95 
 
 tucked away in his pockets with great care. 
 Philip was puzzled by his movements, and was 
 sometimes half inclined to believe him crazy. 
 Still, he looked day by day for his appearance, 
 and hoped some opportunity for making his 
 acquaintance would yet arise. He seldom 
 came till near night, usually after Jerome had 
 left to go home. 
 
 Jerome no longer seemed like an overseer or 
 task-master. Indeed, he had acted in that capa- 
 city only in a few of his first visits to the woods. 
 From that time he had flung away from him 
 all share in his father's suspicions as to Philip's 
 unfaithfulness, and had taken his daily walk as 
 a mere matter of personal gratification. He 
 enjoyed being with Philip better than sit- 
 ting all day in his mother's dining-room, or 
 taking a share in Miss Sophy's occupation of 
 the parlor, where she kept up an incessant 
 drumming on an ancient piano that had be- 
 longed to her mother in the days of her maiden- 
 hood.
 
 96 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 But Jerome's listless mind and manner 
 brought no stimulus to Philip's mental activity. 
 Occasionally a twinge of pain would pass 
 through the boy's mind as he remembered his 
 former zeal and fire in the pursuit of study. 
 But, though he now and then feebly endeavored 
 to recall a conjugation, or to repeat a rule of 
 syntax, yet it seemed to him, that, in that act 
 of Capt. Reeves which deprived him of his 
 Latin grammar, a fatal barrier was reared be- 
 tween himself and all further progress in that 
 department of knowledge. Some other books 
 yet remained to him ; but, after his daily task 
 was accomplished in the open air, energy failed 
 him on returning to the house : and, with no 
 one to sympathize in his tastes, or urge him on, 
 he had fallen into a hopeless lethargy. 
 
 One day the stranger of the woods suddenly 
 appeared quite near him, and approached, 
 evidently with the intention of opening a con- 
 versation. Philip was glad that Jerome was
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 97 
 
 already gone, for he somehow clung with a 
 strange jealousy to the hope of making a new 
 acquaintance, in his enjoyment of which no one 
 should interfere. 
 
 As the young man drew near, Philip had 
 abundant opportunity to observe his fine coun- 
 tenance and beaming eye ; and he began to find 
 himself drawn to the stranger by a stronger as 
 well as a more noble tie than mere curiosity. 
 
 At length, the stranger accosted him with a 
 familiar " Good-evening, Philip." 
 
 " Good-evening, sir," replied Philip : " but I 
 can't imagine how you know my name," he 
 added, encouraged by the pleasant smile of his 
 new companion. 
 
 " You would like to know mine in return, 
 would you ? Mine is White, Arthur 
 White." 
 
 " Arthur White ! " repeated Philip. " I 
 don't remember that I was ever acquainted with 
 any one of that name." 
 7
 
 98 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Probably not. At least not with me. I 
 learned your name from a gentleman in town 
 last night. I walked over to town after my 
 school was out last night (I teach school about 
 a quarter of a mile from here) ; and there I met 
 Mr. Parker, superintendent of the High 
 School. He told me about you, and wanted 
 me to hunt you up, and see how you were get- 
 ting along." 
 
 Philip's axe slipped through his hand, and 
 rested on the ground. A tide of memories 
 rushed over him, that six months before had 
 trooped daily through his brain. How far 
 removed he seemed from his former self! and 
 yet it was so little a time since Chesterfield, his 
 home, his school, his teacher, his steady prog- 
 ress in his beloved studies, were things of 
 every-day life. Now they seemed shadowy in 
 the distance. 
 
 True, it was not yet a year since he had left 
 all these surroundings ; but so great had been
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 99 
 
 the change, so complete the separation, and so 
 stupefying the influences around him, that, as 
 these memories were now so freshly awakened, 
 he scarcely recognized himself. 
 
 " Mr. Parker remembers me, then, does he ? " 
 asked Philip at length. 
 
 " Oh, yes, perfectly ! and feels much inter- 
 ested in you. I told him I would come and see 
 you once in a while." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! I am so glad you came ! 
 But you mean you will come and see me here. 
 You won't come down there, will you ? " 
 
 Why not ? " 
 
 " I don't think they would like it if I should 
 have a visitor." 
 
 " Ah ! well, we'll see. I would rather come 
 here, for I love the woods. Mr. Parker told 
 me I must help you all I can." 
 
 " I don't see how you can help me. ' I have 
 nothing to do but swing this axe and pile cord- 
 wood from morning till night. I don't see how 
 you can help me about that."
 
 100 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Nothing to do but that, dear boy ? How 
 have you fallen into such a mistake ? That is 
 the smallest part of what you have to do." 
 
 Philip looked up surprised, as he tossed a 
 heavy stick on the top of his pile. He had 
 dropped his axe, and busied himself with piling 
 up, so that he might work and talk at once. 
 
 " The captain don't think so, Mr. White." 
 
 " God thinks so," replied Mr. White ear- 
 nestly ; " and he is your master, above Capt. 
 Reeves. The use of your time and the labor of 
 your hands certainly belong to Capt. Reeves ; 
 but, along with all this, you have a higher work 
 to be carrying on, living unto the Lord all the 
 while, using your mind and strengthening your 
 soul in his work. Listen to what he says ; " and, 
 drawing a Testament out of his pocket, he read, 
 " Therefore I say unto you, take no thought 
 for your -life, what ye shall eat, or what ye 
 shall drink, nor yet for your body, what ye 
 shall put on. Is not the life more than meat,
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 101 
 
 and the body than raiment ? But seek ye first 
 the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and 
 all these things shall be added unto you. Take, 
 therefore, no thought for the morrow ; for the 
 morrow shall *take thought for the things of 
 itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil 
 thereof." 
 
 " Mother used to tell me about such things, 
 but now I never hear of any thing but work." 
 
 " But you have your mother's words to 
 think about, you have your Sabbaths, and you 
 have your Bible ; and, Philip, you are respon- 
 sible for yourself. The very woods here ought 
 to teach you many lessons. You are here 
 alone hours together every day, day after day ; 
 and God is here with you. He can make the 
 woods glorious to you, and pleasant, with his 
 presence. I love to find God in every thing." 
 
 " I used to think of something besides work," 
 said Philip, turning the conversation from the 
 searching religious tone it was assuming. " I
 
 102 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 used to find employment for my mind ; but now 
 it is only muscle." 
 
 " That's just as you choose to take it," 
 replied Mr. White. " Did you never read of 
 Hugh Miller? He made it something more than 
 a work of muscle to quarry stone. Look at 
 tins fragment," said he, picking up a bit of 
 limestone with which the woods abounded, 
 and which happened to -contain a beautiful 
 imbedded shell. " Just such books as this 
 he used to study. Here is a page of history 
 handed down from countless ages. That bit of 
 stone is a marvel. If you could read its lesson 
 fully, if you could unravel its past history, you 
 would be wiser as to that particular point than 
 any man living. At least, it should serve to 
 awaken thought, and show that all Nature, in 
 every department and every phase, is full of 
 meaning. So it was to Hugh Miller." 
 
 " But he was a man." 
 
 "So will you be soon. You know the
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 103 
 
 saying, ' The boy is father to the man.' You 
 will be whatever you make of yourself. If 
 you come down to mere muscle at sixteen, you 
 will probably be mere muscle at forty. 
 But I am not getting along with my work. I 
 came around in part to see this fresh stump 
 you have been cutting from, to find out how 
 old this tree was." And, taking a penknife 
 from his pocket, he carefully counted the rings 
 of annual growth laid bare by the strokes of 
 Philip's axe. 
 
 " Eighty years old," said he as he finished. 
 " I counted one over yonder that was nearly 
 two hundred. And see here how the growth 
 varies in different years ! Here must have been 
 a very dry, poor season, or else the tree met 
 with some misfortune that year, and had to 
 spend its energy in repairing damages. But 
 one thing we may be sure of: every single 
 year it has done its best." 
 
 " I see now what you have been doing. I
 
 104 . LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 have often wondered, when I have seen you so 
 busy among the trees and the weeds. I see, 
 now, you have been studying." 
 
 " Yes : winter is the time to learn some 
 tilings about plants. Then we can see the 
 uses of the gums and resins and scales and 
 woolly coverings, and many other things tha* 
 are laid aside in summer. So, Philip, you have 
 been to school all winter. Did you know it ? " 
 
 " No ; but I see it now, just as the chance is 
 going by. That is always the way for me. 
 Whenever I begin to think I have a chance to 
 do something, it always slips away from me." 
 Then followed the story of the loss of his Latin 
 grammar. 
 
 " Philip," said Mr. White gravely, " it is a 
 weak and unmanly thing to be always mourn- 
 ing over .lost opportunities. Don't fall into 
 that. Take hold of life in good earnest ; and if 
 you have laid in one thin poor ring of growth 
 this last year," said he, pointing to the stump
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 105 
 
 as he spoke, " don't give up. Don't wait for 
 opportunities, but make them. Do your best 
 each day. May be I can help you some. I am 
 coming to see you often." And, with a hearty 
 shake of the hand, lie bade Philip good-night, 
 and left him. 
 
 "I have worked here so much, and seen so 
 little ! " was Philip's mental exclamation as Mr. 
 White passed out of view. " Just chopping, 
 chopping, and never looking nor thinking at 
 all." His step was more elastic than usual as 
 he went home that night. Not that he was less 
 weary than usual ; but the pleasant mental 
 activity that had been awakened within him 
 served as a gentle stimulus that stirred his 
 whole being with an unaccustomed glow. 
 
 Mr. White, true to his word, paid him fre- 
 quent visits after that, and pointed out to him 
 many interesting facts in the vegetable growth 
 by which he was surrounded, directing his atten- 
 tion to the more delicate effects produced by the
 
 106 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 approach of spring. His interest grew more 
 and more keen, and he was beginning to watch 
 intently the swelling buds, and note the grad- 
 ual awakening of Nature. He had learned to 
 love his woods-life. One evening, as he left his 
 work, he gathered a handful of spring violets, 
 the first of the season, called out of their lurk- 
 ing places by an unusually bright sunshiny time. 
 He took them home for Pauly. The child met 
 him, as she often did, and clapped her hands 
 for joy over her treasures. 
 
 " Now, Philip, you will bring me some every 
 day, won't you ? " 
 
 " No more, Pauly. You will have to find 
 your own posies," said her father abruptly. 
 " Philip, you needn't go to the woods any 
 more. I shall have other work for you here- 
 after." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Philip. 
 
 He entered the house mechanically, and 
 dropped in a chair in the kitchen. " It's always
 
 PHILIP'S EYES OPENED. 107 
 
 the vay for me," he found himself saying. 
 " Jr it when I think I have found a chance to 
 imp. ove a little, it is snatched away from me." 
 
 B it a moment more, and Mr. White's words 
 earn*; to his mind. " It is a weak and unmanly 
 thing to mourn over lost opportunities. Go 
 on, and do your best each day." 
 
 A resolute " I'll try " brought a glow to his 
 cheek and a sparkle to his eye. No one was 
 looking at him to notice it : no one to give 
 him a word of encouragement. But God's eye 
 was on the lonely boy, and God's hand was 
 leading him by a way that he knew not.
 
 108 
 
 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MARKET-GARDENING. 
 
 O little interest did Philip feel in 
 his work, as mere work, that he had 
 scarcely given a second thought to 
 Capt. Reeves's announcement that 
 other work would be awaiting him on the mor- 
 row. He thought only that he was going to 
 the woods no more, not even to follow with his 
 observations the unfolding of a clump of ferns 
 that he had been watching since the first peep 
 above ground of their woolly heads. He had, 
 of course, only been giving them occasional 
 momentary glances. He had become so fully 
 impressed with the necessity of improving 
 every moment by the constant watching to 
 which he had been subjected, that he was in
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 109 
 
 little danger of idling. Besides, Jerome was 
 often there, sunning himself on a log, and list- 
 lessly wishing for vigor and strength to do 
 something. Philip had tried to turn Jerome's 
 leisure to good account, both for himself 
 and for Jerome ; but could not succeed in 
 arousing him from his accustomed apathy. The 
 difficulty was, after all, not so much in want of 
 strength, as want of energy. 
 
 In the morning, Philip found his work, for a 
 time, was to be about the kitchen-garden, 
 first preparing hot-beds in which seeds were to 
 be sown for early vegetables, then preparing 
 and planting in the open air the fuller supply 
 of common garden products. One thing 
 brightened his daily employment, and that was 
 Pauly's presence. Up and down the garden- 
 walks she flitted, hither and thither, as spring 
 advanced, among the beds in which beets and 
 onions and lettuce were beginning to show their 
 rows of tender green, now and then coming
 
 110 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 near Philip, and whiling away his liours with 
 her childish talk, and then dancing away in her 
 freedom, while Philip continued his allotted 
 task. 
 
 He had no objection to being tasked, but he 
 longed for opportunities for combining mental 
 improvement with his physical toil. He fan- 
 cied he had just been learning how to do so, 
 directed by the occasional suggestions of Mr. 
 White ; but again his way seemed hedged up. 
 Now and then he felt inclined to bemoan him- 
 self; but a sudden recollection of Mr. White's 
 " Don't whine, Philip," added to his father's 
 " Live honorably, my son," roused him, and 
 helped to keep alive his failing sense of manli- 
 ness. Yet he often felt, and not without rea- 
 son, that Capt. Reeves kept a jealous watch 
 over him, and purposely thwarted him in every 
 effort to enrich his mind. The captain's ideal 
 of life was restricted to performing the greatest 
 amount of manual toil, living on the least out-
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. Ill 
 
 lay of expense, and laying up money. To the 
 first two of these duties of life he had it in his 
 power to hold Philip closely : the third was 
 his own prerogative. As for Philip, he had 
 scarcely seen a dime since he came under Capt. 
 Reeves's supervision. 
 
 So Philip cultivated his radishes and lettuce, 
 and, under the direction of his master, urged 
 them on to an early growth. 
 
 " To-morrow they must go to market," said 
 the captain, after overlooking the condition of 
 his garden one evening. " To-morrow morn- 
 ing, Philip, you must be up bright and early, 
 by three o'clock : do you understand, Philip ? 
 And I'll 'be out here to show you for the first 
 time how to put up your marketing, and you 
 can go to town with it. You haven't been in 
 since you came out here last fall, have you ? 
 Now you can go every day." 
 
 Philip looked up in amazement, and without 
 his accustomed " Yes, sir." But Capt. Reeves
 
 112 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 noticed neither the look of dismay nor the 
 omission of the reply. He had given his order 
 and walked away, troubling himself no further. 
 
 Philip's past life his town-life, his home-life 
 all rushed upon his awakened recollection. 
 He turned involuntarily towards Chesterfield, 
 and gazed, as if in a dream, on the ever-present 
 panorama' of the distant town. He thought he 
 had grown callous to the impression. He had, 
 at times, been able to scan every well-remem- 
 bered spot with indifference ; but now how 
 changed ! 
 
 He had sometimes gone with his father to 
 the market as a matter of amusement. He 
 had seen the long lines of wagons backed in 
 against the curb-stones, with their various con- 
 tents, vegetables, chickens, butter, eggs, 
 and had looked with childish curiosity at the 
 sunburnt and toil-worn faces, some of them 
 prematurely old with excess of toil and labor. 
 He had pitied them, knowing that some of them
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 113 
 
 had come from a distance, taking their stand 
 the night before, and sleeping either in their 
 wagons or on the pavement, that they might be 
 on hand early with their various wares. But 
 it had never occurred to him that he would one 
 day take his place among them, and clamor for 
 the patronage of the town-people. His friends, 
 his father's friends, his old associates, school- 
 mates perhaps, would meet him there. For 
 once he felt that he could not, absolutely could 
 not, obey his master's orders. To complain, to 
 try to beg off, and to give such reasons as he 
 must give, if called upon, would only exasper- 
 ate Capt. Reeves. Philip felt, as he had never 
 felt before, what it was to be a bound boy. He 
 had yet to learn that true nobility of character 
 depends not at all upon what a person does, 
 provided it be an honest and lawful calling, 
 but upon how it is done, and with what 
 spirit. 
 
 The next morning, Philip was up at three. 
 8
 
 114 L INSIDE FARM. 
 
 Scarcely had he risen, when he heard the cap- 
 tain astir below. Philip sprang down the nar- 
 row back stairs, with the air of one forcing 
 himself to an unwilling task. The captain was 
 soon by his side in the garden, pulling and 
 carefully packing in boxes the few products of 
 the garden then ready for use. 
 
 " This lettuce can't be beat," said the cap- 
 tain, as he arranged the crisp leaves. " If you 
 don't sell every bit of it, and get the very best 
 price, it will be your own fault. This garden- 
 patch ought to net me a good round sum ; and 
 it will if it is properly managed. Do you 
 understand that, Philip ? If it is properly 
 managed, I say." 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Philip mechanically. 
 
 By four o'clock, Philip was mounted on his 
 little cart, drawn by the oldest and poorest 
 horse the farm afforded. The morning was 
 bright and cheery, yet it brought no exhilara- 
 tion to Philip. So completely were all his
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 115 
 
 previous notions of life overturned by the unex- 
 pected task laid upon him, that even the golden 
 morning clouds, and the sweet air, and the 
 glittering dew were scarcely noticed. So long 
 as his work had been confined within the limits 
 of Linside Farm, he had nad no such feelings 
 about it. It was pride that was touched now. 
 Years afterwards, he could look back and laugh 
 at his folly, and even rejoice in all the discipline 
 through which he had been brought; but, on 
 that morning, nothing was further from his 
 mood of mind than laughter. 
 
 As he approached the town, as its streets 
 and squares and buildings grew more and more 
 distinct, until at length he crossed Rock River, 
 and mounted the steep bank that brought him 
 at once into the busiest street, he drew down 
 his cap over his face, that he might not be rec- 
 ognized. Poor boy ! there was no need. Had 
 the streets been crowded with his own compan- 
 ions, they would scarcely have identified, on his
 
 116 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 market-cart, and in his shabby apparel, Philip 
 Landon, who used to be among the best clad 
 and brightest of them. The streets, however, 
 were still and deserted. Not a shutter was yet 
 removed from the places of business, nor a 
 straggler to be seen on the walks. Philip's 
 friends and companions and playmates were 
 taking their morning naps, and not dreaming 
 that he was passing, perhaps, by their very 
 doors. Philip was glad of it, and drove on, as 
 hastily as his poor old horse could be persuaded 
 to go, to the market-square. 
 
 When Philip reached the square with his 
 cart, he found many already in advance of him. 
 He had scarcely taken his position, backing his 
 little cart against the curbing, when customers 
 began to arrive, caterers for hotels and res- 
 taurants and boarding-houses, men of business 
 and of trade, seeking supplies for their families, 
 busy house-keepers, all bearing the stamp of 
 their business about them. Philip felt strangely
 
 MARKET -GARDENING. 117 
 
 awkward in his unaccustomed employment. 
 He looked eagerly among the purchasers, who 
 soon increased to a throng, scarcely knowing 
 whether he hoped or dreaded to see among 
 them a familiar face. Many came and went, 
 whose faces he well knew as citizens, but none 
 with whom he could have claimed any further 
 acquaintance. As Capt. Reeves had said, 
 Philip's vegetables " could not be beat ; " and, as 
 it was very early in the season, his boxes were 
 soon empty, and he was able to turn towards 
 home, with the feeling that he had narrowly 
 escaped disgrace. It was an ignoble pride ; but, 
 perhaps, no one, under the circumstances, would 
 have been wholly free from it. 
 
 When Philip reached home, he found the 
 family just seated at breakfast. As he passed 
 through the dining-room to his humble seat at 
 the kitchen-table, Capt. Reeves called out to 
 him for the money he had brought back. 
 Philip stood beside him, cap in hand, while he
 
 118 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 carefully counted over the dimes and half-dimes, 
 and pronounced the returns correct. He knew 
 perfectly what he ought to expect ; he knew 
 the number of bunches of radishes and heads of 
 lettuce, and how much, at that stage of the 
 market, each might be expected to bring. 
 
 It was the first time, since Philip came to 
 Linside Farm, that he had had the handling of 
 any money. As he handed it over to the cap- 
 tain, the thought flashed over him, "When am I 
 going to earn any thing for myself? Not till 
 I am twenty-one ? Not for five years yet ? " 
 With all the confidence and buoyancy of 
 youth, he felt sure that nothing would be 
 wanting to him, if he were only free to go 
 where he pleased and do what he pleased for his 
 own support. But to remain yet for five years, 
 with no independent earnings of his own, even 
 though his food and raiment were secured to 
 him, seemed intolerable. 
 
 As, day after day and week after week, ha
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 119 
 
 brought back from his marketing the proceeds 
 of his labor, this feeling grew upon him. With 
 no deeply-instilled trust in the care of God 
 over him, indeed, with no reminder, from 
 day to day, even of the existence of God, 
 this was not strange. 
 
 As the season advanced, Philip found less 
 ready sale for his wares. Sometimes the 
 market was overstocked, and prices fell below 
 the limit fixed by his master for him. His stay 
 became more protracted and wearisome, and 
 sometimes he was nearly ready to faint with 
 hunger. At length, one sultry morning, he 
 found it impossible to dispose of his stock. He 
 waited till the market was deserted both by 
 hucksters and purchasers. The freshness was 
 gone from his vegetables ; and, finding longer 
 delay useless, he started homeward, with his 
 baskets and boxes still half full. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " exclaimed the 
 captain angrily, as Philip gave in the returns of 
 his morning's work.
 
 120 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " I couldn't sell all," replied Philip. " The 
 market was full." 
 
 " Well, what if it was ? " 
 
 " Why, I couldn't sell." 
 
 " And you didn't know what to do in such a 
 case ? " 
 
 "No, sir; except to come away." 
 
 " You'll know next time. Just drive round 
 from house to house, and keep on till you do 
 sell." 
 
 " Capt. Reeves ! I can't." 
 
 "You can't?" exclaimed the captain. 
 " Try it, and see if you can't ! No ' can'ts ' to 
 me, young man. Just try it, and see if you 
 can't. Remember, now. And don't wait till 
 every thing is spoiled, either. Be sharp ! 
 Whenever you find an overstocked market, just 
 start out. Don't tell me you can't. I expected 
 your confounded pride would be the plague of 
 my life, when you brought your city airs out 
 here with you. Let me see no more of it.
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 121 
 
 And when you take things to town to sell, sell 
 them." 
 
 " Why, Philip," said Miss Sophy, it will 
 give you a chance to ride around, and see all 
 your old friends." 
 
 " Be still, Sophy," said her mother, who 
 always had a warm side towards Philip. " You 
 wouldn't like it, neither." 
 
 " I, mother, I ! " exclaimed Miss Sophy in 
 amazement. 
 
 " Yes, you. You don't know what you'll 
 come to yet." 
 
 The young lady tossed her head scornfully, 
 and left the room. Philip also passed out in the 
 opposite direction, and the little scene was over. 
 During the remainder of the day, as Philip 
 attended to his customary tasks in the garden, 
 he felt half inclined to turn, in sheer revenge, 
 upon his culinary vegetables the impotent 
 wrath that smouldered against Capt. Reeves. 
 He wished for frost, for drought, for caterpillars,
 
 122 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 for any thing and every thing that might 
 destroy the products of his garden, and put a 
 stop to his daily visits to Chesterfield. He 
 loathed the thought of the town he had 
 formerly so loved. It could not be denied that 
 a dash of malignity towards the captain also 
 ohtruded among his thoughts. That money 
 should come to him, at so great an expense to 
 Philip, was too much to be endured. Even 
 Pauly found him silent and moody. 
 
 Yet for Philip there was no escape. It was 
 but a few days until the necessity occurred that 
 drove him forth into the streets, to pass from 
 house to house, asking, " Want to buy any 
 lettuce, radishes, beans, onions ? " Time after 
 time he went his weary round, always avoiding 
 the streets with which he was most familiar. 
 
 During this period of Philip's trafficking in 
 town, old friends and comrades had often passed 
 him ; but, in his changed situation and garb, 
 with a little caution on his part, he had as yet
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 123 
 
 been unrecognized. Had the foolish boy 
 known how many kind recognitions, how many 
 warm greetings and proofs of affectionate 
 remembrance, he had missed, both from school- 
 fellows of his own, and from friends of his 
 parents, possibly he might have sought, rather 
 than avoided, being known. But his faith in 
 human nature, as to its kindly elements, had 
 been shaken since he had been thrown upon his 
 own resources ; and while he imagined he was 
 endeavoring, to the best of his ability, to obey 
 his father's injunction to " live honorably," he 
 was turning to bitterness all those generous 
 feelings that had gained for his father many 
 friends, and had served as stepping-stones to 
 secure that honorable position in life, and that 
 competence which had made Philip's early 
 home so cheerful and bright. 
 
 In his wanderings one day, near the close of 
 June, almost in despair of being able to dispose of 
 a large quantity of strawberries he had brought
 
 124 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 in, a lady's voice suddenly called to him, inquir- 
 ing for strawberries. 
 
 Philip turned, and found the person address- 
 ing him was one of his mother's nearest and 
 dearest friends. She had moved to a new 
 home, where Philip could not have expected to 
 see her. There was no escape. Though she 
 had not yet recognized him, he felt sure it must 
 come. 
 
 Taking some boxes of his finest fruit, he dis- 
 mounted from his seat, and carried them to her 
 door. She made her purchase ; and he was 
 about to return unrecognized, when the lady, 
 looking full into his face for the first time, 
 exclaimed, " Philip Landon, is it you ? " 
 
 " I believe it is," he faltered. 
 
 " Is it possible ? Can it be Philip ? Come 
 in, my dear boy ; come in." 
 
 Such a word of kindness had not fallen upon 
 Philip's ear for many long days. For a 
 moment he was nearly overcome ; but so com-
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 125 
 
 pletely had the bondage which had been eating 
 into his soul gained power over him, that, after 
 a momentary struggle, he replied, " I can't, Mrs. 
 Hamilton. I have my berries to sell, and must 
 get home as soon as possible." 
 
 " You must come in," she replied. " I will 
 take all the berries you have. You must, for 
 your mother's sake, come in for a few moments, 
 at least." 
 
 Philip hesitated. It seemed impossible for 
 him to go into Mrs. Hamilton's beautiful home, 
 just such a home as his own used to be, in his 
 sordid garments, and with the stain of his 
 traffic deeply dyed in his hands. But Mrs. 
 Hamilton insisted ; and, going to fasten his 
 horse, and bring the remainder of his fruit 
 from his forlorn little cart, he entered. 
 
 His business accomplished, Mrs. Hamilton 
 then drew from him the history of his past 
 year. The removal of the pressure of his 
 petty traffic from his mind, and the strange and
 
 126 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 novel sensations that crowded upon him, pro- 
 duced a giddy and faint feeling that showed 
 itself in his chano-ing color. Mrs. Hamilton 
 
 o o 
 
 laid her hand on his shoulder, and asked him, 
 " Are you sick, Philip ? " 
 
 " I am not sick," he replied, gasping. " I 
 shall go home and get my breakfast soon, and 
 then I shall be all right again. I always get 
 tired and faint before I get home," he added 
 with a ghastly smile. 
 
 " You left home early, did you ? " she asked : 
 " and without breakfast ? " 
 
 " Four o'clock. There's nobody up to get 
 me any breakfast then." 
 
 " And now it is near nine," she answered, 
 glancing at her watch. " Ann," she called, 
 opening a door, " bring in a tray with some hot 
 coffee and biscuits, and -a nice slice of steak, as 
 soon as you can get it ready. It's a shame, a 
 shame ! " she added, returning from the kitchen- 
 door, with a glass of water for Philip. " What 
 does Capt. Reeves think ? "
 
 MARKET-GARDENING. 127 
 
 " I suppose he don't think any thing about it. 
 He says if I am sharp for business I can get 
 home by breakfast-time. But I suppose I'm 
 not sharp, for I hardly ever do. But I ought 
 not to stay, Mrs. Hamilton. The captain says 
 I must always come right home when I get 
 through, and make out a day's work." 
 
 " You ought to stay, and you are going to," 
 she answered with a kind smile. <k I have 
 hurried you through this morning; and this 
 once you must do as I say, for your mother's 
 sake." 
 
 Philip could not resist Mrs. Hamilton's affec- 
 tionate appeal ; and, in about fifteen minutes, 
 Ann appeared with a cup of smoking hot coffee 
 and a plentiful breakfast, to which Philip added 
 the sauce of a famished boy's appetite. Mrs. 
 Hamilton, meanwhile, heaped for him a saucer 
 of strawberries, saying, as she placed them 
 before him, " May be you are tired of these." 
 
 " I am a little tired of picking and handling
 
 128 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 them ; and I did have a nice saucer-full the 
 other day." 
 
 " One ? " she asked. " One this season ? " 
 
 " Yes. They are money, you know, to 
 Capt. Reeves." 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton made no comments, but added 
 a new supply, as she saw the contents of 
 Philip's saucer rapidly disappearing. 
 
 At length he was thoroughly refreshed, and 
 at once prepared for departure, with many 
 thanks to Mrs. Hamilton for her kindness. 
 
 " It has been almost like a visit from my 
 mother," he added, his voice shaking a little, 
 before he quite finished the sentence. 
 
 " Come to me with your marketing as often 
 as you please, Philip," she replied, " and I and 
 my neighbors will be glad to buy of you. And 
 especially, my dear boy, come to me if you are 
 ever in any trouble. Good-by." 
 
 Philip laid his sunburnt and stained hand in 
 Mrs. Hamilton's soft white one, extended for a
 
 MARKET- GARDENING 129 
 
 
 
 parting grasp, and then turned away and sprang 
 on his cart, pulled up his horse's nose from the 
 ground, and started for home. 
 
 The streets of Chesterfield seemed radiant. 
 He began to wonder why he had dreaded meet- 
 ing those who might know him, and even 
 glanced about with the hope rather than the 
 fear of seeing some other familiar face. 
 
 Day by day, the season through, Philip had 
 regularly brought home to the captain, and had 
 seen counted over, the results of his traffic. 
 The fluctuations of the market gave a wide 
 margin as to the returns the captain might 
 expect ; but Philip would have rejected with 
 scorn any temptation to keep back a part of 
 the gains that belonged to his master. Yet the 
 desire daily grew upon him to be earning for 
 himself; and the period which he had still to 
 look forward to as belonging to his master 
 seemed rather to lengthen than to diminish. 
 His interviews with Mrs. Hamilton strength- 
 9
 
 130 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 ened this feeling, by bringing vividly before 
 him the wide chasm that lay between his 
 present and his former life, which money would 
 have helped him to bridge over, by enabling 
 him sometimes to make a more respectable 
 appearance. So, at least, he fancied. " I must 
 have money!" he thought, as, day after day, he 
 passed and repassed on his homely errand, 
 stopping now and then to receive the kind 
 greeting of his mother's friend. 
 
 " I must have money ! I must and will ! " 
 he grew into the habit of saying before the 
 summer ended. The feeling of complete 
 isolation from his fellows, especially from all he 
 had known and been associated with from his 
 boyhood, the feeling that kept him at rest, 
 though it was a stupefying rest, in his 
 secluded work in the woods during the win- 
 ter, and comparatively content with the kind 
 and the amount of food and raiment that 
 fell to his lot, was gone. In its place was a
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 131 
 
 realization of the social bonds and the social 
 needs that create such a ceaseless demand for 
 money, which, according to the proverb, 
 " answereth all things " the " all things," 
 however, to be taken with its proper limita- 
 tions. But as neither time nor raw material 
 upon which to labor was at his command, he 
 tried in vain to devise some way in which his 
 wishes might be realized, yet with no diminu- 
 tion of the earnestness of those wishes. 
 
 No word of religious instruction ever came 
 to Philip's ears. The captain's family never 
 attended church on Sabbath, and only public 
 custom restrained them from pursuing their 
 accustomed employments on that day ; yet 
 Philip had retained a recollection of his 
 mother's regard for its sacredness, that imposed 
 upon him a slight restraint. But, for want of 
 other employment, he had betaken himself to a 
 habit of idle strolling. Away through the 
 woods, or up and down the beautiful creek, he
 
 132 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 wandered, passing away the Sabbath hours, 
 sometimes accompanied by Jerome or by 
 Pauly. 
 
 One Sabbath morning, near the end of 
 August, Philip crept slowly up the back stairs 
 to his room, preparatory to his usual stroll. As 
 he reached the top of the stairs, the sound of 
 the sweet Sabbath bells came floating in at the 
 open window. He had heard them many time*, 
 before, but had given them but little heed. 
 Had he been so disposed, he could easily have 
 walked the two miles that lay between him and 
 town, and been refreshed and instructed, week 
 after week, by the services of God's house, and 
 the Bible-lessons of the Sabbath school. B'lt, 
 till that morning, no desire to do so had ever 
 crossed his mind. 
 
 That morning he wished he could go : 
 not from a wish for instruction, not from 
 a desire to worship ; for, from month to 
 to month, scarcely a thought of God or of his
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 133 
 
 soul ever entered the mind of the boy. He 
 who had been taught in his childhood that only 
 by taking heed unto his way, according to the 
 word of God, could a young man be kept from 
 sin or guided into righteousness, had come to 
 have scarcely a thought of any thing further 
 than to " live honorably ; " that is, to be above 
 stealing, and all manner of deception and base- 
 ness, and this only because it was good policy, 
 as means to the end of acquiring property, 
 which he was fast learning to believe was the 
 chief end of man. 
 
 But, that morning, the wish came upon him, 
 with overpowering strength, to go once more to 
 church, and to spend the day as he had been 
 accustomed before his home was broken up. It 
 was only a yearning home-sickness that pro- 
 duced the wish. The kindness of Mrs. Ham- 
 ilton, and of others whom she had influenced, 
 had opened a secret chamber in his heart, that 
 he had supposed was closed forever. But with
 
 134 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 the wish to go came also the recollection of its 
 impossibility, for want of such clothing as he 
 would be willing to appear in among those he 
 would there meet. He had his last summer's 
 suit, which Capt. Reeves would without hesita- 
 tion have pronounced good enough to wear any- 
 where. But, as Philip tried it on, and thrust 
 his hands above his wrists through the sleeves 
 of the out-grown coat, and then drew it around 
 his stoutening figure, he at once pronounced it 
 impossible ; and again came up the absorbing 
 wish for money, money, money. 
 
 Turning over the contents of his trunk, he 
 came, at length, to a small box, stored carefully 
 away in the corner, at the very bottom. 
 Opening it, he looked intently at the gold 
 watch which his father on his death-bed had 
 placed in his hands ; the watch that had been his 
 father's timekeeper for years, and whose prompt- 
 ings he had always punctually obeyed. Philip 
 had had a lurking though unfounded suspicion,
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 135 
 
 that, if Capt. Reeves had known of the watch 
 being in his possession, he would have con- 
 trived some way to establish a claim to it for 
 himself. Therefore he had kept it carefully 
 concealed in his trunk, scarcely ever allowing 
 himself to look at the precious memento. Now, 
 however, he looked at it long and earnestly. 
 Was he reckoning its value ? Was he thinking 
 of selling it ? Was he thinking of the clothes 
 it would buy, and the outward respectability it 
 would confer ? Yes : all that passed delib- 
 erately through his mind ; and then he laid it 
 back in its case, with a resolute " No, never ! " 
 One by one, other articles of less value 
 received his attentive consideration, till, at last, 
 from among his books he selected a complete 
 set for the study of Latin, as far as he had pro- 
 gressed, except the grammar which the captain 
 had destroyed ; and, piling them together, he laid 
 them out. He wrapped them carefully in a 
 paper, tied up the bundle, and started towards
 
 136 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 the door with it under his arm. Something 
 crossed his mind that made him hesitate ; and, 
 turning back, he laid the bundle in his trunk, 
 locked it again, and slipped the key in hi& 
 pocket. He then went down stairs and out at 
 the door with quite a business-like air. 
 
 He had gone but a few steps when he heard 
 Pauly 's voice calling him ; and, looking back, 
 she was running after him, her golden hair 
 falling about her shoulders. 
 
 Philip stopped a moment to wait for her, and 
 then said, " Pauly, you had better not go with 
 me this time. I am going too far for you." 
 
 He had never refused her company before ; 
 and for a moment the child looked surprised and 
 grieved. 
 
 " You would be too tired, Pauly," he con- 
 tinued. " If I get back in time, I will take 
 you out by the creek before sunset ; and that 
 will be better, won't it ? " 
 
 Pauly stood for a few moments irresolute,
 
 MARKET -GARDENING. 137 
 
 and then turned slowly back ; while Philip went 
 on, looking over his shoulder now and then at 
 the retreating little figure, regretting the 
 necessity that compelled him to deprive himself 
 of her sprightly company. 
 
 Philip took the familiar woods-road that led 
 to the scene of his last winter's work. From 
 the wood-lot, he struck off on the opposite side, 
 following, as nearly as he could remember, 
 without having had particular directions, the 
 way towards Mr. White's schoolhouse and 
 home. A little uncertain rambling brought 
 him to a lonely building with' closed white shut- 
 ters and locked door, evidently a schoolhouse, 
 and near it a small dwelling, which Philip was 
 sure could be no other than the home of Mr. 
 White and his mother. The doors were 
 closed, and the curtains down. " Gone to 
 church. I might have known it," said Philip. 
 Yet, to make himself sure, he knocked at the 
 door. Receiving no response, he had plenty of
 
 138 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 leisure to look about him. He paced up and 
 down the neatly-kept walk, with its bordering 
 of gay flowers, and then wandered away a little 
 distance, and threw himself on the grass at the 
 foot of a tree to await their return. It was 
 already near noon, so that Philip had not long 
 to wait before they appeared. Satisfied then 
 that there would be no failure in his purpose 
 to see Mr. White, he lingered in the woods at 
 least an hour, waiting till they should have 
 taken dinner, and hoping also that Mr. White 
 might appear alone, and save him the necessity 
 of going to the house. At length he sum- 
 moned courage to knock. 
 
 Nothing could have been kinder than the 
 greeting with which he was received both by 
 mother and son. Yet Philip felt too shy to 
 introduce his real errand. After half an hour 
 or more of rambling talk, Mrs. White left the 
 room, and Philip then made bold to mention 
 his errand, which was no other than to offer
 
 MARKET- GARDENING. 139 
 
 for sale the Latin books he had that morning 
 looked over. He remembered hearing Mr. 
 White say that he had but lately commenced 
 the study of Latin, and was trying to get on 
 alone. 
 
 Mr. White replied, " I have all the Latin 
 books I need now. My great difficulty is want 
 of time to study them. Why do you wish to 
 sell them, Philip ? " 
 
 " I shall never need them." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " Why, Mr. White, I am bound till I am 
 twenty-one, and then it will be too late. I 
 shall have to earn my living then." 
 
 " You don't know any thing about all that. 
 I wouldn't sell them, Philip, unless unless I 
 needed the money for them very much ; and I 
 don't see why you should." 
 
 " I do, Mr. White. I must have money ; 
 and I can't see any other way to get it. If I 
 need the books some other time, I can get them 
 again."
 
 140 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Perhaps. Yes, easily, if you have money, 
 But it is always easier to keep than to get. Sc. 
 I find it, and we've had some experience in get- 
 ting along, mother and I. I wouldn't sell 
 them, Philip." 
 
 " Mr. White, I must have money." 
 
 " Well, but why ? Your boarding and 
 clothing are secured. I don't see why, unless 
 there is some one dependent upon you." 
 
 " No," Philip replied : " I am alone. But 
 then, Mr. White, how many things there are a 
 boy wants." 
 
 Philip felt himself breaking down in trying 
 to argue a weak point. 
 
 Mr. White replied, " Ah, yes ! There are 
 many things a boy wants. There would be as 
 many more after you had spent the proceeds of 
 your books." 
 
 Mr. White looked amused, and Philip a little 
 annoyed. 
 
 u You think me unsympathizing, I see," he
 
 MARKRT- GARDENING. 141 
 
 added. " But I am not. The truth is, Philip, 
 I have been through all that. I have been 
 worse off than you are ; for neither food nor 
 clothing was secured to me, and my poor 
 mother was in want too, which was harder to 
 bear than all the rest." 
 
 " But, Mr. White, this is my last summer's 
 suit. I never in my life wore a suit two years 
 before." 
 
 Mr. White glanced at his own suit, evidently 
 more than two years old, but replied, " All well 
 enough, if you can manage ^t; and likely 
 enough you will again, some day. But it is 
 not the main thing, Philip. I wouldn't sell 
 useful books to buy clothes, until it came to the 
 point of sheer necessity. Keep your books, 
 and use them in snatches, if nothing more. 
 At least, that is my advice, as a friend. At any 
 rate, Philip, I am not able to buy them ; and, if 
 I were, I don't think I could make arrange- 
 ments for a purchase to-day."
 
 142 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip felt the rebuke, and colored. But so 
 little, of late, had his thoughts on the Sabbath 
 been Sabbath thoughts and Sabbath pursuits, 
 that, in truth, it had scarcely occurred to him 
 that the offer of a trade on Sabbath would 
 strike Mr. White as an impropriety. Tht 
 captain, he knew, made some of his best bar- 
 gains on Sunday. When held back simply by 
 the force of public opinion from his ordinary 
 pursuits, with his mind comparatively unoccu- 
 pied and his time fully at command, he could 
 sit on the horse-block or lie on the grass, and 
 haggle by the hour over a purchase or a sale. 
 
 Philip found his effort useless, and strolled lei- 
 surely homeward, sometimes revolving over and 
 over the reasonings of his friend, but oftener 
 feeling that though he had failed in that attempt, 
 still, by some means, he must have money.
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 143 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 
 i" 
 
 iHILIP'S visits to town grew more 
 infrequent as the season advanced, till 
 finally they became reduced to occa- 
 sional trips with a load of cabbages or 
 tomatoes or potatoes. His labor, too, had been 
 more varied than in the spring, as haying or 
 harvesting had made their demands. Finally a 
 heavy frost cut off all the remaining products 
 of his garden, and his occupation in that 
 direction was ended. Then came the fall 
 ploughing and seeding, in which his help was 
 needed. So the months rolled by, and at length 
 brought again the snow and the cold weather, 
 and he was directed to resume his occupation in 
 the woods. It seemed less dreary to him than
 
 144 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 before, for he felt sure of again meeting Mr. 
 White, perhaps frequently. His occasional 
 interviews with Mrs. Hamilton and Mr. White 
 had aroused him to some degree of mental 
 activity, insomuch that he began to realize 
 somewhat the truth of Mr. White's saying, 
 that the outward work of life is, after all, not its 
 real precious element ; though the full meaning 
 of the truth, Philip had not yet begun to 
 grasp. Indeed, of that precious inner life of 
 faith in Christ, and communion with God the 
 Father through him, that was to his friend the 
 very life of life, he knew absolutely nothing. 
 But he had some food for thought. He had 
 awakened to the fact that he was not wholly cut 
 off from all the former associations of life, and 
 that some time all those associations might be 
 fully restored, and form anew the staple of his 
 existence. 
 
 So, with his axe on his shoulder, he betook 
 himself, one bright morning in November, to the
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 145 
 
 little clearing in the woods. There was snow 
 on the ground, but not a fresh, clean, pure 
 snow, as when, a year ago, he had ridden on the 
 wagon-rack, with his face towards Chesterfield, 
 a silent companion of his silent master. Now 
 he was alone and afoot : but he went whistling 
 cheerily along, turning aside now and then to 
 avoid the muddy places ; for a few sunny days, 
 and the passing of wheels, and the trampling of 
 horses, had transformed the glittering white into 
 an unsightly mixture. 
 
 Much of his work lay as he had left it in the 
 spring, the last log partly cut up, the beech 
 stump upon which Mr. White had counted the 
 rings ; but, instead of the freshly-bursting buds 
 and springing verdure, lay a mass of brown 
 and withered leaves and bleaching stalks, bear- 
 ing witness to the immense work that had been 
 carried on in the depths of the forest, works 
 wherein the Lord had rejoiced, though no eye 
 
 of man had taken note of their silent majesty. 
 10
 
 146 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Capt. Reeves knew just how the work lay, 
 and had given Philip directions accordingly. 
 The piles of cord- wood had disappeared. They 
 had all been turned into money in the course of 
 the summer ; but " none of it for me," thought 
 Philip. 
 
 He commenced upon the felled beech-log 
 that lay upon the ground, cutting off a length 
 just next the last he had cut six months before. 
 The brisk exercise in the bracing air seemed 
 cheery after those dismally weary rides back 
 and forth that had made up the dull monotony 
 of his summer. He worked with a hearty good 
 will, till the shadows fell straight northward ; 
 then took his nooning, ate his lunch, and took 
 up his axe again. He had scarcely given half 
 a dozen blows, when he missed his stroke, and 
 by some means received its force, though par- 
 tially spent, in the side of his foot. Through 
 his coarse boot, and into the quivering flesh, 
 the keen edge penetrated, and Philip dropped
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 147 
 
 to the ground. Recovering himself as speedily 
 as possible, he raised his head to see the blood 
 pouring from a ghastly wound. Pulling off his 
 boot with difficulty, he bound up his foot tightly 
 with his handkerchief, and partially stopped the 
 bleeding. But in a moment it was saturated, 
 and what to do then, was the question. To 
 draw on his boot again was impossible ; and a 
 mile of soft snow and mud lay between him 
 and home. Knowing that the sooner he 
 reached home the better, he tightened the 
 bandage as well as he could, and, shouldering 
 his axe, started on his weary walk. 
 
 At the end of the first half-mile he was 
 nearly ready to faint ; but, after a short rest, he 
 cut a stout stick to lean upon, and set out again. 
 The pain in his wounded foot became intense, 
 his resting-places more and more frequent ; till, 
 after a protracted effort of near two hours, he 
 at length staggered into the yard, leaving his 
 footprint at every step, and fell fainting on the 
 porch.
 
 148 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 For once, Philip became a centre of interest 
 to the entire household. Jerome was driven 
 from the lounge in the dining-room upon which 
 he spent the greater portion of his time, and 
 Pauly looked on with sympathizing interest 
 while Mrs. Reeves dressed the cut. Even Miss 
 Sophy, hearing a commotion, thrust her head in 
 from the parlor, with her hair in crimpers to be 
 ready for evening visitors, and nearly fainted at 
 the sight of blood. Capt. Reeves came in, in 
 the midst of the excitement, exclaimed 
 " Hello ! " as he comprehended the case, looked 
 at the wound, and, quietly remarking, "A three- 
 months' job," turned on his heel and walked 
 way. 
 
 Philip was too much exhausted to compre- 
 hend at once the consequences of his misfor- 
 tune. A swiftly passing thought of three 
 months alone in his dismal room followed the 
 captain's remark. Then the pain and weak- 
 ness asserted their dominion again. But Philip
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 149 
 
 need not have dreaded the trial, at least not in 
 the way he did ; for Capt. and Mrs. Reeves 
 were not cruel, although, in general, unfeeling 
 and selfish, and entirely out of sympathy with 
 Philip's gentle and refined ways, because wholly 
 absorbed in their own pursuits. Mrs. Reeves, 
 especially, in view of pain and helplessness, 
 became transformed at once into a sympathizing 
 and motherly nurse. Never, since the death 
 of his own mother, had Philip felt himself so 
 tenderly cared for, as while he lay on that 
 lounge, with Mrs. Reeves attending to his 
 wants. 
 
 " Only to think ! " she would say now and 
 then : " the poor boy had to walk a mile with 
 such a foot as that ! How did you ever do it, 
 Philip?" 
 
 To all which Philip would dreamily answer, 
 " I don't know." 
 
 Mrs. Reeves would not allow him to go up 
 stairs the first night after his accident, but per-
 
 150 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 sonally attended to his wants just where he lay. 
 Philip was only too glad to be spared the exer- 
 tion, and to feel besides that somebody was 
 really interested in his well-being, though it 
 were only on account of a temporary disability. 
 So all night long he lay, sometimes sleeping 
 lightly, sometimes awake with the pain in the 
 wounded foot, and repeating to himself dream- 
 ily, now and then, "A three-months' job." 
 
 In a few days he recovered from his weak- 
 ness and exhaustion, so that he could hop about 
 the floor ; and then Pauly produced for him, 
 from among some garret rubbish, a discarded 
 crutch of Jerome's, thrown aside when he 
 adopted the one with the iron rest for his foot. 
 With the help of that, Philip found he could 
 go about with a good degree of ease and com- 
 fort. He soon managed to crawl up stairs ; and, 
 opening his trunk, there lay the parcel of Latin 
 books still wrapped and tied up, just as he had 
 laid them down on the day of his unsuccessful 
 trip to Mr. White's.
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 151 
 
 '* I know what I would do : I'd study ! " 
 Philip had said to Jerome some months before, 
 as they had discussed in the woods Jerome's 
 disabled condition. 
 
 " I wonder if the captain wouldn't let me 
 study now ? " was Philip's first thought, as his 
 eye fell upon the parcel of books. Opening 
 the bundle, and turning the leaves of one book 
 after another, he was surprised to see with what 
 clearness his former stock of knowledge came 
 back to him. He had supposed it lost entirely. 
 The truth was, that the entire rest which had 
 been forced upon him, and the season of weak- 
 ness and exhaustion he had passed through, 
 had cleared up his mental vision. The dul- 
 ness produced by incessant bodily fatigue passed 
 away like a cloud, and he again felt like his 
 former self. 
 
 He stood looking over one after another of 
 his books, and recalling one point after another, 
 till sharp twinges of pain iri his wounded foot
 
 152 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 reminded him that he was over-fatiguing him- 
 self. Then, taking one or two books under his 
 arm, he hobbled slowly down stairs, looking 
 wistfully, as he passed the window, at Chester- 
 field, at his old home; but dwelling with a 
 lingering gaze on its elegant High-School build- 
 ing, standing on its beautiful eminence, and 
 reflecting back the gay sunlight to him as 
 mockingly as if it had been the very temple of 
 fame he had seen in old school-books, perched 
 on a dreary and inaccessible height 
 
 " Now you're just a-going to tire yourself to 
 death with them books ; and your foot will 
 never get well in the world if you do," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Reeves, as he appeared. But he 
 was already tired enough to throw them down, 
 and drop upon the lounge without opening 
 them. He soon rallied ; and, when the captain 
 came in at night, he was so deeply absorbed 
 that he scarcely looked up. 
 
 " Studying ? " said the captain. " That's a
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 153 
 
 good idea. It's a very good time to study 
 now, when you can't be doing any thing else. 
 By the way, I'm bound to give you three 
 months' schooling this winter, and you are laid 
 up from work for some time now. You may 
 go to school as soon as you are able to hobble 
 there." 
 
 ," Oh, thank you ! " said Philip, so much 
 overcome with surprise and joy that he scarcely 
 knew what he said. 
 
 But the captain did not wait for thanks. He 
 had given his orders and passed on, not having 
 a shadow of an idea of the joy he had given 
 Philip ; thinking, rather, that he had laid upon 
 him a heavy task. 
 
 Philip's mind ran forward in joyful anticipa- 
 tion, as he pictured to himself the bright career 
 that lay before him. He fancied himself 
 already within the walls of the school-building 
 towards which, but a few hours before, he had 
 looked with vague longing. It was true, the
 
 154 LINSIDE FARM, 
 
 classes with which he had formerly ranked 
 would be so far in advance that he could never 
 hope to overtake them. It was true that 
 between him and his task lay a stretch of two 
 miles. It was true that he had in prospect but 
 three months in which to enjoy the golden 
 privilege. But to his excited imagination at 
 that moment all difficulties looked small. 
 
 "How does your foot get along ? " asked the 
 captain, returning. 
 
 " Oh, splendidly ! I think I can walk pretty 
 well on my crutch by next week." 
 
 " Walk ! Where do you expect to go ? " 
 
 " Didn't you speak of my going to school ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I forgot about that. I didn't 
 think you'd be in any hurry to start : thought 
 you'd enjoy lying around with nothing to do. 
 But mind you, it is a good long walk to go to 
 school. A mile and a quarter, at least." 
 
 " two miles, isn't it ? " 
 
 " No : a little over a mile. Just beyond the 
 wood-lot."
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 155 
 
 " Oh ! I was thinking of town." 
 
 " You were, were you ? You've got yom 
 ideas up again. No: you will go to Mr. 
 White, over beyond the wood-lot. You can 
 start whenever you are able to walk there with- 
 out hurting yourself." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Capt. Reeves did not notice the shade of dis- 
 appointment that passed over Philip's face. It 
 would have made no difference with him if he 
 had. Neither did Philip venture a word of 
 remonstrance. He knew too well that Capt. 
 Ree T 'es's word was law. But he thought over 
 and over to himself, " I am afraid Mr. White 
 cannot carry me on in Latin. What can he do 
 for me, I wonder ? " 
 
 Well he might wonder. In this, as in many 
 other steps of his life, God was leading him by a 
 way that he knew not. To carry out his fa- 
 ther i idea of life would have been Philip's 
 hig) ^st ambition. To be a good scholar, then
 
 156 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 to deal honestly, honorably among men, to ac 
 cumulate property, these would have satis- 
 fied him ; these would have filled and rounded 
 out his plan of life. But God's thought for 
 him was higher. 
 
 The intense desire for the possession of 
 money, that had been produced in Philip's mind 
 by the occupations of the previous summer, had 
 subsided into a cool determination that would 
 bide its time, but that must, sooner or later, be 
 gratified. The restless thirst had faded out 
 under the difficulties that lay in his way ; and 
 now, the same impetuosity of temperament that 
 then agitated him in that direction promised to 
 give him some help in the accomplishment of 
 his winter's work as a student. 
 
 The next week found Philip making his way 
 with difficulty and with much fatigue to the 
 door of Mr. White's schoolroom. It was early 
 enough to give him the opportunity he desired, 
 of a few moments' talk with Mr. White before
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 157 
 
 school-exercises commenced. The circumstances 
 that brought him there were soon explained, 
 and Philip's standing as a scholar was also 
 ascertained ; and he was both surprised and 
 gratified to find, that, though Mr. White was, 
 as he had himself informed Philip, no Latin 
 scholar, yet he was thoroughly at home among 
 mathematical studies, far beyond what Philip 
 would require for a long time, and was, more- 
 over, as he had already given proof, an enthu- 
 siast in various branches of natural science. 
 There was something about him which at once 
 inspired Philip with confidence in him as an in- 
 structor, and which also whetted, to its keenest 
 edge, Philip's long-delayed appetite for the pur- 
 suit of study. 
 
 But with one step of his progress in entering 
 upon the exercises of the day, Philip found him- 
 self out of sympathy. As soon as the hour had 
 arrived for order and business, Mr. White 
 opened a Bible that lay on his desk, and read,
 
 158 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " The heavens declare the glory of God, and 
 the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day 
 unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night 
 showeth knowledge;" and on through the beau- 
 tiful psalm. He had then offered fervent 
 prayer, that, while they (he and his pupils) 
 were occupied in studying those various depart- 
 ments of Nature which declare the glory of 
 God, they might not be unmindful of that per- 
 fect law of his which enters within the soul, 
 regulating its inmost thoughts and most hidden 
 exercises ; and that all their words and thoughts 
 might be made acceptable in the sight of the 
 Lord through the Redeemer. 
 
 Philip had heard few prayers since the last 
 night his mother knelt by his bedside, and 
 sought the blessing of God upon him. For 
 over a year, not a word of prayer had been 
 uttered in his hearing ; and he had even him- 
 self dropped the habit of his childhood, and had 
 nightly laid his head upon a prayerless pillow.
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. L59 
 
 A year without pi*ayer ! without the slightest 
 recognition of God's abounding goodness, or the 
 faintest cry for his favor, though all the while 
 the object of undeserved mercies, and dependent 
 for the very breath of life ! And so it was, that 
 morning, that the sweet psalm was unappre- 
 ciated, and the prayer passed by as a necessary 
 form ; and then the business of study com- 
 menced. 
 
 It was well for Philip that he was disabled. 
 Though it caused him a laborious and painful 
 effort to walk with his crutch from home to 
 school and return, yet, had it not been for his 
 lameness, his night and morning hours would 
 have been carefully appropriated by the watch- 
 ful eye of his master, who was as exacting in 
 the economy of time as in his care that no atom 
 of his substance should go to waste. His duty 
 toward Philip he considered amply fulfilled by 
 the liberty afforded him to go to school day by 
 day, without any sympathy or encouragement
 
 160 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 beyond* But in the preparation of his allotted 
 tasks, Philip found ample occupation for his 
 night and morning hours ; and, in consequence 
 of his disability, he was, in fact, as free from 
 his master's iron rule, during those three months, 
 as if he had been in his own home and under 
 the eye of his affectionate father ; though this 
 was the utmost that could be said. As for any 
 word of encouragement, or assistance in any 
 difficulty, or share in his keen enjoyment of the 
 knowledge he was acquiring, he might as well 
 have lived in a hermit's cave. 
 
 Jerome looked on idly while Philip contin- 
 ued his exertions. There was no obstacle in 
 his way. There was no limit of three months 
 set to his opportunity for acquisition ; yet Philip 
 had despaired in his efforts to inspire him with a 
 desire for improvement. 
 
 The brief three months sped rapidly away. 
 How rapidly ! Before it was ended, Philip's 
 crutch was laid aside, and his wounded foot was
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 161 
 
 healed. Yet he had so firmly established him- 
 self in his habits of study, and the captain had 
 so fallen into the way of letting him alone, 
 that he was permitted to enjoy to the full the 
 privileges he had so well used, even to the 
 end. 
 
 On a bright day in February, Mr. White 
 called to Philip to linger a moment, as he was 
 leaving the schoolroom, and proposed that he 
 should accompany him home. Philip accepted 
 the invitation gladly. It was quite an epoch in 
 his usually monotonous life. 
 
 " I am going away soon," said Mr. White 
 as they started, " and I would like to feel a 
 little better acquainted with you before we take 
 final leave of one another." 
 
 " Are you going away ? " asked Philip in 
 surprise. " My time of coming to school is 
 nearly ended ; but I did hope I might see you 
 sometimes in the woods, if nowhere else." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! possibly you may. I shall not go 
 11
 
 162 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 for some months yet. How much longer do 
 you expect to remain at Capt. Reeves's ? " 
 
 " Till I am twenty-one." 
 
 " Then you expect to be a farmer, of 
 course." 
 
 " I don't know. I did not realize what it 
 was to be bound when I gave my consent to it ; 
 but I'm in for it now, and I don't mean to 
 flinch." 
 
 " No, certainly not. The only point now 
 is to do your utmost, to make the most of your- 
 self that you can." 
 
 " So father used to tell me. But I think his 
 ideas were a little higher than Capt. Reeves's." 
 
 " How high were they ? " 
 
 Philip looked up with some surprise at Mr. 
 White, scarcely comprehending his question. 
 Mr. White smiled, but simply repeated, " Yes : 
 how high were they ? I mean just that." 
 
 " I never saw any one that had a higher 
 sense of honorable dealing than he had,"
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 163 
 
 replied Philip with a glowing countenance. 
 44 He would sooner have lost a hundred dollars 
 than to have cheated a poor man out of one, I 
 do believe." 
 
 44 Very just," replied Mr. White. 
 
 44 Just ! " exclaimed Philip. 44 1 should say 
 more than that. I didn't put it dollar for 
 dollar, but a hundred to one." 
 
 44 You put loss of his own against defrauding 
 his fellow. Wasn't that it ? Would not simple 
 justice decide any such question as that, what- 
 ever sum of money might be involved ? " 
 
 44 Then you don't think it any honor to deal 
 on such principles ? " 
 
 4 ' I certainly think it very honorable to deal 
 justly. It would be a far better world than it 
 is if all would do that. Yet much more is 
 required of us." 
 
 44 Oh, yes ! I know that. Father always said 
 it required a great deal of knowledge and 
 energy to get along well. He never had any
 
 164 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 patience with sluggards. He always said any 
 one who had good health and good habits 
 could get rich. He would have brought his 
 business out all right in a few years, if he could 
 have lived," Philip added, suddenly remem- 
 bering that his father had left a penniless boy. 
 " I suppose you don't know about that. I 
 don't, either. There seems to be a mystery 
 about it. He was doing a prosperous business, 
 and had plenty ; and I don't know what became 
 of it all." 
 
 " But you need not tell me any further about 
 that than you choose," interrupted Mr. White. 
 "I had no intention of inquiring about your 
 father's business-affairs. I was trying to speak 
 of general principles." 
 
 " I know that, Mr. White. But it seems 
 pleasant to talk to any one that I know would 
 appreciate my father. You know I don't have 
 any one to talk with at home." 
 
 The conversation had taken such a turn that
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 165 
 
 Mr. White felt it would be impossible to reach 
 the point he had in view at first without 
 seeming to reflect on Philip's father. He had 
 intended to go on, step by step, leading Philip 
 to see that the duties of justice and honor 
 among men, be they ever so well performed, are 
 not enough to satisfy the demands of God's 
 law ; that the perfect fulfilment even of these 
 duties requires perfect love in the heart towards 
 our fellow-men, and not merely the perform- 
 ance of outward actions ; that there is still 
 another and a higher department of God's law, 
 which lays down our duties towards God, and 
 that this also requires not only perfect outward 
 fulfilment, but perfect love and acquiescence : 
 in short, in the words of the Psalmist, 
 that though there is an end, a limit to all 
 human perfection, yet, beyond all, the com- 
 mandment of the Lord is " exceeding broad." 
 
 In Mr. White's own experience, the law of 
 God had been his schoolmaster to bring him to
 
 166 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Christ. It had been under a. deep sense of 
 what the law requires in its length and 
 breadth and height and depth, that his eyes had 
 been opened to his own inability to attain its per- 
 fect fulfilment, and to his consequent need of 
 help, even the help of an almighty Saviour, who 
 could not only fulfil the demands of the law 
 on his behalf in time to come, but could also 
 bear the penalty of countless violations already 
 past. 
 
 He had learned enough from Philip already 
 to know that he had as yet no glimpse of the 
 unalterable requirements of a holy God upon 
 his creatures ; and as he skilfully directed the 
 conversation to some other subject suggested by 
 tree or shrub or stone or ice and snow, as they 
 walked along, he silently offered a prayer to 
 God that some avenue to the heart of the lonely 
 boy might yet be opened to him, and that he 
 might become instrumental in turning him 
 from his confidence in the rags of a flimsy mo-
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS. 167 
 
 rality to the glorious and perfect salvation of 
 God. 
 
 So intimately do the things of daily life blend 
 with things of the kingdom of grace. One 
 moment we are speaking of the one, the next 
 moment of the other. Nay, more than this. 
 As did the Saviour of old, walking by the Sea 
 of Galilee or in the hill-country of Judaea, we 
 may draw illustrations without number from 
 the fish of the sea and the fowl of the air, 
 the lily of the field and the grass by the way- 
 side. 
 
 There was something in the atmosphere of 
 Mr. White's home that reminded Philip of his 
 own. Yet they were widely different. Every 
 thing in the little "cottage was of the plainest 
 and humblest description, though perfectly tidy 
 and tasteful. Was it his mother's kindness to 
 her son ? Was it her sweet, cheerful piety, 
 showing itself in her placid contentment ? 
 Whatever it might have been, something
 
 168 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 touched Philip's heart, and reminded him that 
 though he was far more in the habit of recalling 
 his father's counsels of worldly wisdom, yet that 
 he had had, as his greatest of earthly blessings, 
 a, Christian mother.
 
 A SUNDA Y RIDE. 169 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A SUNDAY RIDE. 
 
 FEW more weeks finished Philip's 
 three months of school. During 
 
 o 
 
 that time, Mr. White had sought 
 and found an opportunity of press- 
 ing home upon Philip's heart and conscience the 
 claims of Christ and his gospel. But the utmost 
 impression he had been able to make was to 
 elicit from Philip the reply, " Yes : I know I 
 ought to be good ; and I mean to be." In vain 
 did Mr. White seek to make him feel that he 
 was a lost sinner. In vain did he repeat to him 
 the Saviour's words, " There is none good save 
 one, that is God." In vain, apparently, at the 
 time. Yet no earnest, prayerful effort of a dis- 
 ciple of Christ to sow the seed of the kingdom
 
 170 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 shall be lost. " My word shall not return unto 
 me void ; but it shall accomplish that which I 
 please, and it shall prosper in the thing where- 
 to I sent it." Alas, that human obduracy 
 should cause that this errand should not always 
 be salvation ! 
 
 On the closing day of Philip's attendance, 
 Mr. White felt much sympathy with his pupil, 
 in consequence of his regret at the winding-up 
 of the opportunity he had so much prized. 
 They parted with a cordial hand-shake ; and 
 Mr. White's last words to him were, " Don't be 
 discouraged, Philip. Life is all a school, if we 
 only know how to take it." 
 
 Philip walked thoughtfully homeward, re- 
 viewing in his mind various conversations be- 
 tween Mr. White and himself. " I wonder," he 
 thought, " why Mr. White should talk to me as 
 he does. He doesn't know me, surely he 
 doesn't. I suppose he does have some bad boys 
 to deal with ; but I don't see what I have ever
 
 A SUNDAY RIDE. 171 
 
 done so bad. I don't mean to be bad ; and on 
 the whole, under the circumstances, I think 1 
 am getting along first-rate. I only wish every- 
 body would do right by me." 
 
 Philip reported himself to Capt. Reeves 
 the next morning as having finished his three 
 months' schooling. 
 
 The captain looked up a little surprised. He 
 had kept close count of the time, but had in- 
 tended to allow Philip to finish the week upon 
 which he had entered. It was, therefore, a 
 matter of surprise to him that the boy should 
 anticipate his orders to quit ; and, on the whole, 
 produced a very favorable impression on his 
 mind as to Philip's trustworthiness. But he 
 only replied, " Well, try the wood-lot again for 
 a while, and this time cut wood, and not your 
 foot." So Philip took his axe again, and repaired 
 to the lonely forest. 
 
 His mind seemed freshened and renewed by 
 the three months' close application to study.
 
 172 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Labor seemed less dreary, less hopeless. Though 
 he dared not repeat the experiment of taking 
 his book to the woods with him, yet he could 
 revolve in his mind the items of knowledge he 
 
 O 
 
 had acquired, and become more and more 
 familiar with them and with their relations to 
 each other. 
 
 Along with these thoughts came other reflec- 
 tions that were newer. Many times the ques- 
 tion of Mr. White recurred to his mind, " How 
 high were they ? " which he had asked respect- 
 ing those very maxims and regulations of life 
 which had been instilled into Philip's mind by 
 his father, and which he had been accustomed 
 to regard as the very highest that could be pro- 
 posed. Looking back upon his dealings with 
 Capt. Reeves, he took to himself great credit 
 for the exactness, even to the last penny, with 
 which he had always delivered the returns from 
 his marketing, the scrupulousness with which he 
 had employed his time ; and he even put down
 
 A SUNDA Y RIDE. 173 
 
 to his own credit the very resentments he had 
 felt on account of the rapacity and littleness of 
 his employer. All these reflections confirmed 
 him in a most comfortable state of self-righteous- 
 ness ; and he was fast settling to the conclusion, 
 that, if others would do as well as he did, it 
 would make a very satisfactory state of things. 
 
 For a while, Mr. White came occasionally to 
 the wood-lot, with his cheerful and inspiriting 
 conversation. He always imparted some item 
 of knowledge to Philip's thirsty mind, awaken- 
 ing his interest in the common objects that lay 
 around him, not merely as objects of common 
 use, but also of scientific interest. He had even 
 taken the trouble to meet him several times at 
 night, by special appointment, that he might 
 impart to him some information respecting the 
 stars and other heavenly bodies. With all these 
 things he never failed to link some precious 
 thought of God, as Maker, Upholder, and 
 Ruler over all ; nor had his moral government
 
 174 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 failed to find ample illustration and enforce- 
 ment. 
 
 But Mr. White had finished his school en- 
 gagement, and had gone to pursue his own 
 studies elsewhere, taking his mother with him. 
 Philip could look for no one to enliven his 
 solitude, as even Jerome came no more. 
 Jerome had a fine young horse, his own partic- 
 ular pet, that he had raised from a colt ; and 
 he had by some means persuaded his father to 
 give him a buggy. How this was accom- 
 plished, it would be difficult to tell, except that 
 the captain seemed to find a malicious pleasure 
 in giving him any thing he summoned courage 
 to ask for ; thereby to give a keener edge to his 
 frequent thrusts on the subject of Jerome's gen- 
 eral worthlessness. With his gay establish- 
 ment at command, Jerome found more conge- 
 nial employment than visiting the wood-lot to 
 talk with Philip. Every day found him in 
 town, lounging about with other fellows as idle
 
 Jerome invites Phillip to ride. page 175.
 
 A SUNDAY RIDE. 175 
 
 and worthless as himself; driving with an air 
 of smartness up and down the street, sometimes 
 with Sophy, sometimes with some other gay 
 girl or loafing companion by his side. From 
 this use of his time, the descent was easy to 
 drinking and gaming. Yet the captain, so far 
 from taking to himself any blame or responsi- 
 bility in the matter, simply shook his head 
 savagely at the fulfilment, which he had helped 
 to bring about, of his own prophecy, that. 
 Jerome would go to ruin. 
 
 One Sabbath morning in the spring, Jerome 
 astonished Philip by inviting him to ride. 
 Philip had appeared that morning in a new suit 
 of clothes, furnished, under the pressure of 
 absolute necessity, by his penurious master. 
 Probably it was in good part to this fact that 
 Philip was indebted for Jerome's unwonted 
 courtesy. Whatever might have been the 
 occasion, Philip had too much genuine self- 
 respect to feel that Jerome had stooped in giv-
 
 176 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 ing him this invitation ; and so completely had 
 his own early habits become obliterated, that he 
 hesitated not a moment in accepting it. The 
 two young men were soon dashing gayly along 
 the road, Jerome with the inevitable cigar in 
 his mouth, and Philip excited to an unwonted 
 degree of animation by the novelty of a ride in 
 a shining buggy with a high-spirited horse, and 
 all around the glory of a sweet spring morning. 
 Philip had not thought of going into town ; 
 but straight towards town Jerome drove, enter- 
 ing just as the happy children and teachers 
 were thronging the streets on their way to the 
 Sabbath schools. Among them was now and 
 then one whom he recognized. But he had 
 been out of town two years nearly ; and he 
 hoped to avoid recognition by the change in his 
 personal appearance. Why he particularly 
 wished it, he did not stop to inquire. JHe 
 found himself looking anxiously, in the hope 
 that neither Mr. Parker nor Mrs. Hamilton
 
 A SUNDA Y RIDE. 177 
 
 might be among those passing by. He scanned 
 the passing groups with anxiety, while yet ho 
 feigned carelessness to Jerome. At length he 
 found Jerome was driving directly past Mrs. 
 Hamilton's house, going entirely out of his 
 course, as Philip afterwards saw, in order to do 
 so. Philip could not refrain from begging him 
 
 
 
 to turn another way. 
 
 Jerome laughed. " No," he replied. " I'm 
 taking you a-riding, and I'm going this way. 
 I thought you'd like to pass where your friends 
 live. There, they are just coming out of the 
 house." 
 
 Philip looked involuntarily, and met Mrs. 
 Hamilton's eye full in his face. 
 
 There was no possibility of avoiding her re- 
 cognition ; and Philip was astonished to find 
 himself more overwhelmed with shame than he 
 had ever been while driving his vegetable cart 
 the previous summer. 
 
 But Jerome must not know it ; and there- 
 12
 
 ITS LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 fore, in reply to Jerome's look of astonishment 
 at the recognition that passed between him and 
 Mrs. Hamilton, he simply said, " An old friend 
 of my mother's." 
 
 u Does Jerome know the whole story," 
 thought Philip, "of her befriending me last 
 summer ? What does Mrs. Hamilton think, to 
 see me riding in this style, and on Sunday 
 morning too ? " Between the two, he was 
 
 ~ * 
 
 thrown into a state of great perplexity. Yet 
 there was no thought of the eye of God upon 
 him. 
 
 While Philip was absorbed in these queries, 
 Jerome had driven another square or two, and 
 had then turned aside into a business-street. 
 Its closed stores and shuttered windows and 
 deserted walks should have reminded the young 
 men yet more forcibly of the sanctity of that 
 Sabbath which breaks in upon the accustomed 
 round of business, hushes the noise of traffic, 
 lays its hand upon the greed of gain, arrests
 
 A SUNDAY RIDE. 179 
 
 the mechanic in his labors;, and drives even vice 
 behind closed doors and pretentiously barred 
 windows. 
 
 Jerome's horse turned with the ease of habit 
 to a hitching-post ; and the young man sprang 
 out, saying to Philip, " We'll stop here a few 
 minutes." 
 
 " What is here ? " 
 
 " Oh, you innocent ! " laughed Jerome. 
 " Hand me my crutch, and we will go in and 
 see." 
 
 Philip obeyed, with many misgivings, and 
 followed Jerome's lead into a narrow passage 
 running some distance back between the houses, 
 where Jerome opened a door and ushered 
 Philip into a spacious and well-lighted apart- 
 ment in the rear of a room opening on the 
 street, of which the shutters were ostentatiously 
 closed and barred. Two or three billiard- tables 
 occupied the centre of the room, and one side 
 was decorated with an array of bottles, and
 
 180 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 adorned with the various appliances of de- 
 bauchery. 
 
 The rattling of the billiard-balls and the 
 clink of glasses for a moment bewildered 
 Philip ; and, thinking that he could slip into a 
 chair and merely wait Jerome's pleasure, he at 
 once sank upon the nearest seat. 
 
 Jerome walked with all the ease and famil- 
 iarity of a well-known customer to the bar, and 
 turned, expecting to find Philip by his side. 
 
 With an angry glance, he motioned him to 
 approach. Philip declined. 
 
 Jerome stepped hastily back, and whispered, 
 " Come along, you greeny. Come up and take 
 something." 
 
 Philip again declined. 
 
 " I tell you, come along," said Jerome, still 
 more earnestly. " No gentleman comes into a 
 place like this without spending a little of his 
 money." 
 
 This last remark was added with a, lofty
 
 A SUNDA Y RIDE. 181 
 
 swagger, that was intended to be impressive to 
 some of Jerome's companions, though they 
 could not hear the remark. 
 
 Philip was compelled to reply, " I have no 
 money, not a cent." 
 
 " Ah ! is that so ? " said Jerome, his whole 
 manner changing to condescension. u Well, 
 walk up, then, and let me treat you. I say, 
 Phil, you must come." 
 
 Philip no longer delayed, but followed 
 Jerome to the bar, when that young gentleman 
 again turned and asked, " What will you have, 
 Phil ? " 
 
 " A glass of beer," answered Philip, think- 
 ing that that beverage was least pernicious. 
 
 With a slight sneer, Jerome then ordered the 
 glass, which Philip quaffed. 
 
 Afterwards, Jerome ordered something 
 
 O 
 
 stronger for himself, and motioned to Philip 
 to be seated, as he proposed taking a game at 
 billiards.
 
 182 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip was glad to retreat to a quiet corner, 
 burning with shame and indignation at the plot 
 in which he found himself entrapped. He 
 took up a newspaper to pass away the time, 
 and attempted to read. The letters danced 
 before his eyes, and he found himself unable to 
 trace a line clearly even across a column. But 
 he had not in the least lost his self-possession, 
 though the glass of beer had produced so much 
 effect upon his unaccustomed brain. He had 
 thought and reflection enough left to resolve, 
 that, as that was the first time, it should also be 
 the last, that he would give over the control 
 of his faculties, even to the slightest degree, to 
 whatever might intoxicate. 
 
 Jerome, meanwhile, entered with keen enjoy- 
 ment into the excitements of his game, turning 
 now and then to moisten his thirsty lips with 
 some of the various mixtures offered at the bar. 
 
 It seemed hours to Philip, it certainly was 
 more than one, before Jerome seemed to think
 
 A SUNDA Y RIDE. 183 
 
 of leaving. He would not have left then, had 
 
 O ' 
 
 it not been that some of his favorite fellow- 
 revellers were absent. So, being himself not 
 altogether in a state of enjoyment, he be- 
 thought himself of his companion ; and, having 
 taken a parting glass, inviting Philip to do like- 
 wise, he beckoned Philip to follow, and they 
 stepped forth into the outer Sabbath. The 
 stillness seemed oppressive. Even Jerome felt 
 its influence, and endeavored to throw it off 
 by appealing to Philip, as he gathered up the 
 lines, with the question, " Now, wasn't that a 
 jolly place, Philip ? Just be honest, and say if 
 it wasn't ? " 
 
 " Not to me," answered Philip. 
 
 " Oh ! you're green," exclaimed Jerome con- 
 temptuously, "green as grass. There is no 
 hope of you. No fellow ought to go to such 
 places without money. How does it happen 
 you're so thoroughly strapped ? " 
 
 " Why, I am not earning any thing. Don't 
 you know that, Jerome ? "
 
 184 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Yes, I know that ; but don't you have an 
 income of rents ? Don't your guardian give 
 you, now and then, a dime ? or does he keep it 
 all himself?" 
 
 " I see you are making fun of my poverty." 
 
 " I ain't, upon honor, I ain't." Jerome 
 turned his flushed face towards his companion, 
 and repeated in an unsteady voice, " Upon 
 honor, I ain't, Philip. Now, there's that store. 
 Wasn't that your father's store? Didui't he 
 own that building ? " 
 
 Philip assented. 
 
 " That building rents for five hundred dollars 
 a year, five hundred a year, I tell you, 
 Philip." 
 
 '" Well," answered Philip, striving to keep 
 cool, "what if jit does? What is that to 
 me ? I've nothing to do with it." 
 
 "You haven't, eh? You haven't? I'm 
 much inclined to think you ought to have." 
 
 " The estate was all settled up, and there was
 
 A SUNDA Y RIDE. 185 
 
 nothing left, absolutely nothing," said Philip, 
 hoping to cut off all further remark on so dis- 
 tasteful a subject. 
 
 " You don't know," replied Jerome teazingly. 
 " I tell you what it is, Philip, I'd investigate. 
 Are you sure there was no hocus-pocus about 
 that business ? " 
 
 " I never thought of such a thing," answered 
 Philip indignantly. " Why, Mr. Glenn " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Glenn," interrupted Jerome. 
 " Precious Mr. Glenn ! Who'd have thought 
 you were so completely hoodwinked ? I tell 
 you what, Philip," he continued, assuming an 
 air of great confidence, " there isn't much done 
 in town, of any importance, that our set over 
 there don't know something about ; and, if 1 
 were you, I'd investigate that matter. Just as 
 you like, of course ; but I'd investigate. Pre- 
 cious Mr. Glenn ! Yes, I'd investigate." 
 
 As if to tantalize Philip to the utmost, 
 Jerome at that moment turned a corner, and
 
 186 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 drove directly past Philip's old home. It wai 
 the first time he had been near it since it 
 ceased to be his home. He had always pur- 
 posely avoided it ; but now there it was, with 
 all its familiar features. Not even a speck of 
 new paint had been added. The old had 
 become a little dingy, the trees and shrubs had 
 grown some; but nothing had been added, 
 nothing removed. At the window above, that 
 used to be his own window, a strange f ace was 
 
 * O 
 
 looking out, the face of a boy near his own 
 age. Philip's heart filled with rage as he looked 
 at the strange face in that familiar window. He 
 was even obliged to turn away, lest he should 
 show in his countenance some indication of the 
 fearful passions that had been roused by 
 Jerome's insinuations. 
 
 " Yes," repeated Jerome coldly : " I'd in- 
 vestigate." 
 
 Philip did not trust himself to reply, and 
 they drove on in silence, out into the open
 
 A SUNDA Y RIDE. 187 
 
 country, in a direction opposite 'to Linside 
 Farm : on and on. The air was delicious, 
 and Philip's mind gradually became calm. 
 There was no longer before them a constant 
 reminder of the Sabbath day. The fields, 
 though deserted by laborers, were yet so unlike 
 the hushed streets of the busy town, that it was 
 easy to forget that it was a Sabbath stillness 
 that reigned around them. 
 
 The two young men resumed conversation 
 on other topics, after a long pause ; and at length 
 Philip found, that, by some winding with which 
 he was unacquainted, they had changed their 
 direction, and were approaching home without 
 having returned through town. The town lay 
 in full view, a mile or two away, and brought 
 again to prominence in Philip's mind the 
 thoughts that had been rankling underneath 
 all his idle talk during the latter portion of the 
 ride. He could not turn his eyes away from 
 the view of the town that lay before him. His
 
 188 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 gaze lingered there as if by some fascination 
 At length he asked suddenly, " How would you 
 investigate, Jerome ? " 
 
 " I should place the whole matter in the 
 hands of some competent lawyer," Jerome 
 answered pompously. 
 
 " Ah ! then I should need money from the 
 very start." 
 
 " Money ? Of course you would. What 
 can be done without money ? " 
 
 Philip was again silent. 
 
 "I'll tell you one thing, Philip," resumed 
 Jerome with a confidential air : " I've been 
 studying law a little myself. I've done it all 
 clandestinely. Father don't know a word 
 about it, unless he has heard it in some other 
 way than by me. He thinks I just waste all 
 my time ; but, as I said, I've put in a little of it 
 studying law : and nothing would suit me bet- 
 ter than to work up that case for you, after a 
 while. There's no hurry, you know. You're 
 bound for four years yet."
 
 A SUNDA Y RIDE. 189 
 
 " But, as you said, Jerome, it would need 
 money." 
 
 " Yes ; but I could wait, you know. I tell 
 you, Phil, I feel so sure there's been dishonesty 
 in that case, that I would be willing to stake 
 my reputation on it. I would almost agree to 
 wait till the property was recovered, and -then 
 you could afford to pay me well. All the 
 back rents and all would count up hand- 
 somely ! " 
 
 " Well, I'll think about it," answered Philip, 
 as they passed the feeding-place of pigs and 
 stock, with its unsightly litter, and drew up 
 before the front yard, gay with Sophy's tulips. 
 
 Philip entered, and ascended the back stairs. 
 There was Chesterfield again, his home, and 
 his father's store. Exasperated by the suspi- 
 cion that had never entered his mind before, 
 that he had been defrauded of his possessions, 
 he shook his clenched fist towards the town 
 and turned white with rage.
 
 190 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Altogether, that Sabbatli had been the most 
 miserable day of Philip's life. He had known 
 before the bitterness of grief, the severity of 
 toil, the heavy pressure of loneliness ; but 
 never before had so many dark passions been 
 roused within him. He felt thoroughly 
 wretched and degraded ; yet, from the midst of 
 all, he contrived to evolve a certain unction for 
 his soul, from the fact that he did not go will- 
 ingly to a drinking and gaming house, and, still 
 more, from a comparison of himself with those, 
 who, he had been led to suppose, were guilty 
 of defrauding him. " What rascality ! What 
 cheating ! I am thankful that I am above 
 such things, if I am poor."
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 191 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 
 
 E S spring approached, Philip won- 
 dered many times whether he 
 would be required to resume his 
 marketing. The question was an- 
 swered for him as the season opened. Another 
 boy appeared in the family, and was sent up 
 stairs to share Philip's room, as he had himself 
 at first been thrust in upon Tom. 
 
 There was something in the boy's counte- 
 nance that looked familiar to Philip ; but it 
 was not until he announced his name, Andy 
 Fleming, that Philip recognized his humble 
 school-fellow of former years, not much 
 younger than himself, but smaller, and slighter 
 in his build. Philip's time had become too
 
 192 LINS1DE FARM. 
 
 valuable to be spent in driving the cart, and 
 Andy had been called in for that special ser- 
 vice. Philip looked at the boy with .pity, 
 remembering his own hardships of the previous 
 summer. But Andy's merry countenance and 
 twinkling gray eyes were not at all clouded by 
 the prospect. To him the little cart was a 
 throne, and the expected employment gay, at 
 least in prospect. 
 
 Philip's time was occupied with ploughing, 
 sowing oats, planting corn and potatoes, and all 
 the various labors of farm-life. Though more 
 laborious than his occupations of the previous 
 year, yet it was luxury in comparison. He 
 was almost always under his master's eye ; but 
 he cared nothing for that. He rather prided 
 himself upon not fearing observation. 
 
 Andy was required to bring his returns 
 directly to the captain ; and it often occurred 
 that Philip was at hand, pursuing his own oc- 
 cupation, when Andy appeared. Although the
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 193 
 
 money did not pass, bit by bit, through his 
 own fingers, as the previous summer, yet the 
 sight of it, counted out before his eyes, and 
 carefully stowed away by the captain in his 
 large pocket-book, aroused to renewed vehe- 
 mence that craving for money by which he had 
 then been exercised. Indeed, these desires were 
 increased many fold by the intimations Jerome 
 had given him, that perhaps, with the expendi- 
 ture of a little money, a valuable property that 
 rightfully belonged to him might be restored. 
 Day and night he was haunted by the recollec- 
 tion of this possibility. Ever before his eyes, 
 as a perpetual reminder, lay the town of Ches- 
 terfield, his own old home, and his father's 
 place of business easily distinguishable to his 
 accustomed eye. In vain he tried to banish 
 the thought. In vain he assured and re- 
 assured himself, that, whatever frauds might 
 have crept into the settlement of his father's 
 estate, it would be impossible now to retrace 
 
 18
 
 194 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 the whole process, and re-establish his claims. 
 It did not occur to him, that, as a minor, he 
 could by no possibility of means examine 
 the management of his guardian. The only 
 question in his mind was whether he had been 
 defrauded. He knew, besides, that, at the time 
 of his father's death, he was more or less in- 
 volved in debt ; and that, although he had often 
 expressed perfect confidence in his ability to 
 extricate himself in a few years, with any ordi- 
 nary degree of prosperity, still his removal must 
 have produced great changes ; and perhaps to 
 clear up tlie whole matter, under those altered 
 circumstances, might have required the sacri- 
 fice of all he had left. One consideration 
 should have settled the question ; and tliat was, 
 that he knew nothing at all about the business. 
 He only suspected and wondered, and made 
 himself miserable. With the same sort of in- 
 fatuation that possesses the desperate gambler, 
 again and again came back upon him the over-
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 195 
 
 whelming desire to "investigate" the whole 
 matter. 
 
 Coming suddenly upon Andy one day, as he 
 was going about his own employment, he found 
 the little fellow sitting in a fence-corner, and, 
 with his pockets inside out, greedily counting 
 over sundry bits of small coin, and little wads 
 of paper money, which he carefully smoothed 
 out and laid in piles on his knee. The recol- 
 lection came to his mind, how easily, notwith- 
 standing Capt. Reeves's vigilance, he could 
 have taken, bit by bit, from his last summer's 
 earnings ; and he felt assured Andy had taken 
 the liberty he scorned. Andy gathered up his 
 fragments with a hasty sweep of his hand, and 
 looked up with a startled expression, as he 
 became conscious some one was near ; but, see- 
 ing who it was, exclaimed, " Oh ! it's nobody 
 but you : I was kind o' scared. See here, now: 
 just tell me how much money you laid up last 
 summer, won't you ? "
 
 196 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Philip. " I 
 wasn't earning money. How could I lay up 
 any?" 
 
 " Now, you don't ! " answered Andy. 
 " Come, now, just tell a feller. The fact is, I 
 don't know how far it's safe to go. I hain't 
 got much yet, that's sure. If he should once 
 suspect me, the game's up, you know. But I'd 
 like to carry it as far as I could safely. So I 
 want to know how you managed." 
 
 11 If you want to know how I managed," 
 replied Philip with his utmost dignity," " I 
 returned every cent, every time, to the captain. 
 Do you suppose I would steal ? " 
 
 " Bother ! " replied Andy. " You might 
 help a fellow now. Do you suppose I'm going 
 to believe you'd let such a chance slip, and 
 make nothing of it ? You ain't such a fool. I 
 suppose you'll go straight and tell on me now." 
 
 " I shall do no such thing. I'm no in- 
 former. You can manage your business to
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 197 
 
 suit yourself, you rascal : but I'd be above steal- 
 ing, if I were you." 
 
 Having delivered himself of these his full 
 sentiments on the subject of common honesty, 
 Philip passed on, filled with contempt for his 
 crafty little fellow-worker, and with lofty 
 respect for himself. Andy resumed the count- 
 ing of his small gains ; the expression of low 
 shrewdness and expert cunning returning to his 
 'ace. In truth, Philip felt some degree of 
 satisfaction in the state of things he had dis- 
 covered. He was glad the captain was for 
 once come up with and overreached by 
 Andy's cunning and deceit. Yet, while thus 
 trampling on the eighth commandment in the 
 spirituality of its requisitions, his self-compla- 
 cency was not in the least disturbed. 
 
 He was on his way to dinner. As he 
 entered the house, he encountered Jerome. 
 He was seldom in his old place on the lounge 
 of late. Indeed, Philip rarely saw him at all.
 
 198 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Now,, as they passed with a mere word of 
 greeting, familiar and patronizing on Jerome's 
 part, Philip could not but notice how pain- 
 fully his bloated face and swaggering manner 
 contrasted with his former quiet self; but it 
 was a mere passing glance. The reason of the 
 change Philip understood too well. 
 
 " Where's Andy ? " asked Jerome impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " I think he will be here in a moment," 
 Philip answered. " I passed him a little way 
 from the house." 
 
 " Why didn't you hurry up the young 
 scamp ? I want my horse taken care of. 
 Look here : suppose you just go and do it." 
 
 Philip felt his blood tingle to his finger-ends, 
 as he turned to confront the well-dressed figure 
 of the worthless young man. A step further 
 showed the spirited young horse and shining 
 buggy standing at the gate, where Jerome had 
 just left them as he had returned from town.
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 199 
 
 Before Philip could frame a reply, which, 
 probably, from the state of mind he was in, 
 would not have been such as would have been 
 acceptable .to Jerome, Andy appeared, and 
 Philip passed on. 
 
 Dinner was not quite ready when he reached 
 the kitchen ; and he ran hastily up stairs and 
 unlocked his trunk. It was a short journey to 
 the bottom now. His wardrobe was reduced 
 to the barest necessities. His books, that had 
 many times wakened a glow of pleasure, 
 though mingled with longing for more frequent 
 access to them, seemed now to fill him with 
 a sort of madness. He flung them from side to 
 side, and plunged at once to the bottom with 
 an air of desperation. From its quiet corner 
 he drew forth to the light again his father's 
 watch. He had never trusted himself to wear 
 the precious relic : not only because of the 
 priceless value his father's memory gave it, 
 but still more because he felt the incongruity
 
 200 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 between it and his attire and situation. He 
 opened the box and looked at it, as if -balan- 
 cing some weighty question in his mind. After 
 a few moments, he replaced the watch, closed 
 the box resolutely, and, taking a pencil, wrote 
 upon the cover the words, " No, never ! " He 
 then quietly put the box in its corner again, 
 and went down to his dinner. 
 
 As he returned to his work after dinner, he 
 turned his back resolutely upon Chesterfield as 
 it lay in the gay sunshine. His heart was 
 filled with bitterness. Through it, as through 
 a beaten highway, trooped thoughts of his 
 poverty, his abject condition, of Jerome going 
 the way of ruin, with plenty of money in his 
 pockets acquired by gambling ; then of his 
 own former life, with its high hopes and aspira- 
 tions, of his father, and his father's wishes and 
 designs respecting himself. In short, it was the 
 old experience : " I was envious at the foolish, 
 when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 201 
 
 Verily, I have cleansed my heart in vain, and 
 washed my hands in innocency." 
 
 But he knew not where to go for the un- 
 ravelling of his difficulties. Their end, his own 
 end, he understood not. Could he have said, " I 
 am continually with Thee : Thou hast holden 
 me by my right hand, Thou shalt guide me 
 with thy counsel, and afterwards receive me to 
 glory," rest and peace might have filled his 
 heart. But he thought almost aloud, " O 
 my father! how can I live up to your wishes 
 and your maxims? Yet," he continued, "can 
 I not? I can and I will. I can at least be 
 upright, industrious, and faithful ; and that, in 
 my father's estimation, will be an honorable 
 life. Yes, father, I will live honorably. I will, 
 I will ! " 
 
 It was always his father, and his father's 
 maxims, that came uppermost to Philip's mind ; 
 not his mother's: perhaps because they were 
 more congenial to his own taste ; perhaps be-
 
 202 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 cause, having been left by his mother's death 
 alone with his father the last year or two of 
 Mr. Landon's life, his directions had thus becMi 
 rendered more impressive. However that may 
 have been, had his mother been at hand at that 
 moment, she would have sought to lift his 
 thoughts higher than the mere matter of out- 
 ward prosperity. She would have turned his at- 
 tention to that law of the Lord which is perfect, 
 converting the soul, making it pure, even as to 
 its very thoughts and intentions. Perhaps such 
 reflections might have disturbed his self-com- 
 placency, but they would have been salutary ; 
 for, though nothing was farther from Philip's 
 consciousness than to recognize in himself any 
 feeling of self-complacency, yet it was nothing 
 else that made him lift his head, and walk in a 
 proud self-congratulation, that, whatever Jerome 
 might possess, yet he was, after all, but a worth- 
 less spendthrift ; while, whatever he might him- 
 self lack, yet, in himself considered, he was
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 203 
 
 quite as near right as could be expected under 
 the circumstances, and that certainly, in the end, 
 he would have the advantage. 
 
 In the end ! Where is the end, and what is 
 it ? To Philip, it meant simply the accom- 
 plishment of his own purposes, the establishment 
 of himself in business, with a fair chance of 
 success ; and that fair chance, he was sure, lay 
 wholly under his own control, whenever he 
 could be freed from the bonds that had become 
 so galling. 
 
 " Only four years more," he said to himself, 
 " and then ! I have lived through a third of 
 my time of service already : I shall be free by 
 and by." 
 
 There was no effort on Philip's part to 
 repress the discontentment and covetousness 
 that rankled in his heart. There was no 
 watchfulness against sin, nor even a recognition 
 of its existence. On the contrary, day after day f 
 as he pursued his various tasks, he revolved
 
 204 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 over and over in liis mind his personal griev- 
 ances ; sometimes on the point of running away, 
 and deterred only by the dishonor attendant on 
 a failure on his side to fulfil his part of the con- 
 tract that bound him during those six precious 
 years of his life to so h'ksome a bondage. 
 
 At length it occurred to him that perhaps he 
 might obtain in some way an honorable release. 
 He had no friend to advise him ; at least 
 he did not regard Mr. Glenn as such : but, 
 after much deliberation, he resolved to try. 
 Had he known the value the captain placed 
 upon his services, he would have inferred the 
 uselessness of the effort. The truth was, Capt. 
 Reeves paid daily tribute, in his own mind, to 
 Philip's faithfulness and efficiency. Not that 
 he regarded it as any thing more than was 
 justly his due, as indeed it was not ; but he 
 simply acknowledged it to himself as an un- 
 usual piece of good fortune that had come to 
 him in securing the services of such a boy.
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 205 
 
 And, moreover, Philip's services were becoming 
 more valuable every day. He was already 
 capable of doing nearly a man's full work, and 
 whatever he did was sure to be done well. 
 
 Philip's inquiry whether there was any possi- 
 ble way in which his ties to his master could be 
 severed was met with a look of simple amaze- 
 ment on the part of the captain. The true 
 ground of this amazement, however, was care- 
 fully concealed under the question asked in 
 turn : " Look here, young man : do you know 
 when you're well off? Don't you know that 
 if you're bound to me, I'm bound to you too ? 
 The agreement is mutual. You are sure of a 
 home and a living for four years yet. Is that 
 a small matter? What could a young- fellow 
 like you do, turned loose ? " 
 
 " But I don't think farming is the employ- 
 ment I shall choose by and by ; and I'd so 
 much rather be preparing myself for something 
 else."
 
 206 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Didn't you consent to it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I didn't know much about it 
 then." 
 
 " But you consented. That's the point." 
 
 " Then is there no way to make a change ? " 
 
 " None, except by mutual consent." 
 
 " Well," said Philip expectantly. 
 
 " Drive on," said the captain. 
 
 So Philip took up the/ lines, and drove on 
 about his business, leaving his employer looking 
 after him with the air of one who holds in his 
 hands an advantage which he means to keep at 
 all hazards. 
 
 * 
 
 Philip, meanwhile, drove towards Chester- 
 field. His business took him there that day, 
 as it mrely had done since he finished his 
 market-gardening. The fall was coming on. 
 The roads were dry and dusty, the weeds by 
 the wayside withered and brown. Could 
 Philip have raised his eyes from these, a gor- 
 geous prospect of forest and sky would have met
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 20 T 
 
 his gaze ; but for him there was nothing bnt 
 dust and withered herbage, save as occasionally 
 he looked towards the town he was approaching. 
 
 " Mine, perhaps," he exclaimed, as his eye 
 rested on the buildings so familiar to him as 
 home and place of business. " Yes, perhaps 
 they are mine ; while I " He finished his 
 sentence mentally, with an expression of intense 
 disgust ; and then, quickening the pace of his 
 lagging horses, drowned his reflections in the 
 rattling noise of his rough wagon. 
 
 Just before he reached town, Jerome drove 
 briskly up from behind him. 
 
 " Ha ! it's you, is it ? " said Jerome. 
 " Might have kept you company all the way 
 if you hadn't got the start of me. 'Twould 
 have been hard work to hold back, though. 
 Oh ! say," he added, as if an after-thought had 
 struck him : " have you examined into that 
 little matter I told you about in the summer ? ' 
 
 " No."
 
 208 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " You haven't ? Oh ! well, a few thousand 
 dollars isn't of much consequence to you, I sup- 
 pose. 'Tisn't worth while to pay any attention 
 to the thing. However, I'll just tell you that 
 your precious Mr. Glenn is going off West 
 soon. He has got money he wants to invest in 
 lands, I suppose. I don't say it's a matter of 
 any interest to you ; but I thought may be you 
 would like to say good-by to him before he 
 goes." 
 
 Jerome touched his horse with the tip of his 
 whip ; and in a moment more he was beyond 
 hearing, if Philip had desired to reply. But 
 the truth was, he had no reply to make, unless 
 it might be to express the wish that Jerome 
 would leave him in peace. Philip allowed his 
 horses to take their own pace ; and by the time 
 he had crossed the bridge, and reached the 
 public street, Jerome's horse was at the hitch- 
 ing post towards which he had learned invaria- 
 bly to turn his nose whenever he entered town.
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 209 
 
 Philip drove slowly by, then on, past his 
 father's store, then past Mr. Glenn's place of 
 business, Mr. Glenn himself standing in the 
 door. The gentleman greeted Philip with a 
 nod, and turned and entered his store. 
 
 " You villain ! " muttered Philip under his 
 
 breath. He had, unconsciously to himself, 
 
 t 
 
 fully adopted as truth the intimations Jerome 
 had given him respecting Mr. Glenn's manage- 
 ment of his father's estate ; and, had it been 
 possible for him, he would have rushed at once 
 to the office of some lawyer, to have the whole 
 matter investigated, as Jerome had suggested. 
 
 As it was, he was powerless. He could do 
 nothing but go quietly on with his business, 
 and then drive back to the farm. This, there- 
 fore, was what he did. No one, seeing the 
 plain farmer's boy driving his team along the 
 common thoroughfare, would have suspected 
 that he was meditating the recovery of an 
 estate. 
 
 14
 
 210 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 The rapid succession of fall work kept 
 Philip constantly employed. Gathering in and 
 taking care of the year's crops, ploughing 
 and seeding, and various other matters, oc- 
 cupied both hands and thoughts. One fine 
 day, when a change of weather threatened to 
 interfere with the completion of Philip's task, 
 Capt. Reeves brought his own team to the field 
 where Philip was at work. The master in one 
 part of the field, and the boy in another, fol- 
 lowed the plough from side to side, till at 
 length Philip came to where' the captain had 
 thrown down his coat in a fence-corner, as he 
 commenced his labor. A motion and a pair 
 of sparkling eyes caught Philip's attention ; 
 and, taking a second look, he saw a field-mouse 
 crouching in the folds of the coat. Looking 
 more narrowly, he noticed that Capt. Reeves's 
 pocket-book had fallen half out of his pocket as 
 he had thrown down the coat, and that the 
 mouse had been busy with its contents. The
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 211 
 
 band holding it together had been worn out, 
 and replaced by a string, which the mouse had 
 no difficulty in gnawing through ; and the 
 whole had then fallen open, leaving the con- 
 tents exposed to the little creature's busy activ- 
 ity. Bits of paper and bank-notes strewed the 
 ground, and one twenty-dollar bill was dragged 
 to some distance, doubtless on its way to line 
 the provident mouse's winter-quarters. Philip 
 hastily gathered up the papers. There were 
 many folded scraps, of the ' nature of which 
 Philip of course knew nothing. Besides these, 
 there was a pile of bank-notes, on the ends of 
 which Philip could see their various denomina- 
 tions, fives, tens, twenties, how much more 
 he knew not ; while his own pocket was empty, 
 had been long empty, and was likely to be for 
 a long time to come. " I have saved all this 
 from destruction for him," he thought, as he 
 stepped further on to pick up the stray twenty. 
 Hastily slipping the rescued note into his vest-
 
 212 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 pocket, he tied up the pocket-book, replaced it 
 in the pocket ; and, hanging the coat out of 
 reach of further depredations, Philip started his 
 horses to their work again. 
 
 It was done: and Philip, with all his high sen- 
 timents of honor and honesty and faithfulness, 
 was a thief I He could scarcely believe him- 
 self, when, a moment after, he came to his 
 senses, and knew what he had done. The 
 temptation had come so suddenly, so over- 
 poweringly upon him ; it seemed so easy to do 
 the deed and escape detection, laying the theft 
 upon the mouse ; he had felt his master's heel 
 grinding him down so mercilessly, and he 
 wanted money so much, all this and much 
 more had passed through his mind in that brief 
 interval. Now the .deed was done, and the 
 money was in his pocket. He could not stop 
 to replace it, for he well knew he should be 
 called to account for having stopped to move 
 the coat at all.
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 213 
 
 That twenty-dollar bill, that bit of flimsy 
 paper, had it weighed ten pounds, could not 
 have seemed heavier than it did, lying there, 
 tucked away in his vest-pocket. It seemed to 
 him Capt. Reeves could see it all the distance 
 across the field. His father's words came to 
 his mind : " My son, you have a life to live. 
 Live honorably." For the first time : he could 
 not respond, " I will, father : I will ! " 
 
 Noon came, and he must meet his master's 
 eye. 
 
 " I see you have taken up my coat," said the 
 captain. " What was the matter ? " 
 
 " A mouse was making free with your pocket- 
 book," Philip answered, at the same time busy- 
 ing himself about the buckles of his horse's 
 harness. " I don't know whether any mis- 
 chief was done or not. The papers were 
 scattered, and I picked them up." 
 
 " A mouse, hey ! the little scamp ! " exclaimed 
 the captain excitedly, taking out his pocket-
 
 214 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 book and examining the contents. First, all 
 the papers were overlooked. None of them 
 had sustained serious injury, though corners 
 were gone, and some holes gnawed through the 
 folds. Then he counted the money. 
 
 It seemed to Philip that his heart could be 
 heard thumping against his ribs as the captain 
 smoothed out one bill after another, muttering 
 all the while, " A mouse, hey ! Pretty busi- 
 ness for a mouse ! The little rascal ! " 
 
 " Twenty dollars gone," he said at length, 
 looking at Philip. It was only an ordinary 
 glance, but it seemed to Philip that it burned 
 him through. 
 
 " Where was it ? " asked the captain. 
 
 " Just here, on this very corner." 
 
 The captain examined the ground narrowly. 
 There were some mere specks of paper, but 
 nothing to give any clew to the missing note. 
 
 " How easily you might have taken it, and 
 ever so much more. If it wasn't that you
 
 THE LOVE OF MONEY. 215 
 
 
 
 never cheated me a farthing in your life, I'd 
 suspect you. You see what comes of having a 
 good character. That little scamp has his nest 
 lined with it, no doubt; all torn to bits, of 
 course. Well, well, there's no help for it," he 
 added, after having examined as far around as 
 he could possibly expect it to be found. " It's 
 well that he didn't take more." 
 
 The captain took the loss much more quietly 
 than Philip could have expected. The truth 
 was, he always met losses calmly, when owing 
 to his own carelessness or to any natural cause ; 
 while to be cheated out of a halfpenny by the 
 unfaithfulness of any one in his employ, or by 
 downright dishonesty, threw him into a rage. 
 
 Philip wished he would rage and storm ; 
 any thing rather than such unwonted good- 
 humor towards himself. He did not suspect, 
 tliat, under the lashings of his conscience, he 
 had been doing almost double work since that 
 
 C3 
 
 money had lain in his pocket, and that this was
 
 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 the secret of the captain's rare kindliness. 
 Capt. Reeves was thinking what a treasure he 
 possessed in Philip ; and his early suspicions, 
 such as he entertained towards everybody, hav- 
 ing proved so utterly groundless, not a shadow 
 of doubt had entered his mind that Philip had 
 told the whole truth.
 
 CONFESSION. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 IHROUGH the remainder of the day, 
 i 
 
 Philip worked with that twenty-dollar 
 note in his pocket. He felt a con- 
 stant disposition to thrust his fingers in, 
 and see if it was really there ; yet he dared not. 
 At night he found opportunity to go to his room 
 before Andy ; and, cramming the loathed and 
 hated note into the box that contained his 
 watch, he locked the trunk and dropped the key 
 into his pocket as usual. He turned to the 
 window. The lights from the distant town 
 reproached him. His father's grave cried out 
 against him. He glided down stairs, and, after 
 supper, took up a newspaper. He found him- 
 self looking over police-records, and imagining
 
 218 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 himself already under arrest. He was a thief, 
 and felt sure every one must know it. 
 
 Week after week passed by, and Philip 
 began to look forward to his winter's work in 
 the wood-lot. He longed for the time to come 
 when he should be less under his master's eye. 
 At length it came ; and, with something of alac- 
 rity, he took up his accustomed implements and 
 repaired to the familiar spot. Here, at least, no 
 eye would be looking at him, and he could work 
 at ease. 
 
 Alas ! the very silence of the forest rebuked 
 him. He seated himself for a moment upon a 
 log, and covered his face with his hands. 
 ' What shall I do ? " he exclaimed. " I'm 
 down ! I'm down ! Is there no help for me ? " 
 
 A rustling sound startled him. It was only 
 a rabbit. But the sound so near him, together 
 with the associations of the place, suggested 
 Mr. White. " Oh I if I could only see him," 
 thought Philip, " he could tell me what to do."
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 Much that Mr. White had said to him of sin, 
 
 of its insidious nature, of its existence within 
 
 
 
 us as a fountain of evil ready to overflow at 
 any moment if the restraints of Providence 
 and of Christian society were removed, came to 
 his memory. Philip had not half believed it 
 then. He could not bring his mind to ac- 
 knowledge, even in the deepest recesses of his 
 secret thoughts, that any thing so hateful as 
 Mr. White pictured sin to be, harbored in his 
 own bosom. But now he saw it. That he 
 belonged to a sinful, ruined race came over 
 him with all the force of a discovery. His 
 thoughts went even farther than this, so that he 
 saw and felt the power of sin in his own heart. 
 The slightness of the temptation under which 
 he had yielded, and yielded, too, just in the 
 very point -upon which he had always prided 
 himself, stung him keenly. Goaded by his 
 sorrow, which as yet was only remorse, and not 
 repentance, he worked fiercely, and by midday
 
 220 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 found he had so thoroughly exhausted himself 
 that he should with difficulty get through the 
 day. 
 
 At length he came to the conclusion that he 
 would conscientiously try, day after day, to 
 accomplish more than could reasonably be 
 expected of him ; and so, little by little, he 
 would work out the value of the stolen money, 
 and make it right with his master. He tried 
 this expedient for a time ; but found it so in- 
 effectual in quieting his conscience, that he at 
 length gave it up in sheer despair. 
 
 That money ! It haunted him like a ghost. 
 It was in his room. It pursued him in his 
 work. It disturbed his very dreams. He 
 dared not use it, nor keep it, nor destroy it. 
 It seemed as if it would forever stand between 
 him and every effort to rise. 
 
 His work became varied in its monotony by 
 an occasional drive to town with a load of 
 wood. On one of those trips, as he turned
 
 CONFESSION. 221 
 
 homeward after having delivered his wood, a 
 familiar face greeted him from the sidewalk. 
 He could scarcely believe his own eyes when 
 his old friend and teacher signalled that he 
 would be glad to ride home with him. Philip 
 stopped to take in his welcome passenger, who 
 had come back on some matter of business, and 
 was glad to ride a portion of the way to his* 
 old neighborhood. 
 
 After sundry questions and answers respect- 
 ing the personal welfare and prosperity of each, 
 Mr. White suddenly asked, " What about the 
 mental progress, Philip?" 
 
 " Mr. White," answered Philip, with much 
 agitation, " I'm ruined." 
 
 " Why, Philip, what do you mean ? " 
 
 '' I'm down, Mr. White ; and nobody is to 
 blame about it but myself." 
 
 Then followed the whole story of the theft, 
 of the way in which he had been led to it, the 
 suffering that had followed, and the perplexity
 
 222 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 as to what he should do to extricate himself 
 from the difficulty. He had some time since 
 come to the conclusion, that, whatever the con- 
 sequences might be, he could not much longer 
 keep his secret ; and that, if he could meet with 
 Mr. White or Mrs. Hamilton, he would seek 
 advice. 
 
 Mr. White listened attentively to the whole 
 recital, and then replied, " There is but one 
 way for you, Philip. You must go to Capt. 
 Reeves, and tell him all about it." 
 
 " O Mr. White, I can't ! He will send me 
 to jail." 
 
 " There is no other way," repeated Mr. 
 White gravely. " You remember the story of 
 the prodigal. If you don't, you can read it. 
 You will find that the very first step he took in 
 the right direction was to go and make con- 
 fession." 
 
 " But to Capt. Reeves, Mr. White ! Think 
 of it ! "
 
 CONFESSION. 223 
 
 " I have no other advice to give you," replied 
 Mr. White, as he met Philip's expectant look. 
 
 " Well," answered Philip, " it's terrible ! " 
 
 " It's terrible that you should have been so 
 overcome by the power of sin. But if you 
 take the right course now, Philip, you're not 
 ruined. No one can be hopelessly ruined at 
 your age. This very act of yours may be 
 made the means of showing you the great 
 power of the enemy you have within ; and the 
 law you have violated may become the teacher 
 to lead you to Christ. You should not stop 
 short of that faith in Christ which takes away 
 the guilt of all sin." 
 
 Philip made no reply, and Mr. White con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " This or that particular outbreak of sin fills 
 us with horror ; but the horror should be that 
 we have hearts into which sin has found en- 
 trance. Sin against God should impress us 
 more strongly than sin against a fellow-being ;
 
 224 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 but it does not. Confession and restitution is 
 the most we can do towards a fellow-being. 
 Confession, when we cannot make restitution, 
 throws us upon the mercy of the fellow-man 
 whom we have wronged. Towards God, res- 
 titution is never possible ; therefore we are at 
 once thrown upon his mercy : and a new way 
 of restoration to his favor is opened through 
 Christ." 
 
 " I must take your advice," replied Philip, 
 whose mind clung tenaciously to the one phase 
 of sin of which he had been guilty. " At least, 
 I will try to bring my mind to it." 
 
 They had reached the wood-lot, where 
 Philip was to take on another load and return 
 to town, and from which Mr. White was to 
 continue on foot to the house of one who had 
 been his neighbor during the time of his teach- 
 ing in that vicinity. 
 
 Philip continued his employment, feeling 
 somewhat lightened by the resolution he had
 
 CONFESSION. 225 
 
 taken, though quaking with dread whenever he 
 thought of the interview before him. " I will 
 do it this very night," he repeated again and 
 again to himself. He even longed for night to. 
 come, that he might be eased of his terrible 
 burden. 
 
 At length it came. Philip hastened to his 
 room, and, to fortify himself in his resolution, 
 took up his Bible, and read the parable of the 
 prodigal son. It did not occur to him that he 
 dwelt with special delight and satisfaction on 
 the closing scenes of the parable, the joyful 
 reception of the repentant wanderer, the best 
 robe, the ring, and the fatted calf ; but so it was. 
 
 There was no opportunity that night for his 
 confession. Jerome was at home, and Mrs. 
 Reeves was sitting by, and Pauly. Not least 
 in the array of difficulties he anticipated was 
 the sorrow he was sure he should see in Pauly's 
 eyes. He could not meet that. So he slept 
 once more with the ghost in his room. 
 
 15
 
 226 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 The next morning he went resolutely to the 
 captain, as he was busy among his stock, and 
 laid the note in his hand, saying, " Capt. 
 Reeves, here is your twenty dollars. I stole it 
 in the field, the day that the mouse gnawed your 
 pocket-book. I am very sorry, captain." 
 
 He dared not look up to see the effect of his 
 confession. If he had, he would have seen the 
 captain's face grow white with anger while he 
 surveyed the repentant boy from head to foot. 
 
 " This is your honesty, is it ? " he exclaimed 
 at length. " You stole it, did you ? You ras- 
 cal ! You made me trust you with your pre- 
 tensions ; and this is the way it turns out. 
 You can go now. I shall never trust you nor 
 anybody else again. You are a free boy now. 
 You can go where you please." 
 
 " Captain ? " 
 
 " No : not a word. You wanted to be free. 
 You talked about it last summer. You are free 
 now. I have no further use for you. Go
 
 CONFESSION. 227 
 
 straight to your room, gather up your traps, and 
 be off." 
 
 Philip turned, nearly staggering, and started 
 towards the house. He had so thoroughly 
 wrought up his mind to the beautiful picture in 
 the parable of the reception of the penitent 
 prodigal, that he was completely stunned and 
 bewildered. He entered the house, went to his 
 room, and, taking from his trunk whatever re- 
 mained to him of any value, he tied them in a 
 bundle and came down. 
 
 There was no one in the dining-room, not 
 even Pauly. He had hoped she would be there 
 alone. He passed out, and turned his back 
 upon the home of the past two years. 
 
 Yes : he was free now. The world was be- 
 fore him. It was what he had many times 
 wished, with the feeling that all difficulties 
 would then be removed from his path. But to 
 be houseless, homeless, friendless, penniless, was 
 a different matter, in reality, from what it had 
 been in his boyish anticipation.
 
 228 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Yet lie felt relieved from the terrible load of 
 his crime. So far as was possible, he had re- 
 paired the evil deed of that hour that had caused 
 so much distress. Now he could work ; he 
 could go down to the most abject employment, 
 if necessary ; he could in time recover the repu- 
 tation which he had no doubt Capt. Reeves 
 and Jerome would spare no pains to destroy. 
 
 He first turned his steps to the wood-lot, 
 hoping he might meet Mr. White. He had no 
 special reason for expecting him there, further 
 than the fact of his being in the neighborhood. 
 He entered the wintry solitude, not as he had 
 done so many times before, to make it resound 
 with the strokes of his cheerful labor, or re-echo 
 his merry whistle, but to sit down, a sobered, 
 thoughtful boy, to wait and to plan. The soli- 
 tude seemed melancholy and terrible. He 
 seated himself on a log, hoping Mr. White 
 would appear. 
 
 There, in the silent wintry woods, the thought
 
 CONFESSION. 229 
 
 of God came over him. God everywhere. 
 God there, filling the lonely forest with his 
 presence. God over all, over me ! The sensa- 
 tion, so new, was almost overpowering. What 
 was his relation to that omnipresent, all-know- 
 ing divine Spirit ? Was God at that moment 
 about him, in him, and through him, reading 
 and knowing every thought of his heart, know- 
 ing all his sin, and yet sparing to punish him ? 
 His feeling of self-righteousness was gone. 
 Nothing remained to keep him from falling into 
 the depths of despair, both as to any success in 
 life, or any hope in the dread hereafter, save 
 the mercy of God towards sinners, revealed 
 through Christ, and made effectual to the soul 
 by faith. 
 
 His sense of the presence of God impelled 
 him to take his Bible from his bundle and read. 
 Opening at hazard, he read, " Therefore, being 
 justified by faith, we have peace with God, 
 through our Lord Jesus Christ." "Ah!" he
 
 230 LINSIDE FARM, 
 
 thought, " this is what I want. I want peace 
 with God. Since he is so near me, and must 
 be for ever and ever, I want to be at peace with 
 him." He read on and on, with eager earnest- 
 ness, yet not with haste. Every word seemed 
 illuminated ; it all met his own case ; it was evi- 
 dent and palpable truth. 
 
 Mr. White did not come. After a while, 
 Philip began to be glad that he did not. A 
 better teacher had come to him, even the Holy 
 Spirit of God. The way of life became plain 
 before him. Justification by faith, the new 
 condition ; no longer under the law, but under 
 grace ; the service of love following the work 
 of sanctification through the Spirit ; the freedom 
 forever from condemnation ; the life of holy 
 consecration to the worship and service of God ; 
 and the gift of God, which is eternal life. 
 
 By and by he became chilled. This re- 
 minded him of his homeless condition : yet, 
 with a mind strangely at rest, he rose ; and, tak-
 
 CONFESSION. 231 
 
 ing up the bundle that contained the sum of his 
 worldly possessions, he started towards town, 
 determined at once to seek employment. It 
 was fully three miles, following the road that 
 led past Linside Farm. This he wished to 
 avoid, though it added somewhat to the dis- 
 
 ' O 
 
 tance. After taking a circuitous route till he 
 had passed the farm, he again sought the main 
 road, still hoping to meet Mr. White, who might 
 be on his return to town. In this he was dis- 
 appointed. But he met Jerome, dashing along 
 towards home, with one of his companions in 
 his buggy. He looked at Philip with some 
 amazement, and gave him a nod of recognition ; 
 but he was too much absorbed in his friend to 
 give any further heed to him. 
 
 As Philip drew near town, it occurred to him 
 to seek Mrs. Hamilton's assistance in his search 
 for work. She had befriended him at one time 
 for his mother's sake : perhaps she would again. 
 He passed on, and presented himself at her
 
 232 . LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 door. He was in his working-garb. His 
 
 checked shirt, and coarse clothing, and rusty 
 boots, and his bundle, contrasted strangely with 
 the pleasant, tasteful room into which he was 
 ushered to await Mrs. Hamilton's leisure. How 
 sweet and homelike that cosy room seemed! 
 Philip looked about him as if to take in a full 
 sense of enjoyment during the few moments he 
 expected to remain there. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton's greeting was hardly over, 
 when Philip, to explain his position, said 
 abruptly, " Mrs. Hamilton, I am without any 
 home now, and without employment. Capt. 
 Reeves has turned me off for stealing." 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton raised her hands in amaze- 
 ment. " Suspicion, you mean," she exclaimed : 
 "suspicion, of course." 
 
 " Not suspicion," answered Philip, " but 
 actual theft." 
 
 He then related in full the crime of which 
 he had been guilty, the covetousness which had
 
 CONFESSION. 233 
 
 led to it ; not at all excusing or defending him- 
 self. He told of the remorse he had suffered, 
 of his confession, and the restitution he had 
 made, and the sudden winding-up of his rela- 
 tions with Capt. Reeves ; and ended by asking 
 her if she could direct him to any place, 
 where he could procure any kind of employ- 
 ment. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton repeated to herself, " ' Breth- 
 ren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which 
 are spiritual restore such an one in the spirit 
 of meekness.' ' " How much more a boy, an 
 orphan boy," was her mental comment. 
 Philip's penitence was evident. She therefore 
 refrained from overwhelming him with re- 
 proaches, while expressing her sorrow that he 
 should have been so overpowered. 
 
 " Would you choose to return to Capt. 
 Reeves, provided he could be prevailed upon 
 to take you ? " she asked. 
 
 "I should not choose it," Philip replied;
 
 234 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " but I am willing to go if I ought. But it 
 seems to me he has fully released me ; and it is 
 just what I have many times wished for." 
 
 " Yes : well, we will try something else." 
 
 She then sent him to a room up stairs to put 
 off his coarse and soiled working-apparel, and 
 make himself as presentable as possible in his 
 one better but well-worn suit. Meanwhile she 
 put on her bonnet and disappeared. 
 
 When she returned, Philip sat by the win- 
 dow, reading a book he had taken from the 
 table. 
 
 " I have found you a place, Philip," said she 
 joyfully. " You are to go to-morrow. Per- 
 haps the work may not be such as you will 
 like, and the pay is small ; but you can make it 
 the first round of a ladder, if you choose." 
 
 Philip expressed his willingness to begin 
 at any thing; and obtained all necessary di- 
 rections as to his employment, and rose to 
 leave.
 
 CONFESSION. 235 
 
 " Where are you going now ? " asked Mrs. 
 Hamilton. 
 
 "I indeed, I don't know," said Philip, 
 hesitating. 
 
 " You are to stay here, dear boy," said she, 
 " till you go to your new home to-morrow 
 morning. What did you propose to do ? " 
 
 " Only to walk around, and pass away the 
 time," he answered frankly. 
 
 " And no place to eat or sleep ? " 
 
 " Oh ! as to that, I could wait till to-morrow 
 morning for the eating ; and maybe I could 
 find some place to sleep." 
 
 " Your mother's memory shall never re- 
 proach me with letting you do that," said Mrs. 
 Hamilton with tears in her eyes. " Sit down, 
 now, and make yourself at home." 
 
 Philip had had no dinner ; but Mrs. Hamil- 
 ton supposed he had come direct from the farm, 
 as it was now mid-afternoon. He cared little 
 for the want of a dinner, though he did fee]
 
 236 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 somewhat hungry after his morning out in the 
 cold winter-air. He resumed his book, but his 
 mind wandered. 
 
 " Mrs. Hamilton," said he at length, " does 
 Mr. Fassett know all abo.ut it ? Must every- 
 body know ? " 
 
 " Mr. Fassett knows. Everybody need not 
 know. But it is better that he should. It 
 would not be treating him fairly to conceal the 
 matter from him. But he is willing to give 
 you a trial, especially as I have made myself 
 responsible for your good behavior," she added, 
 smiling. 
 
 Philip dropped his head a moment, and then 
 replied, " A year ago I should have said, with- 
 out the least hesitation, that you should never 
 have reason to regret it ; but, Mrs. Hamilton, I 
 know myself better now." 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton was touched by Philip's hu- 
 mility, but only answered, " There is a source 
 of strength higher and better than your own.
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 237 
 
 The Lord says, ' Take hold of my strength.' 
 Try that, Philip, and it will never fail you." 
 
 " Mrs. Hamilton," he answered solemnly, " I 
 will ! "
 
 238 LINSIDL PAhM. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 
 
 'HE next morning, Philip presented 
 himself at Mr. Fassett's grocery, 
 where he had been engaged as boy of 
 all work, to sweep, to trim lamps, to 
 run up stairs and down stairs fcl every thing 
 and any thing that might be wanted : in short, 
 to bring up all the odds and ends necessary for 
 keeping the extensive and busy establishment 
 in order, and supplementing everybody's de- 
 partment. 
 
 Philip knew where Mr. Fassett's store was. 
 Years before, he had passed it day after day, 
 and had gone there many times to make little 
 purchases for his mother. As he approached 
 the familiar neighborhood, he seemed to see
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. -39 
 
 himself as in former days, a light-hearted, well- 
 dressed boy, going gayly about on his various 
 errands, or to and from school, dodging with 
 home familiarity in and out of his father's hard- 
 ware store, now just across the street. Yes, 
 the very pavement bore the impress of his 
 boyish feet. His footsteps had been among the 
 many that had worn it to smoothness. He was 
 speedily compelled to banish such pictures reso- 
 lutely from his mind, and to consider himself 
 then and now almost as two distinct individuals. 
 He passed on till he stood before Mr. Fas- 
 sett's door. It was a three-story, double-front 
 building, with windows filled with a tempting 
 array of all manner of provisions for family 
 consumption, from raisins, oranges, and other 
 tropical fruits, through the whole range of 
 specimens of teas, coffees, sugars, spices, and 
 all manner of tempting delicacies. The two 
 upper stories of one-half the building were oc- 
 cupied by the family as a residence ; but the
 
 240 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 remainder, as seemed evident from the uncur- 
 tained windows, revealing stacks of brooms, 
 mop-handles, baskets, and wooden-ware of all 
 kinds, were storerooms for the various wares 
 offered for sale below. As Philip entered, it 
 seemed to him a hopeless task to think of ever 
 learning even the names of the manifold kinds 
 of merchandise, to say nothing of the prices 
 affixed to each, and how to handle them. But 
 his occupation at first did not extend to any 
 thing of that sort. 
 
 Although it was early, Mr. Fassett was 
 already behind the counter. Indeed, it seemed 
 as if he was always there, superintending his 
 numerous clerks, and keeping in hand all the 
 various departments of an extensive business. 
 Yet he had always ready a pleasant word, or at 
 least a nod of recognition, for every customer, 
 and seemed least busy of all the persons there 
 employed. 
 
 Philip presented himself at once to Mr. Fas-
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 241 
 
 sett. There was no time lost, it was not 
 three minutes till Philip found himself em- 
 ployed in unpacking a new lot of crockery that 
 had just arrived ; and so clear and methodical 
 were Mr. Fassett's directions, that Philip soon 
 felt as much at home in his new employment as 
 if he had done nothing but unpack dishes all 
 his life. 
 
 The part of the store in which he was busy 
 gave him full view of the whole establishment, 
 from the book-keeper mounted at his desk to 
 the boys, who, though younger than he, held 
 situations similar to his own, or who, at least, 
 had no share in the buying and selling depart- 
 ment. As the day advanced, purchasers came 
 thronging in, and loungers more numerous 
 than purchasers. The boys, at least four of 
 them he had already seen, were running back 
 and forth, loading delivery-wagons at the door, 
 bringing packages of goods from above or from 
 the cellar beneath, obeying an order here and 
 
 16
 
 242 LINSIDE FAJRM. 
 
 another there ; and, amidst the appearance of 
 confusion, every thing and everybody moving 
 . with an order and precision that had its expla- 
 nation in Mr. Fassett's exhaustless energy, un- 
 remitting attention, and thorough system. 
 
 Mr. Fassett made no allusion to Philip's lost 
 reputation. At first, Philip felt every one in 
 the store knew all about it ; but as he found 
 himself quietly installed in his position, and 
 busy at once with various matters that were 
 ready to his hand, with no restrictions and no 
 cautions laid upon him, he began to breathe 
 more freely, and even himself forgot the shad- 
 ow that had so long hung over him. 
 
 Philip had been so long without any home- 
 feeling, that the change in his surroundings 
 affected him less than it would many boys of 
 his age. The new quarters to which he was 
 assigned in the house of Mr. Fassett were in 
 themselves less agreeable than those at Capt. 
 Reeves's. A small room in the attic was
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 243 
 
 allotted to him, with no prospect from its win- 
 dow but neighboring roofs and walls. But for 
 all this he cared nothing. 
 
 After a day of busy activity, he entered his 
 room, and, closing the door, found himself once 
 more alone. " God over all," he thought, 
 " over me." " Peace with God, through our 
 Lord Jesus Christ." Kneeling by his bedside, 
 as he had not done for many months, he con- 
 secrated his new abode with a thank-offering of 
 prayer. 
 
 Mr. Landon's former place of business, and 
 Mr. Glenn's, next door, were nearly oppo- 
 site Mr. Fassett's grocery. But the sight of 
 them no longer moved Philip. He felt himself 
 so thoroughly down, in consequence of his 
 misconduct, that, for weeks past, it had seemed 
 to him that by no possibility could he ever rise 
 again. The thought that he had any rights 
 that anybody was bound to respect had not 
 once occurred to him. And now, beginning, as
 
 244 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 it seemed, a new life, he had no higher ambi- 
 tion than to rise from nothing by his own in- 
 dustry and faithfulness, if he should ever rise 
 at all. To use Mrs. Hamilton's figure, his 
 present position should be the lowest round of 
 a ladder, above which extended an indefinite 
 series. Whether he should ever rise even to 
 the second step must depend wholly upon him- 
 self. 
 
 He discovered at once that he was to be 
 trusted. It was made his duty to open the 
 store in the morning, and sweep, and get every 
 thing in order for the business of the day. At 
 such times he was entirely alone, and, for 
 aught he knew, plenty of money in the drawers. 
 At least he was trusted, to what extent he 
 knew not; and thus felt himself so far restored 
 to his old standing, that, one morning, he was 
 surprised to find himself responding as of old 
 to his father's injunction, "I will, father: I 
 will."
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 245 
 
 Yet, for some reason, he knew not why, he 
 uttered these words, or, rather, thought these 
 thoughts, with far different feelings from those 
 he had formerly experienced. The maxim of 
 his life then had been, " Honesty is the best 
 policy." Now it was, " Not with eye-service, 
 as men-pleasers, but heartily, as unto the Lord." 
 A consciousness of the presence of the Lord 
 seemed to invest him ; and, so far from being 
 terrifying, it was pleasant. " He shall cover 
 thee with his feathers, and under his wings 
 
 * O 
 
 shalt thou trust," would have expressed his 
 sense of the presence of God around him. 
 His desire to live honorably, uprightly, to do 
 his whole duty, had been lifted from the level 
 of policy to the higher level of Christian duty ; 
 from a slavish fear of crime against his fellows 
 to a service of love to the Master, who was 
 also Saviour and Redeemer, who had delivered 
 him from the law, and brought him under the 
 sweet bondage of grace, and made him no 
 longer a servant, but a son, free indeed.
 
 246 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Yet lie was so ignorant of both the theory 
 and practice of Christian life, having only the 
 recollections of his early boyhood respecting 
 his mother, and the suggestions of Mr. White, 
 to enlighten him, that he did not recognize in 
 this state of mind the very essence of Chris- 
 tianity, the very oath of allegiance to the king- 
 dom of Christ. He had as yet read but little 
 of the Scriptures ; but that little was sweet to 
 his taste. He found himself drawn at once to 
 the sanctuary, with all its various appliances 
 for instruction and edification. Though his one 
 suit of clothes was a little outgrown and rusty, 
 and not at all stylish, yet he could not stay 
 away from the house of God. Encouraged by 
 his kind friend Mrs. Hamilton, and by others 
 to whom her interest had made him known, his 
 place was never vacant. 
 
 A month passed by, during which it seemed 
 to Philip that he had lived and grown old, at 
 least a year, perhaps two. Not in any unpleasant
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 247 
 
 sense, but, rather in the inspiring feeling given 
 by growth in mental and spiritual knowledge 
 and activity. During the two years he had 
 spent with Capt. Reeves, he had seemed to be 
 stationary, the same mere boy ; or, at least, to be 
 making no real progress in preparation for the 
 work of manhood. 
 
 At the end of a month, Capt. Reeves sudden- 
 ly appeared in the store, and, to Philip's great 
 astonishment, greeted him with a hearty shake 
 of the hand. 
 
 " I've been looking for you back," said the 
 captain. " I thought, before this time you 
 would think better of it, and come back to fin- 
 ish out your time with me." 
 
 Philip looked up amazed. " Why, captain, 
 didn't you say I was free ? Didn't you send 
 me away? " 
 
 " Oh, yes I I believe I did. I was mad then. 
 But don't you know, Philip, I hold the papers 
 
 yet ? "
 
 248 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip's heart sank as if he had been a recap- 
 tured prisoner. The fact of the existence of 
 papers binding him to Capt. Reeves till he 
 should be of age had once or twice crossed his 
 mind ; but he had dismissed it, thinking, if the 
 captain did not desire his services longer, the 
 papers could do no harm. 
 
 At length Philip answered, " Why, Capt. 
 Reeves, I didn't suppose you would ever want 
 to see me again. I wouldn't have dared to 
 come back." He had commenced the reply, 
 intending to say, " I didn't suppose you would 
 ever trust me again : " but Mr. Fassett was by, 
 and one of the boys ; and, although he supposed 
 the captain would soon proclaim his shame to 
 them all, he could not do it himself. 
 
 " What is all this about ? " asked Mr. Fassett 
 at length. " I thought Philip was fully dis- 
 missed from your service." 
 
 " Oh, well ! " answered the captain, " the 
 truth is, we did have a little falling out, and I
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 249 
 
 got angry : that's my failing ; and I just told him 
 to go. But I thought he would come be^o-incr 
 
 * o oO O 
 
 back in a little while. I've been stuffy about 
 coming after him ; but the long and short of it 
 is, I don't know how to get along without him." 
 
 ',' I don't want to spare him, either," answered 
 Mr. Fassett. 
 
 " But I hold the papers." 
 
 " That gives you an advantage, to be sure." 
 
 Then followed a long conversation between 
 the two men, in which the justice and injustice 
 of Philip's bonds were fully discussed : the 
 fact, that, from the very time he was bound, he 
 had been fully capable of earning more than his 
 board and clothes ; that there had been no period 
 of childhood preceding, during which obligation 
 had been created in the captain's favor. On the 
 other hand, the fact that Philip had consented 
 to be bound ; and again, in Philip's favor, that 
 that consent had been given under a boyish mis- 
 conception of the duties that became so irksome
 
 250 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 as he grew older : with many other points, the 
 bearing of which the captain could see perfectly ; 
 for nobody had a keener sense of justice than he 
 had, whenever he could be made to look at any 
 question in its own proper merits, without the 
 bias of self-interest. Besides, the captain had 
 a keen appreciation of his estimation among 
 men ; and, however hard and exacting he might 
 really be towards those in his employ, he shrank 
 from the odium of being known in that light. 
 He could justify his exactions to himself, many 
 times, when he would not have undertaken to 
 justify them in the view of others. 
 
 He had missed Philip more than he would 
 have been willing to acknowledge. Indeed, 
 Philip had hardly gone out of sight of the farm, 
 when he regretted the words he had spoken. 
 He had never told, even in his own family, of 
 Philip's fault ; but had accounted for his absence 
 merely by saying he had got mad and run off, 
 but would be back soon. Of this he had not
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 251 
 
 the slightest doubt. He had looked for him day 
 after day. He had appreciated his faithful and 
 undeviating service, though so carefully conceal- 
 ing his estimate of it from Philip himself. 
 
 After the long talk between Mr. Fassett and 
 the captain, of which Philip heard nothing, 
 having gone about his own employments as soon 
 as the captain had turned from him, the two 
 gentlemen took their hats and went out ; and, 
 after an absence of some length, Mr. Fassett 
 returned alone. 
 
 Philip met him with an inquiring look, to 
 which Mr. Fassett answered, " You're not 
 going, Philip : never fear. And you'll not 
 hear about those papers again." 
 
 Philip answered with beaming eyes, " Oh, 
 thank you ! " though he had no idea what he 
 was thanking him for ; only that he was con- 
 scious of having in some way experienced a 
 great deliverance ; and he knew Mr. Fassett had 
 been an active agent in bringing it about. He
 
 252 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 afterwards learned that they had gone to Mr. 
 Glenn, and that, in some way, the captain had 
 been prevailed upon to give up those formidable 
 papers ; and that now he was in reality a free boy. 
 His employments were no less sordid than 
 those at the farm. Indeed, they were more 
 confining, and more irksome in some respects. 
 He missed the fresh air, the health-giving mus- 
 cular activity : but there was hope -in his present 
 labor ; in that there had been none. Between 
 him and other boys in similar situations in the 
 store, there was not much in common. Though 
 he was a poor boy not less than they, indeed, 
 far poorer than some of them, yet between him 
 and them there was that immeasurable, undefin- 
 able difference that springs from good parentage 
 and good early training. To this want of sym- 
 pathy between him and his associates, however, 
 there was one exception, a boy some years 
 younger than himself, slight, frail, evidently not 
 physically equal to the tasks his position imposed
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 253 
 
 upon him, yet struggling bravely to do his best, 
 and evidently always" in fear that he might not 
 be able to fulfil Mr. Fassett's requirements. This 
 boy drew Philip's attention. He was bullied 
 and imposed upon by the bigger boys, of whom 
 there were two or three, in various capacities. 
 But Johnny's pale face never looked to Philip 
 without meeting at least the encouragement of 
 a smile : even that was a help to him. It was 
 seldom that Philip had any opportunity of com- 
 municating with little Johnny, whose business 
 it was to drive one of the delivery-wagons. 
 But if he could, by any possibility, Philip would 
 manage to be about when Johnny was gather- 
 ing up his loads ; not only to prevent the other 
 boys from imposing upon him, but to give him 
 a lift with whatever might be too much for his 
 strength. 
 
 There was something, strange to say, in the 
 very patches on Johnny Krantz's knees that 
 went to Philip's heart. He was seldom with-
 
 254 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 out those two patches. His clothes were Sun- 
 day clothes until they began to give out, and 
 then the patches appeared, and they were work- 
 day clothes after. The patches were often 
 worn out and renewed ; but always so neatly 
 put on, that Philip never looked at them with- 
 out thinking, " Johnny has a good mother. 
 Ah ! when did anybody ever put on a patch 
 for me, or do any thing else for me such as 
 mothers do?" Yes: Johnny had a good 
 mother ; and that was all he had. 
 
 Johnny appreciated Philip's friendship. He 
 was a sensitive little fellow, and had many a sly 
 cry after having been badgered by the boys, or 
 after going through his weary day's toil, as,- 
 with aching limbs, and almost in a state of ex- 
 haustion, he turned his steps homeward. But 
 his crying was always finished up before he 
 reached his home, and he was ready to greet 
 his mother cheerily. He had often wished 
 to take Philip with him to his humble abode, 
 but had as yet found no opportunity.
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 255 
 
 Philip's room, as has been said, was with the 
 family of his employer, and above the store ; so 
 that he scarcely had occasion to go into the 
 open air from week to week. His out-door 
 employment had given him a robust vigor that 
 seemed capable of enduring any thing. But 
 the close confinement was just the one thing 
 he could not endure ; and after a while he grew 
 pale and thin, and his buoyant spirits seemed to 
 forsake him. Mr. Fassett saw at once where 
 the difficulty lay, and made it a rule for Philip 
 never to let a day pass without taking at least 
 a hasty run in the fresh air. 'The season was 
 not the busiest, and Philip was only too glad to 
 avail himself of the privilege. His " runs " 
 were varied ; sometimes taking him through his 
 old familiar neighborhoods, sometimes through 
 retired streets and hitherto unexplored corners 
 of the town. On one of these excursions, 
 turning a corner, he came suddenly upon the 
 delivery-wagon of which Johnny had the man-
 
 256 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 agement, standing before the door of a small, 
 one-story house ; and Johnny himself was just 
 disappearing within the door. He had unex- 
 pectedly stumbled upon Johnny's home. A 
 package of goods to be delivered had brought 
 Johnny directly past his house ; and he had 
 darted in to see if his mother wanted a pail of 
 water or an armful of wood. He was just in 
 time to fill her water-bucket, and came out as 
 Philip reached the gate. 
 
 " Hello ! " said Johnny : " is that you ? 
 Look here, mother : here's Philip." 
 
 With this informal introduction, a woman 
 came hastily out, and greeted Philip warmly. 
 She was an exceedingly plain-looking German 
 woman, and spoke English but poorly ; but she 
 was Johnny's mother, and she and the boy 
 were all the world to each other. Philip 
 could not then take time to enter : but he had 
 learned the way ; and then, jumping on the ex- 
 press wagon with Johnny, they drove quickly 
 back to the store.
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 257 
 
 u I'm so glad ! " said Johnny as they rattled 
 along together in the unloaded wagon : " I'm so 
 glad you've seen my mother, and our house, 
 and all ! That's where I live ; and I think it is 
 the prettiest place in town: and I know my 
 mother is the nicest woman in town," he 
 added proudly. 
 
 Philip could not but smile at Johnny's ear- 
 nestness. He recalled the image of the little 
 house, painted in some peculiar shade that he 
 could only designate as pink, with its little en- 
 closure in front, covered then with frost and 
 snow, but showing, through this covering, the 
 form of beds that in summer, he had no doubt, 
 would be gay with bright flowers. Then the 
 little brown-faced woman, with a close muslin 
 cap drawn tightly over her ears and tied down 
 with tape strings, her blue woollen short dress, 
 with a checked handkerchief crossed over her 
 bosom, her coarse shoes, and hard, brown hands 
 completed the picture. 
 
 17
 
 258 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Do you think so? " asked Philip, seeing no 
 shadow of wavering in Johnny's earnest face. 
 " I'm glad of it." 
 
 " You ought to see it in summer ! " continued 
 
 O 
 
 Johnny. " None of your dusty streets : all 
 nice green grass ; and the sun shines on it so 
 pfetty ! And there are white geese ; and we've 
 lived there so long, mother and I ; and it 
 rests me so when I get there ! Where do you 
 live, Philip?" 
 
 " At Mr. Fassett's. Don't you know ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I know you stay there now ; but 
 I mean when you are at home." 
 
 " I haven't any home, Johnny. My father 
 and mother are dead, and I haven't any home 
 at all." 
 
 To see the look of eafnest, wistful sympathy 
 that shone in Johnny's eyes as he turned them, 
 wide open, to Philip's face, and simply an- 
 swered, " Oh ! " was a pleasant glimpse of 
 human nature.
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 259 
 
 " He pities me," thought Philip. This 
 poor little Dutch boy pities me." There would 
 have been something humiliating in the 
 thought, if it had not been for the experience 
 Philip had lately gone through. As it was, he 
 was willing that it should be even so. 
 
 They had reached the store, and jumped outr; 
 Johnny to go in and gather up another load for 
 delivery, Philip to resume the employment he 
 had left. 
 
 Another day, Philip summoned courage to 
 pass the very gate of the high-school grounds. 
 He had gone in that direction several times 
 before, but had always turned off at some 
 corner before reaching the spot. But now he 
 determined to break over the feeling that had so 
 long kept him away. The boys were just dis- 
 missed for the day, as -Philip stood before the 
 gate, on the opposite side of the street. He 
 thought how many, many times he had joined 
 in their wild frolic, when, years before, he had
 
 260 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 been one of them. It was the very same set 
 of boys; but they had, as it seemed to him, out- 
 grown him ; he standing still, and they continu- 
 ing their proper career. Many of them he 
 knew, as they came rushing pell-mell into the 
 street. 
 
 He was nothing to them now. But now 
 a shout, now a laugh, recognized and well 
 remembered, brought back to him his own 
 school-boy days ; and for a moment he stood by 
 a tree, and looked on as the group dashed out, 
 and broke away in various directions home- 
 ward ; those of his own age maintaining some- 
 thing of gravity and dignity among the younger 
 set. 
 
 In a moment they were all gone. The 
 school-ground that had re-echoed with their 
 shouts, and resounded with their noisy tramp, 
 was silent ; and Philip walked on, glancing, as he 
 did so, up to the cupola, and saying to himself, 
 " If I could just go up there, and look towards
 
 A NEW OCCUPATION. 261 
 
 Linside Farm, the picture would be com- 
 plete." 
 
 It was hardly a recreative walk ; and Philip 
 returned to the store, resolved to go that way 
 no more.
 
 262 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 
 
 \f 
 
 (HILIP often wondered that Mr. 
 
 Glenn, as his legally appointed guar- 
 dian, and his father's old friend and 
 business-neighbor, should never have 
 manifested the slightest interest in him since the 
 memorable day, more than two years gone by, 
 when he drove him out to Linside Farm, and 
 unceremoniously dropped him at the gate. He 
 had now been at Mr. Fassett's two or three 
 months ; and he felt quite sure Mr. Glenn must 
 often have seen him passing to and fro, or busy 
 about the door of the store. 
 
 One day, as Philip was about his usual em- 
 ployment, happening to glance out at the 
 window, to his great surprise he saw Jerome
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 263 
 
 Reeves stop his horse before the door, spring 
 out, and tie him with an important air, and 
 enter. He glanced around, and, seeing Philip, 
 came to him at once, with extended hand. His 
 air of stylish vulgarity had increased upon him, 
 rather than diminished ; but, notwithstanding his 
 
 ' * O 
 
 easy freedom and foppish dress, and Philip's 
 own work-day apparel, yet Philip met him with 
 the calm dignity of one who felt himself an 
 equal, at least, if not a superior. Philip was at 
 the moment very busy, unpacking a new lot 
 of goods ; and, after the first greeting, continued 
 his occupation while carrying on his conversa- 
 tion with Jerome. 
 
 " What's this ? " said Jerome at length, 
 catching a glimpse of the gold watch which 
 Philip was now wearing, having found himself 
 in need of a timekeeper about his daily work. 
 " Seems to me you have got rich fast. Did 
 Glenn bestow this upon you to keep you still ? " 
 
 " It was my father's."
 
 264 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " You don't say you had it all the while you 
 were at the farm ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " If I'd been you, I'd have sold it and had 
 some fun out of it, instead of moping along as 
 you did. Why didn't you take the good of it ? 
 Tell me, now." 
 
 " I am taking the good of it now," answered 
 Philip quietly. 
 
 " Oh, say ! " said Jerome confidentially, " don't 
 you want me to take hold of that little matter 
 I talked to you about one day. I'm admitted 
 to the bar now," he added loftily, "and I could 
 work it up for you if you like." 
 
 " I don't wish it," answered Philip. 
 
 " Just as you like, sir," replied Jerome, with 
 stunning magnificence. " If you should ever 
 see the day that you desire my professional 
 services, just remember they were generously 
 offered you once. Good-morning ; " and Jerome 
 stalked indignantly out of the store, striking his
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 265 
 
 iron-shod crutch ringingly on the floor at every 
 step, unhitched his pawing horse, and was off. 
 
 " Who is that young man ? " asked Mr. 
 Fassett. 
 
 " Jerome Reeves, son of the captain." 
 
 " Have you any business on hand with him?" 
 
 " Not any." 
 
 " I'm glad of it. I thought I heard him 
 talking about business." 
 
 " He was," said Philip, laughing. " He has 
 been trying to convince me that Mr. Glenn 
 cheated me out of my property in settling up 
 the estate. He would like to investigate the 
 matter for me." 
 
 " And you yet a minor ! " said Mr. Fassett, 
 with a hearty laugh. 
 
 Philip colored a little, for that was a difficulty 
 in the way which had not occurred to him. 
 
 After a moment, Mr. Fassett asked again, with 
 some earnestness, " Have you had much talk 
 with this young man about it ? Have you 
 made any statements to him ? "
 
 266 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 u None at all. ' He has introduced the sub- 
 ject to me once or twice before ; but I know 
 nothing about it, and could say nothing." 
 
 " I should hope not. Not to him, not to him, 
 whatever you do. And, Philip, I advise you 
 not to listen to any thing that young man may 
 have to say about Mr. Glenn. Mr. Glenn is 
 peculiar, but that young man is not trustworthy. 
 I know his haunts, and the company he keeps, 
 if I do not know him personally. Mr. Glenn 
 knows what he is about." 
 
 It was now Philip's turn to look puzzled ; but 
 Mr. Fassett had turned to a bill he was inspect- 
 ing, and was thoughtfully repeating, " 50 Ibs. 
 sugar, 10 Ibs. rice ; " so Philip continued his own 
 employment in silence. But he found himself 
 constantly repeating, " I wonder if Mr. Glenn 
 did cheat me. I wonder if he did." 
 
 The whole subject had for some months been 
 banished from his mind ; but Jerome's pointed 
 presentation of it, and, especially, Jerome's im-
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 267 
 
 pressive " Just as you like, sir," had revived his 
 former reflections, and made him uncomfortable. 
 He was not now in the same needy circum- 
 stances as when the suspicion was first pre- 
 sented ; for he was receiving wages that met his 
 necessities, and he looked forward with confi- 
 dence to being able to rise from one degree to 
 another in his occupation. He felt no uneasi- 
 ness at the thought of his oncoming manhood. 
 It was quite different from his connection with 
 Capt. Reeves, when, as he looked forward to 
 the period of his release from his bonds, he saw 
 himself going out into the world with nothing 
 more of worldly fortune than his " freedom-suit 
 and Bible," which he remembered hearing read 
 in the articles of his agreement, and with no 
 knowledge of any business by which he could 
 earn his daily bread, other than to become a 
 hired farm-laborer. But, more than this, the 
 terrible lesson he had had respecting the power 
 of covetousness had so thoroughly appalled
 
 268 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 him, that he shrank from even indulging a wish 
 for more than he actually possessed. Still more 
 than this, since that memorable time he had 
 received a portion so exceedingly rich and pre- 
 cious, that, in comparison, earthly riches seemed 
 to fade to an insubstantial and unsatisfying good. 
 His absorbing thirst for money was gone. 
 
 Philip had as yet but two visiting-places in 
 town ; and those were almost at the extremes of 
 the social scale. Mrs. Hamilton's was like a 
 home to him, and a few moments at Johnny 
 Krantz's humble home gave him nearly as much 
 pleasure. Although he had been brought back 
 into the very midst of his former companions 
 and schoolmates, yet the two-years' absence, at 
 that age when two years make so great a 
 change, together with his altered circumstances, 
 had produced so wide a gap between him and 
 them, that, although he often met them in the 
 street, or saw them pass the store, he had never 
 been able to summon courage to call the at ten-
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 269 
 
 tion of any of them. His own appearance was 
 much changed ; and it was easy for them to pass 
 him without recognition, when he purposely 
 avoided it. Yet as time passed on, and he 
 began to recover his self-respect, he questioned 
 in his own mind why he should hold himself 
 so thoroughly aloof. He had even gone so far 
 as to meet some of them with a shake of the 
 hand ; but, as yet, he had set his foot in no 
 house, outside his own abode, save those two. 
 
 It was, of course, only by occasional special 
 permission that Philip had opportunity of spend- 
 ing any time at Mrs. Hamilton's. But Mr. 
 Fassett was not hard with his boys. He knew 
 the necessity of occasional relaxation. He re- 
 membered that he was once a boy himself. 
 Mrs. Hamilton had especially urged that Philip 
 might be permitted to drop in occasionally at 
 tea-time, without the least formality ; and her 
 invitations were gladly accepted. 
 
 On the occasion of his first visit there after
 
 270 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 the conversation with Jerome, given above, 
 Philip related the circumstance to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Hamilton, telling, also, of the suggestions 
 Jerome had previously thrown out respecting 
 Mr. Glenn. 
 
 He saw some significant glances pass between 
 the two ; but, no opinion being expressed, he 
 could no longer restrain his impatience, and 
 asked, " Mr. Hamilton, what do you think 
 about it?" 
 
 " About Mr. Glenn's defrauding you ? Well, 
 really, I don't know : such things have been 
 done." 
 
 Philip grew uneasy. He wished Mr. Hamil- 
 ton would come at once to the point. 
 
 " I would not like to say any thing about it 
 to show such a suspicion," Philip added ; " but I 
 would like very much to know what sort of a 
 man he is." 
 
 " A very peculiar man, indeed ; a man that 
 keeps his own counsel. It would be difficult to
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 271 
 
 find out any thing about his business that he 
 did not choose to tell." 
 
 " What would you advise me to do, then ? " 
 asked Philip anxiously. 
 
 " Nothing. Just nothing at all. You 
 couldn't do any thing till you were of age, if 
 you knew he had cheated you." 
 
 " Is that so ? Jerome Reeves ought to have 
 known that. He professes to be a lawyer." 
 
 " A lawyer ! " laughed Mr. Hamilton. " A 
 lawyer, indeed ! 
 
 ** The truth is,'' continued Mr. Hamilton, 
 **it did occasion a great deal of talk among 
 your father's friends, when Mr. Glenn, as your 
 guardian, bound you to Capt. Reeves. But no 
 one could question his right to do so if he 
 thought best. He was your legal guardian. 
 Whenever any one approached him on the sub- 
 ject, he said it was your choice ; so there was 
 nothing further to be said about it." 
 
 Philip laughed ; but it was a laugh in which
 
 272 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 there was no pleasure. It was such a laugh as 
 one may use' in reviewing a folly of youth, 
 when it comes to be recognized as a folly, and 
 when its consequences, however bitter, have 
 become incorporated among the experiences of 
 life. 
 
 " If he had only chosen for me ! " said 
 Philip. " What did I know about it ? If he 
 had only put me in school ! Oh ! but I forget. 
 He said that was impossible just then. The 
 only choice I had was among different ways of 
 earning my living." 
 
 "Well, Philip," said Mrs. Hamilton affec- 
 tionately, " you had better dismiss the whole 
 subject. You will be of age by and by, and 
 then you can see about it." 
 
 " Ah ! but, Mrs. Hamilton, the time for edu- 
 cation will have gone by then. Now is th 
 time for that." 
 
 " Yes, Philip : I know all that. As Mr. Ham- 
 ilton said, Mr. Glenn is a very peculiar man.
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 273 
 
 One of his peculiarities is an undervaluing of 
 education. He thinks if a young man is fitted 
 for some honest and respectable money-making 
 business, that is enough. He believes in teach- 
 ing boys to be self-reliant. But can't you 
 study some where you are, Philip ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Mrs. Hamilton. I tried 
 that once," said Philip, laughing now at the 
 recollection of that which had been to him so 
 severe a trial at the time. He went on to tell 
 Mrs. Hamilton of his effort to study at his 
 work, and of the loss of his book in conse- 
 quence. All this, as a disclosure of the char- 
 acter of Capt. Reeves, was simply amusing to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton. 
 
 " However," she added, " I advise you to 
 try again. Mr. Fassett is a different man from 
 Capt. Reeves." 
 
 The supper was ended ; and, as the privilege 
 of making these informal visits did not release 
 Philip from the necessity of returning as soon 
 
 18
 
 274 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 as the meal was over, he put on his cap, and 
 walked briskly back, revolving over and over 
 in his mind the probabilities as to Mr. Glenn 
 being a cheat and a defrauder. " Peculiar ! " 
 he exclaimed as he hurried along. " I sho.uld 
 think he was peculiar. Well, if he enjoys his 
 ill-gotten gains as little as " His half-audible 
 voice subsided to a mere thought as he finished 
 the sentence with an allusion to the twenty- 
 dollar note that had for a time lain so heavily 
 on his heart ; and he felt disinclined to pursue 
 the subject of Mr. Glenn's dishonesty any 
 further. 
 
 A few minutes' walk brought him opposite 
 Mr. Glenn's place of business ; but he was not 
 in sight. He rarely was, from the street. His 
 place was always in the assiduous pursuit of his 
 occupation, wherever its demands met him. 
 People said he was close and avaricious. Per- 
 haps he was : else why should he have fleeced 
 Philip?
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 275 
 
 Philip found work waiting for him. There 
 were orders to be filled, packages to be made 
 up, and a multiplicity of odds and ends to be 
 attended to, just such as Mr. Fassett had fallen 
 into the habit of intrusting to Philip, on ac- 
 count of his systematic and orderly habits. 
 Philip soon ceased thinking of Mr. Glenn and 
 of his own lost fortune ; and found himself 
 growing quite cheerful, and in good-humor 
 with the world, in spite of Mr. Glenn, as he 
 busied himself with his various occupations. 
 
 Johnny's day was finished. His express- 
 wagon was housed, and his horse put up ; and 
 the little fellow came back from the performance 
 of these duties, through the store, on his way 
 home. Philip's eye rested for a moment on the 
 features of his little comrade ; and he thought 
 he looked graver and paler than usual. 
 Johnny also looked at him with a wistful 
 expression, and Philip said in his cheeriest tone, 
 " Going home, Johnny ? "
 
 276 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 The boy came nearer, and dropped on a box 
 close by Philip, his large blue eyes swimming 
 with tears. 
 
 " Why, Johnny, what is the matter ? " asked 
 Philip, dropping the hatchet with which he was 
 nailing up a box of goods for a country grocer. 
 " Have those boys been bullying you again ? " 
 
 " I don't care nothing about them boys," 
 said Johnny, struggling manfully, and choking 
 down his feelings of weariness and discourage- 
 ment. "But I wish you'd come and see 
 mother. She ain't very well ; and she has to 
 work so hard ! " And the tears threatened to 
 come again. 
 
 "I will," said Philip. "I will, the first 
 chance I can get. Now, you run home, and be 
 cheerful. I know you are tired," Philip added, 
 as he looked at the drooping boy ; " but try to 
 be bright, and cheer your mother ; won't you ? 
 That's the best thing you can do for her.'' 
 
 Philip's bright face brightened Johnny's ;
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 277 
 
 and he sprang up, almost forgetting his weari- 
 ness, and started homeward. 
 
 Although Philip had cheered him, yet his 
 wan face haunted Philip afterwards, and 
 brought to his remembrance some of his own 
 dismal days and nights, when he would have 
 given much for the help of a sympathizing 
 friend. His thoughts ran forward to the possi- 
 bility that Johnny might be left alone in the 
 world, as he had been ; and he felt how truly 
 every heart must bear its own burden, much too 
 heavy though it may be. Again he remem- 
 bered the support and strength he had derived 
 from the consciousness of God's love manifested 
 through Christ, who had taken away the guilt 
 of all his sins. " I wonder," he thought at 
 length, " if Johnny and his mother have any 
 such comfort." 
 
 The next morning Philip was startled by the 
 apparition of Mr. Glenn. That gentleman 
 came hurriedly towards him with a " Good-
 
 278 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 morning," as if it had been but a week since 
 he had had a conversation with him. 
 
 Philip responded somewhat coldly to his 
 greeting, and stood for a moment looking, as if 
 to say, " What do you want with me ? " 
 
 " So you ran away from Capt. Reeves, did 
 you ? " he said. 
 
 " No, sir," answered Philip firmly : " he dis- 
 missed me." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I recollect now," said Mr. 
 Glenn, passing his hand through his hair, as if 
 to recover his faculties. " I remember now 
 how it was. There was a difficulty between you 
 and him ; wasn't there ? Oh, yes ! I know now. 
 Well, Philip, I've kept my eye on you all the 
 time, though I suppose you didn't think so, did 
 you?" 
 
 " No, sir," answered Philip frankly. " I 
 don't know that I had any reason to suppose 
 you ever thought of me." 
 
 " But I did," answered Mr. Glenn with a
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 279 
 
 peculiar twinkle in his keen gray eyes, and an 
 incomprehensible expression about his mouth. 
 " I've kept my eye on you. I saw you riding 
 out one Sunday with Jerome Reeves." 
 
 " Only once, sir," said Philip. 
 
 " It was well that it was only once," he 
 replied, in the same quick, nervous manner. 
 " Yes, it was well. It wouldn't have taken 
 many such rides to land you in ruin." 
 
 " I know it, sir. I felt it then. I had no 
 money," said Philip, " or I might have done 
 worse." 
 
 Philip scarcely knew why he said this. But 
 somehow he felt a peculiar, grim pleasure in 
 saying to Mr. Glenn's very face, and in 
 jerking out the words with peculiar emphasis, 
 " I had no money, sir." 
 
 But Mr. Glenn's countenance did not 
 change. He simply replied, " Ah ! then it was 
 well that you had none. Many young men 
 are ruined by having money. Yes, that was
 
 280 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 well too. You didn't like it out there, did 
 you?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Are you satisfied here ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Ah ! that is well too. I haven't come near 
 you since you came here. I thought I'd wait 
 and see if you staid. I don't like fickleness." 
 
 " Nor I, sir." 
 
 " So I've kept an eye on you, to see if you 
 would stay here." 
 
 Philip worked on through all the conversa- 
 tion, only now and then lifting his eyes to Mr. 
 Glenn's face. 
 
 " Let me see," said Mr. Glenn after a pause. 
 " You've been out of school near three years, 
 haven't you ? " 
 
 " Four years next spring, sir." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! I remember. Well, you're get- 
 ting old enough to appreciate learning and im- 
 prove advantages now. Would you like to go 
 to school any more ? "
 
 PHILIP'S GUARDIAN. 281 
 
 " I don't see how I can. I've laid up noth- 
 ing, though I've been hoping I could lay by 
 enough to go again after a while." 
 
 " Well, I'll just tell you how it is. A little 
 debt to the estate has just come in, that I didn't 
 suppose was good for any thing : enough, may 
 be, to keep you along, and furnish you books 
 and clothes for a while, if you want to go." 
 
 " But my board, Mr. Glenn ? " 
 
 " Yes, I've thought of that too. Well, I've 
 a horse, and a cow, and wood to cut, and all 
 such things ; and I thought if you would like to 
 come and live with me, and be chore-boy, and 
 go to school, that would make it right all 
 around." 
 
 Philip thought a few moments. Recollec- 
 tions of a few weeks of misery at Mr. Glenn's, 
 after the breaking-up of his own home, came 
 over him with irresistible power ; weeks of 
 such misery, that Linside Farm, at least in 
 prospect, seemed a paradise in comparison.
 
 282 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 All this passed swiftly in review ; and he 
 replied, " Thank you, Mr. Glenn ; hut I have a 
 good situation now, that I can't afford to lose at 
 present. I think I must wait for some other 
 opening, or else be content with the studying 
 I can do by myself." 
 
 " Very well, very well," answered the gen- 
 tleman. " Remember that I made you the 
 offer. Good-morning, Philip. I shall keep 
 my eye on you." 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Glenn," answered 
 Philip as politely as possible ; and Mr. Glenn 
 turned his back and walked out of the store. 
 
 Philip worked desperately for a few minutes, 
 seizing a hatchet, and driving some unnecessary 
 .nails, just to work off his excitement. 
 
 " A little debt has come in, has it ? A little 
 something due the estate ? Conscience ! Yes ; 
 that's conscience ! He knows he has robbed 
 me. I wish he would take his eye off me, and 
 keep it off forever."
 
 PHILIPS GUARDIAN. 283 
 
 " He needn't trouble himself about me," his 
 thoughts broke out again and again. " Pecu- 
 liar ! Yes, I think so. He can keep the little 
 debt along with the rest. Conscience ! Yes : 
 ah ! I know what conscience is ! " 
 
 This last thought came to his mind with 
 subduing power. Yes, he well knew. His ex- 
 cited features and tense muscles relaxed ; and 
 he subsided into his ordinary self, and re- 
 proached Mr. Glenn no further. 
 
 Philip had not noticed that his pale-faced 
 little friend Johnny had passed and repassed 
 him several times, loading up his express- 
 wagon. Now Philip's ears caught the words, 
 " Tug away, my hearty ! yo, heave ho ! " and, 
 looking around, he saw Johnny endeavoring to 
 carry a heavy box from the rear of the store to 
 place it in his wagon. The little fellow was 
 bravely straining eveiy muscle, but making 
 very little progress ; and two other boys, who 
 happened at the moment to be idle, were
 
 284 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 taunting him, and amusing themselves at his 
 expense. 
 
 Philip seized one end of the box ; and he and 
 Johnny carried it triumphantly to its place, and 
 slipped it into the wagon. Johnny turned his 
 grateful face and thanked him heartily, and 
 sprang on his wagon and was off. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Glenn had gone to his desk, 
 and opened one of his massive books, and made 
 an entry there against Thomas H. Glenn, Dr.
 
 BEARING ANOTHER 'S BURDENS. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 
 
 ATURDAY night was always 
 a busy time. Everybody always 
 wanted something Saturday night: 
 and, besides waiting on the aforesaid 
 somebody, all the tangles of the week had to 
 be straightened out on Saturday night. Philip, 
 in the course of a year, had been found much 
 too acute and too active to be retained in the 
 capacity in which he had first entered the store, 
 though he still nominally held the same posi- 
 tion. He opened the store in the morning, and 
 closed it at night, and had still much rough 
 work to do ; but he was often called upon, in an 
 emergency, to perform other duties not alto-
 
 286 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 gether in his line. He could smile now at the 
 task, which seemed little short of impossible 
 when he first entered, of learning the names 
 and prices and places of all the various wares 
 of the establishment. No one knew more 
 readily than he where to find whatever was 
 wanted, and how to weigh out and wrap up 
 with neatness and despatch. 
 
 Johnny and the other boys were generally 
 kept at their posts some later on Saturday 
 nights than others. It was on one of those 
 busy nights that Johnny" came running in, in 
 breathless haste, after his short interval for 
 supper, which, indeed, on this occasion he had 
 scarcely made over ten minutes, coming and 
 going included. He looked flushed and excited, 
 and made straight to where Philip was weigh- 
 ing out half a pound of tea. 
 
 " Could you get me off to-night, Philip ? " 
 he asked eagerly. 
 
 "Off? For what?"
 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 287 
 
 " To go home. Mother is sick, so very 
 bad ! " he whispered. 
 
 " Why don't you ask Mr. Fassett ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I'm afraid. One of the boys asked 
 him once, and he wouldn't let him go. Won't 
 you ask him ? " 
 
 " Yes, directly." 
 
 Philip finished waiting on his customer ; 
 another and another was in a hurry for sundry 
 articles, and Philip had nearly forgotten his 
 little friend's request, till his eye happened to 
 rest on Johnny's little crouching figure on a 
 box near him, following with dilated eyes every 
 motion of the busy boy. He snatched a 
 moment, and begged his release of Mr. Fassett. 
 
 "What for?" asked the .merchant. "To 
 go to some circus, likely. No." 
 
 " His mother is very sick." 
 
 " I wonder if she really is ? " said Mr. Fas- 
 sett thoughtfully. 
 
 " I think Johnny can be trusted," answered 
 Philip timidly.
 
 288 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " Yes, I think he can. Tell him to put up 
 his horse, and go directly home." 
 
 Johnny darted away as soon as he had 
 received the permission, and in a very short 
 time was back, having put every thing away 
 snugly for the night. 
 
 He whispered to Philip as he passed, "Won't 
 you come to-morrow ? " 
 
 Philip answered " Yes," and Johnny was 
 gone. Philip saw the little trembling figure for 
 a moment, darting away beneath the gas-lights, 
 and wished he could go with him, and see how 
 matters were at home. But the hurry of busi- 
 ness went on around him, and poor little 
 Johnny was soon out of mind. 
 
 On the afternoon of the next day, Philip set 
 out to fulfil his promise to Johnny. It was a 
 balmy spring Sabbath. The winter was over 
 and gone. The sweet spring air reminded 
 Philip of market-gardens and market-stalls, and 
 the various successes and discouragements of
 
 BEARING ANOTHER 'S BURDENS. 289 
 
 his small traffic in lettuce and radishes, and 
 small accounts to be rendered up to exacting 
 and watchful masters. He turned to cross the 
 street, stopping a moment to wait as a horse 
 and buggy passed him with a flash. A familiar 
 nod greeted him. Two young men sat in the 
 buggy. One of them was Jerome Reeves ; and 
 " the other," thought Philip, " two years ago, 
 was I." How far removed from his present life 
 seemed that ghastly Sabbath of his memory ! 
 How remote all the associations that came with 
 it ! He shuddered as he remembered that a 
 few more steps in that same course might have 
 sent him to ruin forever. He wondered that 
 he should ever have felt a single pang of envy 
 towards Jerome ; but he knew he had. Now 
 he felt rescued and saved : not by any power 
 of his own, not by any thing in which he could 
 glory, save as a redeemed soul may glory in 
 recovering grace. 
 
 " 4 Who maketh thee to differ from another ? 
 
 19
 
 290 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 and what hast thou that thou hast not re- 
 ceived?'" he asked of himself, as his eye fol- 
 lowed the receding carriage, soon out of sight. 
 
 Philip in a few minutes was away from the 
 business-streets, and beyond the homes of the 
 wealthy and fashionable. A Sabbath quiet 
 seemed to rest over every object, and stole into 
 his heart. Fragments of divine truth came one 
 after another to his mind, and were to his taste 
 as honey and the honeycomb. The thought of 
 his own rescue from courses of sin was over- 
 powering. The consciousness of redemption 
 through the blood of Christ filled and possessed 
 him with surpassing sweetness. 
 
 He did not wonder, as he drew near 
 Johnny's dwelling, that the boy had thought it 
 the prettiest place in all the town. The tender 
 green of the young grass under the spring sun- 
 light was refreshing to both eye and spirit. 
 The light and joy of his own heart seemed to 
 transfigure every object around ; and the world
 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 291 
 
 in which Christ had lived and in which Christ 
 had died seemed beautiful enough to fill and 
 satisfy forever, if only sin were banished. 
 
 When Philip reached the door, it was opened 
 by Johnny himself. His pale face, with large 
 dark rings around his eyes, alarmed Philip, con- 
 vincing him that the boy himself, as well as his 
 mother, was ill. Johnny's countenance so im- 
 pressed him, that he entered on tiptoe, scarcely 
 daring to inquire of his little work-fellow how 
 his mother was. She was lying on a high, old- 
 fashioned bed, covered with a woollen coverlet, 
 in contrast with the gay colors of which her 
 white, death-like face was absolutely startling. 
 Some kind-hearted neighbor-women were caring 
 for her ; and little Johnny was quite at liberty, 
 and so much the more miserable. When the boy 
 had reached his home at supper-time, the previ- 
 ous evening, he had found her in the very agony 
 of a severe attack of hemorrhage of the lungs. 
 The compassionate woman whom she had
 
 292 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 barely been able to call from the next house 
 was kneeling over her ; and, as Johnny opened 
 the door, she had endeavored to screen from 
 him the appalling sight ; but he had sprung at 
 once to his mother's side with a scream of 
 horror. It was only on being warned of the 
 injury he would do her, that he had been 
 calmed. He had sljpped out at the door to 
 hide a burst of tears ; and then, finding he 
 could be of no immediate service, had darted 
 back to the store to obtain his release for the 
 evening, in order that, if he could not help her, 
 he could at least be near. 
 
 Mrs. Krantz was forbidden to speak ; but she 
 raised her hand to Philip, the same brown, 
 bony hand that had grasped his many times 
 before. Its grasp was weak and languid now : 
 before, it had sometimes made him wince. 
 
 She then reached out her finger, and pointed 
 to a verse in an open Bible that lay near her. 
 It was a German Bible, and Philip could not
 
 BEARING ANOTHER 'S BURDENS. 293 
 
 read it ; but he could make out the beloved 
 name, Jesus Christ, and he knew then where 
 her source of comfort lay. 
 
 Philip felt compelled to say, " I hope Christ 
 is with you." 
 
 She could not answer ; but she looked up 
 with a gleam of light in her eyes, and again 
 traced with her finger some comforting verse in 
 her Bible : and then clasped her hands with an 
 expression of perfect rest and peace. 
 
 It was the first time Philip had ever made 
 bold to speak to any one of that love of the 
 Saviour which lay, a priceless treasure, a silent 
 joy, in his own heart. But in the very act of 
 speaking just those simple words he felt 
 blessed. 
 
 Philip's visit was not long. No conversation 
 could be carried on, except with Johnny ; the 
 woman who was waiting upon Mrs. Krantz not 
 understanding a word of English, and Mrs. 
 Krantz herself being unable to speak. Johnny
 
 294 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 followed Philip out as he left, saying, as 
 they reached the open air, " O Philip, I'm so 
 lonesome ! " But the burden of his care and 
 anxiety no one could share with him ; and, 
 with Some cheering words, Philip passed on. 
 He took, in his way home, the street in which 
 he used to live, and passed the very house. 
 Strange faces were looking out at the windows ; 
 and the sight wakened anew his revengeful feel- 
 ings towards Mr. Glenn. 
 
 He passed on, by Mr. Glenn's house, a plain, 
 unpretending, though comfortable white frame 
 house. There was nothing there to provoke 
 envious feelings. There was no show of 
 wealth that, perhaps, was ill-gotten. Yet Philip 
 could not forbear thinking, " It's all invested 
 in Kansas," as he passed by. 
 
 The next morning, Johnny was at his post 
 as usual. He had left his mother's bedside un- 
 willingly ; yet, at her own bidding, he hesitated 
 no longer.
 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 295 
 
 " Yes, Johnny," she whispered: "you have 
 to go. May be you lose your place." 
 
 So Johnny appeared at the store, got out his 
 horse and wagon, and rode the streets all day, as 
 usual, no one suspecting how heavy a heart the 
 little fellow carried. But Philip knew. The 
 mute, plaintive appeal for sympathy in John- 
 ny's eyes was not lost upon him. He missed 
 no opportunity of rendering assistance to his 
 little companion ; and, however slight these 
 services, they were received with a glow of 
 gratitude, for they conveyed to the little fellow 
 not only the help of a willing hand, but the 
 strength and encouragement of a sympathizing 
 heart. 
 
 At the end of a week, Mrs. Krantz was 
 again able to move about her house, and 
 Johnny's heart was lightened. Indeed, he 
 seemed gayer than usual, and often said every- 
 body was so good to him. The little fellow did 
 not see that the unwonted kindness of their
 
 296 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 friends and neighbors was prompted by their 
 sorrow for him, as the dark shadow silently 
 gathered in his dwelling. 
 
 About two months later, as Johnny was 
 leaving his work at night, he glided up to 
 Philip and whispered, " I wish you'd come 
 and stay with me to-night. I'm afraid." 
 
 "Is she worse ? " asked Philip. 
 
 " No ; but I'm afraid, there alone with her." 
 
 " You don't stay alone with her, do you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I can't to-night." 
 
 Philip looked a moment at the little trem- 
 bling figure before him, and thought of the 
 weary nights of watching he had passed 
 through, with the anxiety about his invalid 
 mother hanging over him always. No wonder 
 the young face had grown pale and thin. 
 Philip readily promised to go and stay with 
 Johnny, as soon as he should be released from 
 the store. 
 
 According to his promise, when every thing
 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 297 
 
 was closed up for the night, Philip started. It 
 was a dark, drizzling night, so dark, that, as soon 
 as he had passed the gaslights, it was with diffi- 
 culty that he found his way. But, as he thrust 
 his hands into the pockets of his comfortable 
 coat, by some association his mind ran back to 
 that cheerless time, only some months back, 
 when he had sat alone and homeless in the 
 dreary woods. Looking back over the way 
 by which he had been led, a feeling of glad 
 thanksgiving crept into his heart, though 
 around were the darkness and the chill mist. 
 Before he was aware, he stood at Johnny's 
 door. It was opened by Johnny himself; and 
 he stepped into the little low room, lighted by a 
 single tallow candle. 
 
 " You're good," said Mrs. Krantz, " to come 
 and stay with my boy. Poor little Johnny ! " 
 said she affectionately, glancing towards the 
 pale face of her little son. 
 
 The boys then seated themselves, and carried
 
 298 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 on the conversation after their own fancy 
 She looked on and listened with pleasure, for 
 she had not seen Johnny so gay since she had 
 been ill. But the boys had no inducement to 
 make it a long evening, and soon retired to the 
 one other room, leaving the door ajar, so that 
 Johnny could hear if his mother wanted any 
 thing in the night. 
 
 They had not been long asleep, when Johnny 
 suddenly awoke, Philip by springing quickly out 
 of bed and striking a light. Philip had no idea 
 what had awakened the boy, so slight had been 
 the call ; but, in a moment more, Johnny called 
 to him in a startled voice, " Come, Philip : 
 quick, quick ! " 
 
 Philip dressed as hastily as possible, and 
 found the poor woman suffering with another 
 attack of her malady. Johnny was supporting 
 her head, himself almost as ghastly pale as she. 
 Help was quickly summoned ; and, there being 
 no way in which Philip could render any assist-
 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 290 
 
 ance, he retired to a corner, and seated himself 
 on a wooden settee. Johnny and the neighbor 
 watched by the sufferer, doing whatever could 
 be done for her relief. The dimly-lighted room 
 became fearfully silent. The clock on the 
 mantle ticked away the slow minutes, as, hour 
 by hour, that mother's life seemed to be ebbing 
 away. By and by, Philip heard the neighbor 
 say something to Johnny in German ; and 
 Johnny came to him and whispered, " She's 
 better now : you go to bed." 
 
 " Can you go too ? " asked Philip. 
 
 " No : I shall lie down by mother, and watch 
 her," said the little fellow bravely. 
 
 The neighbor went home to her own little chil- 
 dren, and Philip lay down on the bed with his 
 clothes on, to be ready for any emergency. Con- 
 trary to his intentions, he was soon fast asleep, 
 and was conscious of nothing further till he 
 heard Johnny moving quietly about, and, open- 
 ing his eyes, found it was daylight. He sprang
 
 300 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 up and hastened away, to attend to his morning 
 duty at the store, though not without a glance 
 at Mrs. Krantz. She was sleeping ; but so 
 pale, that, but for some nervous tremulousness 
 about the eyelids, she might have been sup- 
 posed already dead. 
 
 " I shall tell Mr. Fassett you can't come to- 
 day. Shall I, Johnny ? " 
 
 " I have to come, if he wants me bad. But 
 I wish 1 didn't have to." 
 
 " Leave that for me to manage," answered 
 Philip. " If he needs you, I will let you 
 know, some way." 
 
 The morning was foggy, and though nearly 
 summer, yet so chilly that Philip was glad to 
 draw his coat closely around him as he hastened 
 away through the lonely streets, scarcely yet 
 disturbed by a single passer. It was a little 
 earlier than he was accustomed to open the 
 store, and he was glad, after the disturbed rest 
 of the night, to turn out of his way and take a
 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 301 
 
 hasty walk to pass away the surplus time. 
 Johnny was not summoned that day, nor did 
 Philip know how it was faring with him and 
 his mother. It was a busy day, as nearly all 
 days were at the store ; and it was not until 
 the day's work and the evening's work, too, 
 were ended, that Philip found time to go and 
 inquire. 
 
 As he drew near, there were persons passing 
 in and out, and talking in low tones ; but, the 
 talk being all in German, Philip could learn 
 nothing till he entered. The bed was removed, 
 and, stretched on a board resting upon chairs, 
 in the corner where the bed had been, lay 
 Johnny's mother. She had died at sunset, 
 from another attack of hemorrhage. Johnny 
 was crouched on the floor beside her, with 
 his face buried in his hands, moaning to him- 
 self in low tones, as he rocked to and fro, 
 " Meine mutter ! meine mutter ! meine gute 
 mutter ! "
 
 302 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip touched him on the shoulder. " Let 
 me see her," he asked. , 
 
 The hoy rose slowly, and reverently turned 
 back the covering from the face. 
 
 " Isn't she pretty ? " asked Johnny. 
 
 " Yes," answered Philip sincerely ; for death 
 had glorified that plain face, and left an im- 
 print there which seemed to say, " Thanks he 
 unto God, which giveth us the victory through 
 our Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
 " My mother, my pretty mother, my good 
 mother ! " moaned Johnny, passing his hand 
 across the brow from which the wrinkles of care 
 and hardship were wonderfully smoothed. He 
 might have continued for hours, had not one of 
 the neighbors gently replaced the covering, and 
 motioned to Philip to lead the boy away. 
 
 Philip passed his arm around Johnny, and 
 drew him into the next room, where the two 
 were alone. He endeavored to soothe and 
 comfort the poor boy as he best could ; but,
 
 BEARING ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 303 
 
 alas! how could he give comfort, when the 
 recollections of the dreary time that had fol- 
 lowed the death of his own parents and the 
 breaking-up of his own home were brought so 
 freshly to his memory ! He could only sympa- 
 thize. He endeavored to lead Johnny's 
 thoughts to the home above, to which his 
 mother had gone, for he knew of her trust in 
 the Saviour. But the boy's grief was too fresh, 
 and his realization of the glories of the heaven- 
 ly world too slight, to permit that only true 
 comfort to have effect. As yet, he could only 
 think of the earthly home, made empty and 
 desolate. 
 
 How long they sat there, Philip was not 
 aware ; but, at length, hearing the clock strike 
 eleven, he left his little friend in charge of the 
 neighbors who were in, and turned his steps 
 homeward. The moon, past the full, was just 
 rising, casting its sickly beams across his path. 
 He walked on, wondering somewhat how he
 
 304 
 
 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 was to reach his room at that hour of the 
 night ; but, having his own key of the store in 
 his pocket, he fell back on the conclusion to pass 
 the night on the counter, with his coat for a 
 
 O 
 
 pillow, if he could do no better.
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT. 
 
 LANCING down the street as he 
 drew near the store, Philip saw a 
 horse and buggy standing before the 
 door of the saloon, half a square 
 below, on the opposite side. The moonlight 
 fell clearly upon it, and he was sure it could 
 be no other than Jerome Reeves's. There were 
 lights within, and sounds of billiard-playing and 
 revelry. A moment more, and Philip was on 
 the sidewalk in front of Mr. Fassett's store, 
 ready to draw the key from his pocket and 
 enter. Just then the report of a pistol startled 
 him, followed in quick succession by another 
 and another. Then a scuffle; and two men 
 20
 
 306 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 rushed out of the saloon, calling, " Police, 
 police ! " 
 
 Instantly, as it seemed, men appeared from 
 various doors along the street, and hurried to 
 find out the cause of the disturbance. Philip, 
 impelled by the common impulse, ran thither 
 also, and entered the saloon. He had been 
 there once before, and remembered it well. 
 The crowd within was divided ; some gather- 
 ing around a man lying wounded on the floor, 
 others about some one farther within. Philip's 
 attention was first directed to the wounded man 
 as he lay on his back, with the blood flowing 
 from a ghastly wound in the side of his neck, 
 that could be nothing less than mortal, though 
 the man still lived. 
 
 " Let me go, I tell you ! " fiercely exclaimed 
 a voice from beyond. The voice startled 
 Philip ; and, glancing towards the other group 
 of Excited men, he saw in the midst of them 
 Jerome Reeves, struggling to free himself from
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT. 307 
 
 the grasp of two or three stout fellows who 
 were holding him. He had scarcely had time 
 to recognize Jerome, when the officers entered, 
 and, taking him prisoner, led him away. As he 
 passed by the spot where his murdered victim 
 lay, he glared furiously upon him, and was led 
 out, cursing him as he went. The wounded 
 man soon expired, and was carried away on a 
 bench ; and the crowd began to scatter. 
 
 " Here's his horse," said one in the crowd. 
 " Look here, youngster : didn't you use to live 
 at Reeves's ? Just jump in this here buggy, 
 and drive it out and tell the old man. You 
 wouldn't mind it, would you ? " 
 
 " Why, if there is any one else to do it," 
 Philip began. 
 
 " There ain't. None of us wants to go ; and 
 you don't get a ride very often," he added, 
 with a laugh that made Philip's brain reel, fresh 
 from the scene of horror. 
 
 He sprang into the buggy, and turned the
 
 308 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 horse's head homeward. The poor brute, glad 
 to be released from his weary waiting for his 
 more brutal master, dashed off at a quick trot. 
 Down the street, over the bridge, and out from 
 the town, Philip let him take his own pace. 
 Then drawing in the lines, he slackened his 
 speed to take breath after the excitement he 
 had passed through. 
 
 He was on his way to Linside Farm for the 
 first time since he had been driven thence. His 
 heart quaked with apprehension as he thought 
 of the duty before him. If he had had a mo- 
 ment for consideration, or if he had been in a 
 less excited state of mind, he would doubtless 
 have shrunk from the commission so unceremo- 
 niously thrust upon him. But it was too late 
 then. 
 
 He drove on in the still midnight, thinking 
 now of Jerome, thrust into a prisoner's cell, 
 now of his little friend crouching beside his 
 dead mother, now again of what he should say
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT, 309 
 
 to the captain when he should reach his desti- 
 nation. He had not been able to frame any 
 satisfactory way of making his dread statement, 
 when he found himself face to face with the 
 necessity of telling his story at once ; as the 
 horse turned of his own accord to the hitching- 
 
 O 
 
 post in front of Capt. Reeves's house. 
 
 Philip jumped out and tied the horse, 
 walked three or four times irresolutely to the 
 gate and back again, before he could make up 
 his mind to knock. When he did, it seemed as 
 if the fields and woods re-echoed the knock 
 from every direction. His first knock was 
 unanswered ; probably for the reason that it had 
 been no uncommon thing for the house to be 
 disturbed at all hours by Jerome's noisy return. 
 His second knock brought the challenge, 
 " Who's there ? " 
 
 " I want to see Capt. Reeves," replied 
 Philip. 
 
 " Directly," was the answer.
 
 310 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 A moment more, and the door was opened ; 
 and Capt. Reeves, half dressed, stood before 
 him. 
 
 " I have brought Jerome's horse home," 
 faltered Philip. 
 
 " Where's he ? " asked the captain hastily. 
 
 " He has been arrested," replied Philip, 
 trembling in every limb. 
 
 " Artested ! " repeated the captain : " what 
 for ? " 
 
 " He is charged with shooting a man." 
 
 " I knew it would come to this," said the 
 captain in a low, hissing voice, mingling his 
 reply with curses. "I knew it would come to 
 this." 
 
 Some one within had been listening ; and 
 Philip heard a suppressed groan. 
 
 " What's your name, young man ? " asked 
 the captain at length. 
 
 " Philip Landon." 
 
 " Philip Landon ! You ! Philip Landon !
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT. 311 
 
 You come to fling this bitter news in my face ? 
 How dare you ? " 
 
 By this time the family were thoroughly 
 roused. Sophy was sobbing and screaming, 
 while Mrs. Reeves came and stood in silence 
 to hear any further communication Philip 
 might have to make. But he had nothing 
 more. He had told his whole story, and was 
 shrinking back from Capt. Reeves as he stepped 
 furiously towards him. 
 
 But Capt. Reeves had no intention of using 
 violence towards Philip. It was a momentary 
 burst of passion, that quickly subsided as the 
 recollection of its cause returned to his mind. 
 
 " The worthless fellow," exclaimed the cap- 
 tain. " But how did you happen to be 
 there ? " 
 
 Philip explained the circumstances that had 
 brought him to the street at the moment. The 
 captain then uttered some further exclamations, 
 and Philip turned, saying, " Good-night, cap- 
 lain."
 
 312 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " What are you going to do now ? " 
 
 " I am going home now, sir." 
 
 " You are not going to walk back to town 1 
 No such thing. Come in, Philip. Come in, 
 and stay till morning." 
 
 " It's impossible," answered Philip. " I 
 must be at the store early. I can easily walk 
 back in a little while." 
 
 Mrs. Reeves added her importunities, but 
 Philip was firm in declining. 
 
 " Come in a few moments, then, and I will 
 drive you back," said the captain. " No ex- 
 cuses. Come right in." 
 
 Philip entered ; and the captain brought a 
 light, and ushered him into that mysterious par- 
 lor, of the interior of which he had never 
 obtained so much as a glimpse during the two 
 years he had spent in the house. If he could 
 have seen Pauly, he would have been content. 
 
 The captain kept him waiting but a moment, 
 and then re-appeared, prepared for his drive.
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT. 313 
 
 Philip heard him say as he left, " I cannot see 
 him to-night : there would be no use in trying. 
 I shall be back in half or three quarters of an 
 hour." 
 
 The captain took up the lines, and the horse 
 started for town again, turning somewhat stub- 
 bornly towards the stable as they passed, but 
 trotting off bravely when once thoroughly on 
 his way. The road was level and smooth ; and 
 the horse, tired rather with standing than with 
 travelling, made the best of his speed. During 
 the few minutes that the ride of two miles 
 occupied, the captain asked Philip many ques- 
 tions as to his welfare and progress, and really 
 manifested a kindly interest towards him. But 
 he made no allusion to his son, except to ask as 
 they passed the saloon, " Was it there ? " 
 
 " Yes," responded Philip. 
 
 " I thought so." 
 
 Nothing further was said. When Philip 
 jumped from the buggy, a few doors farther on,
 
 314 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 the captain reached out his hand and grasped 
 Philip',3 kindly as he bade him " Good-night." 
 " And excuse my roughness towards you," he 
 added. "A man doesn't always know what he 
 is saying when a great trouble comes so sudden. 
 But I've been expecting something of the kind. 
 Don't ever drink, Philip. Maybe I've been 
 hard on him, and driven him to this. I'm 
 afraid I have." 
 
 He turned, and was gone. Philip stood lis- 
 tening to the noise of the receding wheels. 
 How silent it was then ! How fearfully still 
 the deserted street ! every window shuttered 
 and barred ; every door locked ; people quietly 
 sleeping all around : although, not an hour before, 
 a soul had been sent by the hand of violence to 
 its dread account ; although a home had been 
 desolated ; although but a few streets off the 
 peacefully dead was slumbering, and a lonely 
 boy sobbing out his great sorrow. While he 
 stood, the sound of the horse's hoofs crossing 
 the bridge broke the stillness.
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT. 315 
 
 Philip took the key from his pocket and let 
 himself in, and silently lay down on the 
 counter, with his coat for a pillow, and a rug 
 thrown over him. It had been a nio-ht of too 
 
 O 
 
 much excitement for sleep ; and daybreak 
 found him awake and ready for business, 
 though unrefreshed. 
 
 Philip was weary and depressed the next 
 day ; but the activities of business aroused him 
 after a while. He found time during the day 
 to slip away to Johnny's home, and see how 
 the poor boy was faring. A sister of Mrs. 
 Krantz had arrived, with her husband and 
 other friends, so that Johnny's outer comfort 
 was provided for. The poor little sorrowful 
 face, however, looked up to him for sympathy, 
 which was all the comfort he could give. Yet 
 even this is so much, as to have been made the 
 subject of an inspired injunction : " Rejoice with 
 them that do rejoice, and weep with them that 
 weep."
 
 316 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 But Philip's time was not his own ; and he 
 soon hastened back to the store. The next 
 day was fixed for the burial of Johnny's moth- 
 er, and Philip was released from his duties, to 
 be present. The services were conducted in 
 German, and unintelligible to Philip ; but he 
 took his place as near as possibl? to Johnny. 
 The little fellow seemed to lean upon him. At 
 the grave, after the poor lonely boy had seen 
 the earth close over his heart's only earthly 
 treasure, the young friends parted ; Johnny to 
 return to his deserted home with his relatives, 
 Philip to turn aside and stand once more by 
 the granite column that marked the resting- 
 place of those who had brightened his own early 
 years. It was mid-afternoon of a warm day 
 in the end of spring. It had been four years 
 since the last one of those graves had closed, 
 and during those four years he had passed from 
 childhood to youth. The sadness awakened by 
 standing beside the resting-place of those whose
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT. 317 
 
 memory he held so dear was tempered by the 
 various experiences he had passed through. 
 He entered the little enclosure, looked carefully 
 to the condition of the evergreens and roses 
 he had planted four years before, measured 
 with his eye the still vacant place that remained, 
 " for me," he thought, but with no tinge 
 of morbid melancholy associated therewith. 
 
 *' My son, you have a life to live," he seemed 
 to hear his father say. How different the words 
 were to him from the time of their utterance, 
 and also from the time when he repeated them 
 to himself on the eve of his departure for 
 Linside ! A life to live ! He was beginning to 
 realize the meaning of those few words ; to 
 know something of what it is to live a human 
 life, with all its momentous issues. 
 
 " Live honorably ! " How much more it 
 meant for him now than then ! Then it had 
 meant simply to be above reproach, to pur- 
 sue a course of integrity among men. He had
 
 318 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 tried it and failed ; and had learned from that 
 failure how easily he might fail again under 
 circumstances of trial. But connected with 
 the injunction now came to his mind the words, 
 " To them who by patient continuance in well- 
 doing, seek for glory and honor and immortal- 
 ity, eternal life." How much higher the 
 standard ! how infinitely greater the reward ! 
 Instead of repeating with an audible voice his 
 impotent " I will," he lifted his heart in silent 
 prayer to the Father of spirits, that he might 
 be upheld, guided, accepted, and rewarded, 
 through the infinite and unfailing merits of 
 Christ the Redeemer. 
 
 He then walked quietly back to resume the 
 business of every-day life, to interweave amid 
 its multiplicity of common cares the duties of 
 holy living ; not as a meritorious work wrought 
 out by his own strength, and in reliance upon 
 his own uprightness, but as a service of love to 
 him who from amidst the ruins of sin gathers 
 jr wels for his own crown.
 
 SCENES OF A NIGHT. 319 
 
 The next morning, Johnny appeared in his 
 accustomed place in the store. His friends had 
 gone home. They were poor people ; and, as 
 Johnny had a good place, they had left him 
 not unfeelingly, but because they could not do 
 otherwise to struggle with his grief and lone- 
 liness as he best could. The few articles of 
 furniture that had sufficed for himself and, his 
 mother were to be sold. The proceeds would 
 not more than meet a small balance due on the 
 rent. A neighbor had agreed to board Johnny 
 at the lowest rate that would cover the ex- 
 pense. 
 
 Philip well knew what it meant to be alone 
 and homeless ; and his affections went out more 
 and more towards his pale-faced little fellow- 
 worker. His mind and heart were strength- 
 ened by the very exercise of bestowing his love 
 and sympathy on one younger and more help- 
 less than himself. His manhood began to 
 assert itself in those very qualities in which man
 
 320 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 is noblest, in protecting, helping, sheltering the 
 weak and sorrowing. How wisely the relations 
 of life are ordered for the development of these 
 magnanimous traits !
 
 JEROME'S TRIAL. 321 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 JEROME'S TRIAL. 
 
 EAN WHILE, Jerome had 
 been bailed out of his imprison- 
 ment, and was riding up and 
 down the street as gayly as ever. 
 Sometimes Philip only saw him as he went 
 whirling past the open door : sometimes he 
 encountered him. Whenever this occurred, 
 Jerome recognized him with a great show of 
 familiarity, from which Philip made his escape 
 as soon as possible. On one occasion, however, 
 he could not avoid Jerome, as he reined in his 
 horse to the sidewalk, and signified his desire to 
 speak. 
 
 " Say," said Jerome : " what did you see the 
 
 other night, over there ? " 
 21
 
 322 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 " When and where do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you needn't pretend. Some of the 
 fellows told me you were there. A pretty place 
 for you to be, I think, with your pretensions ! 
 But no matter about that now. What did you 
 see over there in the saloon, the night of the 
 fracas ? " 
 
 " I saw a wounded and dying man." 
 
 " Yes, yes : I suppose so. But did you see 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What did you see me do ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Good ! Then you can't say I did it. 
 That's all. That's what I wanted to know ; " 
 and he gathered up his lines and trotted off. 
 
 " What does he mean ? " thought Philip. 
 " Doesn't he know I wasn't there till after it 
 was all over ? " He had forgotten that the 
 sound of a shaking leaf chases the guilty man. 
 He hastened on, glad to be rid of Jerome's
 
 JEROME'^S TRIAL. 323 
 
 presence. Yet his feeling was not, " Stand by, 
 for I am holier than thou : " it was rather a 
 feeling of devout and humble thanksgiving in 
 view of the ruin he had himself escaped. He 
 was thinking of the fearful possibilities of sin 
 that lay within his own breast, held in check 
 only by the providence and grace of God. 
 
 Jerome's trial took place in the early part of 
 the summer. It had not occurred to Philip 
 that his participation in the transactions of that 
 night in the saloon would involve him as a 
 witness in the case. But so it was. To his 
 great astonishment, he was summoned to appear 
 and give his testimony respecting the affray, of 
 which he had witnessed only the results. He 
 was glad he had nothing to tell. He would 
 have given much, rather than appear against 
 one, whom, in that hour of disaster and dis- 
 grace, he could think of only as he first knew 
 him, a feeble, crippled boy, cut off" from all 
 aims which were congenial to him, or to which
 
 324 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 it was even possible for him to apply hioiself, 
 pining in restless indolence, and at length turn- 
 ing to vicious courses for want of something 
 worthy the application of his powers. Not 
 that these circumstances excused him : they 
 only ensnared him to his ruin. 
 
 But Philip was compelled to appear. He 
 turned away his eyes as much as possible from 
 the prisoner at the bar. All their boyish talks 
 in the wood-lot seemed thronging in his mem- 
 ory; and the picture of Jerome then was 
 so much pleasanter, that, if possible, he would 
 gladly have kept it. Yet he could not alto- 
 gether avoid looking at his former friend. 
 He was pale and listless, having been de- 
 prived of his accustomed stimulants, and 
 looked far more like the occasional companion 
 of earlier times than Philip had seen him look 
 for months. 
 
 Taking upon his lips, with an awful sense of 
 its solemnity, that oath which is so often given
 
 JEROME'S TRIAL. 325 
 
 and received with lightness, Philip told his 
 story, and was examined and cross-examined, 
 always with the same result : that he knew 
 nothing more than everybody knew, that a 
 man was shot, and that Jerome was charged 
 with doing the deed. 
 
 Philip was present when the sentence of im- 
 prisonment was pronounced. He could not look 
 to see what effect was produced upon the pris- 
 oner. When he did, after a while, turn that 
 way, Jerome's countenance betrayed nothing. 
 Perhaps he had felt, during all the time, such 
 a dread certainty as to the result, that he 
 was neither shocked nor surprised when it 
 came. 
 
 As Philip's eyes met his, Jerome motioned as 
 if to speak with him. 
 
 " I want you," said Jerome with strong 
 calmness, " to go and tell them all about it, out 
 at the farm." His voice quivered a little. 
 " They are not here. Father told me he
 
 3'26 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 wouldn't be here ; and I'd rather you would tell 
 them than anybody else." 
 
 Philip promised. 
 
 " I'm glad you had nothing to say against 
 me, except that I was there," Jerome added 
 with a smile ; but the smile was more ghastly 
 than his composure had been. 
 
 " So am I," answered Philip fervently. 
 
 " One thing more," added Jerome, his voice 
 quivering again. " Tell tell them all about 
 it ; and tell Pauly " he could not speak for 
 a moment "tell Pauly not to forget me." 
 
 u I will," answered Philip. " And, Jerome, 
 let me give you one parting word. * The blood 
 of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin. 1 ' 
 
 We will not record Jerome's answer. It 
 was not such as to give hope that he would 
 take heed to the heavenly message. Yet who 
 can tell ? Every word of the Lord is a seed 
 germed with life ; and he may give it increase 
 long after the sower has forgotten the planting 
 of it.
 
 JEROME'S TRIAL. 327 
 
 Philip lost no time in executing Jerome's 
 commission. Mr. Fassett readily permitted him 
 to go, and supplied a horse for him to ride. It 
 was near night, and a drizzling fog filled the 
 air. Philip felt chilled and dreary, as he rode 
 slowly on, dreading the moment when his an- 
 nouncement must be made. Yet it was not so 
 trying as the occasion of his last visit ; for now 
 his message must be expected. 
 
 The captain met him at the door. The 
 whole family were evidently in a state of ex- 
 pectation. Though the captain had not even 
 looked within the door of the court-room 
 while his only son was on trial, yet little else 
 had been thought of in the house while the 
 trial progressed. 
 
 " What was it ? " asked the captain eagerly. ' 
 
 " Imprisonment." 
 
 " The worthless fellow ! " exclaimed the 
 captain. " I will harden myself like steel 
 against him." But at the same moment he
 
 328 L1NSIDE FARM. 
 
 turned pale, and a look of anguish convulsed 
 his features. 
 
 Philip stood a moment silent before him. 
 He had nothing further to communicate, except 
 the message to Pauly. 
 
 " Might I see Pauly a moment ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! come in : come in, Philip. I had 
 forgotten myself." 
 
 Philip had no desire to witness the distress 
 of Mrs. Reeves, nor to hear the raving of Miss 
 Sophy. Yet he could not do otherwise than 
 enter. The supper-table was ready. There 
 was Jerome's plate prepared for him. Had 
 they a lingering hope that he would be with 
 them, acquitted and released that night ? 
 
 Mrs. Reeves had heard Philip's announce- 
 ment at the door. Her face was pale and 
 rigid ; but she neither made any outward show 
 of grief, nor looked to her husband for support. 
 She seemed ten years older than when Philip 
 had left the farm, a year and a half before.
 
 JEROME'S TRIAL. 329 
 
 Her form was bowed, her hair was streaked 
 with gray, and her face wore that look of 
 settled sorrow which no new trial could 
 deepen. It had come there gradually, yet 
 swiftly, as Jerome had gradually but swiftly 
 gone down in ruin. She moved about like 
 one in a dream, finishing the preparations for 
 supper. 
 
 The captain stepped to the door, and called 
 Pauly. She came dancing in : she had not yet 
 heard the news. Philip was still standing, as 
 she came in with her hands full of flowers, and 
 laid them softly by Jerome's plate. That 
 simple action opened the flood-gates of grief; 
 and all broke down in tears and sobs, not ex- 
 cepting Capt. Reeves himself. His flimsy 
 covering of steel was gone. He was a man 
 and a father. 
 
 Pauly comprehended it all, and sank on the 
 floor. In the midst of the tears and groans,
 
 330 
 
 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip glided to Pauly's side, and whispered 
 Jerome's message in her ear. He then turned 
 and walked swiftly out, mounted his horse, and 
 galloped home.
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 331 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 WO more years passed by, and Philip 
 found himself standing on the verge 
 
 of manhood. But there was no 
 change for him to look forward to ; no 
 property for him to acquire possession of, 
 " thanks to Mr. Glenn," as he sometimes said 
 to himself, seeing that gentleman pass to and 
 fro, in busy attention to his ovvn affairs. But 
 this recollection no longer brought with it the 
 rankling bitterness it once had brought. He 
 was strong in his youthful self-reliance, a self- 
 reliance not founded upon confidence in his own 
 powers merely, but in the providential care of 
 God, blessing his efforts, and strengthening him 
 in the ability he possessed to make his own way
 
 332 LTNSIDE FARM. 
 
 by his own industry and care. Though he had 
 not just the amount nor just the kind of edu- 
 cation he had set his heart upon in his earlier 
 years, yet he had a clear head ; and, through 
 Mr. Fassett's kindness and instruction, he had 
 acquired good business-habits : and he had no 
 misgivings as to the future. 
 
 He had seen nothing of Mr. Glenn, save an 
 occasional greeting as they met in the streets, 
 since the morning that he appeared to offer him 
 the opportunity of going to school, with the 
 accompanying necessity of living at his house in 
 the capacity of chore-boy. One morning in 
 April he was surprised by the sudden appear- 
 ance of Mr. Glenn in the store. He walked 
 straight to Philip, and said abruptly, " Let me 
 see, Philip : you are nearly twenty-one, 1 be- 
 live. When is your birthday ? " 
 
 " May 17," replied Philip. " Why, may I 
 ask, Mr. Glenn ? " 
 
 " Oh ! nothing special. I just wanted to
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 333 
 
 know. My office as your guardian expires 
 then, you understand. It has been a nominal 
 office in some respects ; but still I felt interested 
 to know just when the time will expire." 
 
 " May 17," repeated Philip stiffly. 
 
 " If you had got into any trouble that I 
 could have have helped you out of," continued 
 Mr. Glenn, " you may depend you would have 
 heard from me. If you had come to me when 
 you did get into trouble, I should have helped 
 you ; but you got through it pretty well. I 
 believe in letting well enough alone ; " and 
 Mr. Glenn laughed. " I'm heartily glad 
 you've done so well," he resumed. " And so, 
 after May 17, I need not trouble myself any 
 further about you." 
 
 " Not at all, sir," replied Philip, still more 
 stiffly. " I hope you will not be uneasy about 
 me from now till then." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " replied Mr. Glenn good-na- 
 turedly. " You haven't been a very heavy 
 burden. Good-morning, Philip."
 
 061 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip coldly bowed Mr. Glenn out of the 
 store. For a few moments he felt thoroughly 
 roused against him. " To think of his coming 
 here to remind me of what he has done for me ! 
 I suppose on my birthday he'll come again, to 
 square accounts. He'll expect a great show 
 of gratitude from me, no doubt." 
 
 Philip looked up and saw Mr. Fassett's eye 
 resting upon him with an expression that puz- 
 zled him. The flush died out of his face ; and, 
 with a hearty laugh, he exclaimed, " Cool, 
 wasn't it? " 
 
 " A very peculiar man," replied Mr. Fas- 
 sett. 
 
 " I think so. Cool, I do think ! Quite 
 refreshing ! " 
 
 Philip's indignation was gone. He was able 
 after that to think with a feeling of amusement, 
 as he saw Mr. Glenn go bustling about his 
 business, " Poor man ! in a few weeks more you 
 will be released of your load of care about me."
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 335 
 
 His birthday came on a Tuesday. On the 
 Monday previous, he received a pretty little 
 note from Mrs. Hamilton, inviting him to take 
 tea with her the next evening, at seven o'clock. 
 "A quiet little party," the note went on to 
 say, "just to celebrate the happy event. You 
 may bring Johnny with you if you like." 
 
 When Philip spoke to Mr. Fassett about it, 
 he answered as if he understood it already. 
 Philip was not used to parties ; and it was no 
 wonder that this summons threw him into some 
 degree of agitation. He had some misgivings 
 about being able to conduct himself party- 
 fashion ; but finally settled to the conclusion 
 that at Mrs. Hamilton's he surely could get on 
 well enough. 
 
 The next day dawned, May 17. Philip 
 was a man. He had a voice now in the affairs 
 of his country, a vote on all matters of public 
 importance. He wished it were an election- 
 day, that he might go at once and deposit that
 
 336 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 precious bit of paper. Aside from the acquisi- 
 tion of this privilege, he was sensible of no 
 change in his condition. 
 
 Soon after seven, he presented himself, with 
 little Johnny, at Mrs. Hamilton's house. He 
 was surprised at the hum of voices that came 
 through the half-open door. On entering, he 
 found that Mr. Fassett and his wife had pre- 
 ceded him ; his pastor and wife were there ; some 
 young men with whom he had formed acquaint- 
 ance in the Bible-class ; with some other ladies 
 and gentlemen, strangers to him ; and last, 
 though not least, Mr. Glenn. Philip was not 
 glad to see his face there. Most of the others 
 were persons who had shown a lively interest 
 in his welfare. Some of them were his best 
 benefactors. But the presence of Mr. Glenn 
 seemed to throw a chill over the whole party. 
 Yet Philip could not fail to observe that he was 
 never before so affable and genial. He seemed 
 to be in high spirits. "It is because he is about
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 337 
 
 to be released from his heavy charge," thought 
 Philip, with a smile, many times in the course 
 of the evening. 
 
 By and by they gathered around a well-filled 
 supper-table. Mrs. Hamilton's housekeeping 
 resources seemed to have been taxed to do 
 honor to the occasion. Philip began to think, 
 as he cast his eye along the beautifully-arranged 
 table, spread with every thing that could tempt 
 the appetite or please the eye, that, after all, to 
 become of age was more of an event, even in 
 his life, than he could possibly have imagined. 
 
 As the repast concluded, Mr. Glenn arose 
 from his seat, and, turning to Philip, addressed 
 him : , 
 
 " Philip Landon, my ward no longer, allow 
 me to congratulate you on this happy occasion ; 
 not only upon having attained the age of man- 
 hood, but upon having attained it with honor. 
 I am happy to resign my care of your interests, 
 leaving you in such prosperous circumstances. 
 
 22
 
 338 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 My oversight of your affairs has not come very 
 much under your observation ; yet I have never 
 for a moment lost sight of you. You have had 
 some hardness to endure ; but it is in this way 
 that good soldiers are made. While I have not 
 seen reason to interfere with your personal 
 affairs, I have guarded your interests in other 
 respects ; and I am happy now to resign to 
 yourself the care of your little fortune, satisfied 
 that the habits of industry, fortitude, and fru- 
 gality you have acquired will qualify you for 
 the trust. You may call upon me at any time, 
 and I will submit to your inspection the ac- 
 counts I have kept with your father's estate 
 from first to last ; and I will also place in your 
 hands various obligations amounting to about 
 five thousand dollars : and with it may you 
 have that blessing of the Lord that maketh 
 
 o 
 
 rich, and addeth no sorrow therewith ! " 
 
 Philip was overwhelmed. He gazed at Mr. 
 Glenn in speechless astonishment. He scarcely
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 339 
 
 gave a thought to the snug little sum of money 
 of which he had come into possession. He 
 was so occupied in revolving over and over the 
 injustice he had done his guardian, that there 
 was no place in his mind for any thing else. 
 
 " Answer him, Philip," whispered some one. 
 He looked up. It was Mrs. Hamilton. 
 
 " Answer him," she repeated ; " answer 
 him." 
 
 " I can't. Indeed I can't, Mrs. Hamilton. 
 Not now." 
 
 " Mr. Fassett, you will have to answer for 
 him," suggested Mrs. Hamilton gayly. 
 
 Mr. Fassett replied, giving utterance to just 
 what he knew Philip would have him say, and 
 expressing the utmost confidence and esteem 
 towards his clerk ; for such, in reality, Philip 
 had become. 
 
 Then followed congratulations all around ; in 
 the course of which Philip learned various 
 facts in relation to Mr. Glenn's management of
 
 340 LTNSIDE FARM. 
 
 his affairs, which, it appeared, were much better 
 understood by Mr. Fassett and by Mr. and 
 Mrs. Hamilton than by himself. He learned, 
 that, when his father's books and papers were 
 first placed in the hands of Mr. Glenn, they 
 were in such a condition that it seemed there 
 would be nothing left to his son. He learned, 
 that, if Mr. Glenn had at once pressed mat- 
 ters to a final settlement, every thing would 
 have been sacrificed. He learned, that with 
 unwearied watchfulness, patience, and care, by 
 seizing favorable opportunities as eagerly as if it 
 had been his own interests that were involved, 
 he had at length extricated a certain amount. 
 This he had invested in Western lands, going 
 himself to locate them. They had risen in 
 value, had been sold, the money had been re- 
 invested and carefully looked after, until now it 
 had become the handsome amount which Mr. 
 Glenn proposed placing in Philip's hands. 
 At one period in these negotiations, a small
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 341 
 
 amount was left loose in Mr. Fassett's hands ; 
 and then it was that he had made the offer to 
 Philip to attend school if he liked, which 
 Philip rejected. He learned that Mr. Glenn 
 had grieved over his hardships with Capt. 
 Reeves, though perhaps not fully understand- 
 ing them. He learned that it had been Mr. 
 Glenn who assisted Mrs. Hamilton in procuring 
 for him a situation at Mr. Fassett's ; and that 
 he had also bought off Capt. Reeves from 
 pressing his claims to the full. In short, Philip 
 was forced to acknowledge, that, in all Mr. 
 Glenn's dealings with him, he had acted the 
 part of a friend and a father, though he had 
 been, as all his acquaintances freely admitted, a 
 little peculiar. 
 
 Some time after supper, Philip found Mr. 
 Glenn seated in a quiet corner, and, seizing him 
 warmly by the hand, poured forth his thanks in 
 the warmest terms for his care over his affairs. 
 
 " And I must add, Mr. Glenn," continued
 
 342 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 Philip, " that I have many times done you 
 great injustice in my thoughts." 
 
 "I know it," replied Mr. Glenn hastily. 
 ** I know it. I don't wonder. But no matter 
 now. I knew it would all come out right in 
 the end ; but how could you know ? All I 
 have to say to you now is, keep on as you have 
 begun. Don't let your money spoil you." 
 
 " I'll try not," said Philip, laughing, " if you 
 will continue to be my adviser." 
 
 " I'll give you a hint now and then, if you 
 want it. If you don't, just say so. Your 
 father and I were great friends, and I'll help 
 
 
 
 you all I can." 
 
 " I shall trust you hereafter," said Philip 
 with emphasis. 
 
 No one rejoiced in Philip's good fortune 
 more than little Johnny. He had kept shyly 
 in the background during the evening, but had 
 looked gayer than Philip had ever seen him 
 since his mother's death.
 
 , TWENTY-ONE. 343 
 
 " If I only had some one to tell it to ! " said 
 he as they were on their way home. " It would 
 be so nice ! She would be -so glad to hear about 
 it." 
 
 " I know it," replied Philip ; and nothing 
 more was said on the subject. 
 
 As Philip was taking his leave at Mrs. Ham- 
 ilton's, his pastor had slipped a small package 
 into his hands, with a few earnest words to 
 remind him that not only had he come into new 
 possessions and increased honors, but that new 
 duties and responsibilities were now crowding 
 thickly upon him. 
 
 When Philip reached his room, he opened 
 the package. It was a beautiful Bible. On 
 the fly-leaf was written his name, with the 
 motto, 
 
 " Wherewith shall a young man cleanse his 
 way ? By taking heed thereto, according to 
 thy word." 
 
 Philip opened the book to a familiar place,
 
 344 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 and read, " Give me neither poverty nor 
 riches : feed me with food convenient for me. 
 Lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is 
 the Lord ? or lest I be poor and steal, and take 
 the name of my God in vain." 
 
 He drew a pencil-mark opposite, on the mar- 
 gin, as he had done in his own old Bible. 
 " Lest I be poor and steal," he repeated. 
 " Ah ! I know what that means." Many times 
 he had prayed that prayer, with special empha- 
 sis on that caution ; for he had learned the fear- 
 ful power of temptation, and the weakness of 
 him who trusts in his own heart. " Now," 
 thought he, " I must add the other also. I 
 never thought I was in any danger on that 
 side. * Lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, 
 Who is the Lord ? ' " 
 
 His prayer that night was full of thankful- 
 ness and humility and trust. Under his 
 altered circumstances, he consecrated himself 
 anew to the Lord, who had guarded him in his
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 34o 
 
 heedless youth, and had been so much better to 
 him than his fears. 
 
 Not long after, a new sign appeared over the 
 door of the same old store. Philip's capital 
 was invested in the business, and the name 
 became " Fassett & Landon." Little Johnny 
 (he will always be little) is busy behind the 
 counter all day long, as German clerk, waiting 
 upon the many who understand no other 
 tongue than their native one, which is also 
 native to him. He is accustomed to say he 
 wants no kinder masters ; and has no further 
 wish but to be laid beside his dear mother, 
 whenever he shall be called to lay down his 
 life. 
 
 Nothing gives Philip Landon more pleasure 
 than to aid the deserving ; and no one is more 
 charitable to those that fall into sin. " Consid- 
 ering thyself, lest thou also be tempted," is his 
 motto, kept ready for use at such times. For 
 other times, he has other sayings, equally apt ;
 
 346 LINSIDE FARM. 
 
 and the word of God furnishes them all. He 
 has not yet finished his course. He still has 
 his " life to live ; " and living according to these 
 sacred precepts, and trusting with humble faith 
 in Christ to be delivered finally from all sin, he 
 finds it to be the only true and safe way to 
 " Lve honorably ! "
 
 20578
 
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