THERE was something wrong about the affairs of old Mr. Bacon. Hisfarm, once the best tilled and most productive in the neighbourhood,began to show evidences of neglect and unfruitfulness; and that hewas going behindhand in the world, was too apparent in the fact,that, within two years he had sold twenty acres of good meadow, and,moreover, was under the necessity of borrowing three hundred dollarson a mortgage of his landed property. And yet, Mr. Bacon had notlaid aside his habits of industry. He was up, as of old, with thedawn, and turned not his feet homeward from the field until the sunhad taken his parting glance from the distant hill-tops.
A kind-hearted, cheerful-minded man was old Mr. Bacon, well liked byall his neighbours, and loved by his own household. His two oldestchildren died ere reaching the age of manhood; three remained. MaryBacon, the eldest of those who survived, now in her nineteenth year,had been from earliest childhood her father's favourite; and, as sheadvanced towards womanhood, she had grown more and more into hisheart. In his eyes she was very beautiful; and his eyes, thoughpartial, did not deceive him very greatly, for Mary's face was fairto look upon.
We have said that Mr. Bacon was a kind-hearted cheerful-minded man.And so he was; kind-hearted and cheerful, even though clouds werebeginning to darken above him, and a sigh from the coming tempestwas in the air. Yet not so uniformly cheerful as of old, thoughnever moody nor perverse in his tempers. Of the change that was inprogress, the change from prosperity to adversity, he did not seemto be painfully conscious.
Yes, there was something wrong about the affairs of old Mr. Bacon. Ahabit indulged through many years, had acquired a dangerousinfluence over him, and was gradually destroying his rationalability to act well in the ordinary concerns of life. As a youngman, Mr. Bacon drank "temperately," and he drank "temperately" inthe prime of life; and now, at sixty, he continued to drink"temperately," that is, in his own estimation. There were many,however, who had reason to think differently. But Mr. Bacon was nobar-room lounger; in fact, he rarely, if ever, went to a publichouse; it was in his own home and among his household treasures,that he placed to his lips the cup of confusion.
The various temperance reforms had all found warm advocates amonghis friends and neighbours; but Mr. Bacon stood aloof. He would havenothing to do in these matters.
"Let them join temperance societies who feel themselves in danger,"was his good natured answer to all argument or persuasion addressedto him on the subject.
He did not oppose nor ridicule the movement. He thought it a goodthing; only, he had in it no personal interest.
And so Mr. Bacon went on drinking "temperately" until habit, fromclaiming a moderate indulgence, began to make, so it seemed to hisfriends, rather unreasonable demands. Besides this habit ofdrinking, Mr. Bacon had another habit, that of industry; and, whatwas unusual, the former did not abate the latter, though it must beowned that it sadly interfered with its efficiency. He was up, as wehave said, with the dawn, and all the day he was busy at work; but,somehow or other, his land did not produce as liberally as in formertimes, and there was slowly creeping over every thing around him anaspect of decay. Moreover, he did not manage, as well as formerly,the selling part of his business. In fact, his shrewdness of mindwas gone. Alcohol had confused his brain. Gradually he wasretrograding; and, while more than half conscious of the ruin thatwas in advance of him, he was not fully enough awake to feelseriously alarmed, nor to begin anxiously to seek for the cause ofimpending evil. And so it went on until Mr. Bacon, suddenly foundhimself in the midst of real trouble. The value of his farm, which,after parting with the twenty acres of meadow land, contained buttwenty-five acres, had been yearly diminishing in consequence of badculture, and defective management of his stock had reduced thatuntil it was of little consequence.
The holder of the mortgage was a man named Dyer, who kept a tavernin the village that lay a mile distant from the little whitefarm-house of Mr. Bacon. When Dyer commenced his liquor-sellingtrade, for that was his principal business, he had only a fewhundred dollars; now he was worth thousands, and was about the onlyman in the neighbourhood who had money to lend. His loans werealways made on bond and mortgage, and, it was a little remarkable,that he was never known to let a sober, industrious farmer orstore-keeper have a single dollar. But, a drinking man, who wasgradually wasting his substance, rarely applied to him in vain; forhe was the cunning spider watching for the silly fly. More than oneworn-out and run-down farm had already come into his hands, throughthe foreclosure of mortgages, at a time of business depression, whenhis helpless victims could find no sympathizing friends able to savethem from ruin.
One day, in mid-winter, as Mr. Bacon was cutting wood at his ratherpoorly furnished wood pile, the tavern-keeper rode up. There wassomething in his countenance that sent a creeping sense of fear tothe heart of the farmer.
"Good morning, Mr. Dyer," said he.
"Good morning," returned the tavern-keeper, formally. His usualsmile was absent from his face.
"Sharp day, this."
"Yes, rather keen."
"Won't you walk in and take something?"
"No, thank you. H-h-e-em!"
There was a pause.
"Mr. Bacon."
The farmer's eye sunk beneath the cold steady look of Dyer.
"Mr. Bacon, I guess I shall have to call on you for them threehundred dollars," said the tavern-keeper, in a firm voice.
"Can't pay that mortgage now, Mr. Dyer," returned Bacon, with atroubled expression; "no use to think of it."
"Rather a cool way to treat a man after borrowing his money. I toldyou when I lent it that I might want it at almost any time."
"Oh! no, Mr. Dyer. It was understood, distinctly, that from four tosix months' notice would be given," replied Mr. Bacon, positively.
"Preposterous!" ejaculated the tavern-keeper. "Never thought of sucha thing. Six months notice, indeed!"
"That was the agreement," said Mr. Bacon, firmly.
"Is it in the bond?"
"No, it was verbal, between us."
Dyer shook his head, as he answered,--
"No, sir. I never make agreements of that kind; the money was to bepaid on demand, and I have ridden over this morning to make thedemand."
"It is midwinter, Mr. Dyer," was replied in a husky voice.
"Well?"
"You know that a small farmer, like me, cannot be in possession, atthis season, of the large sum you demand."
"That is your affair, Mr. Bacon. I want my money now, and must haveit."
There was a tone of menace in the way this was said that Mr. Baconfully understood.
"I haven't thirty dollars, much less three hundred, in mypossession," said he.
"Borrow it, then."
"Impossible! money has not been so scarce for years. Every one iscomplaining."
"You'd better make the effort, Mr. Bacon, I shall be sorry to putyou to any trouble, but my money will have to be forthcoming."
"You will not enter up the mortgage?" said the farmer.
"It will certainly come to that, unless you can pay it."
"That is what I call oppression!" returned Mr. Bacon, in momentaryindignation, for the utterance of which he was as quickly repentant.
"Good morning," said Dyer, suddenly turning his horse's head, andriding off at a brisk trot.
For nearly five minutes, old Mr. Bacon stood with his axe resting onthe ground, lost in painful thought. Then he went slowly into thehouse, and sitting down before the fire, let his head sink upon hisbreast, and there mused on the trouble that was closing around him.But there came no ray of light, piercing the thick darkness that hadfallen so suddenly.
Nothing was then said to his family on the subject, but it wasapparent to all that something was wrong, for the lips that gaveutterance to so many pleasant words, and parted so often in cheerfulsmiles, were still silent."
"Are you not well, to-day?" asked Mrs. Bacon, as the family gatheredaround the dinner-table, and she remarked her husband's unusuallysober face.
"Not very well," he replied.
"What ails you, father?" said Mary, with tender concern in hervoice, and her eyes were turned upon him with affectionateearnestness.
"Nothing of much consequence, child," was answered evasively. "Ishall be better after dinner."
And as Mr. Bacon spoke he poured out a larger glass of brandy thanusual--he always had brandy on the table at dinner time--and drankit off. This soon took away the keen edge of suffering from hisfeelings, and he was able to affect a measure of cheerfulness. Buthe did not deceive the eyes of Mrs. Bacon and Mary.
"I wonder what ails father!" said Mary, as soon as she was alonewith her mother.
"I don't know," answered Mrs. Bacon, thoughtfully, "he seemstroubled about something."
"I saw that Mr. Dyer, who keeps tavern over in Brookville, talkingwith father at the wood-pile this morning."
"You did!" Mrs. Bacon spoke with a new manifestation of interest.
"Yes; and I thought, as I looked at him out of the window, that heappeared to be angry about something."
Mrs. Bacon did not reply to this remark. Soon after, on meeting herhusband, she said to him,
"What did Mr. Dyer want this morning?"
"Something that he will not get," replied Mr. Bacon.
"The money he loaned you?"
"Yes."
"It's impossible to pay it back now, in the dead of winter," saidMrs. Bacon, in a troubled tone of voice, "he ought to know that."
"And he does know it."
"What did you tell him?"
"That to lift the mortgage now was out of the question."
"Won't he be troublesome? You remember how he acted towards poor oldMr. Peabody."
"I know he's a hard-hearted, selfish man. I don't believe that thereis a spark of humanity about him. But he'll scarcely go toextremities with me. I don't fear that."
"Did he threaten?"
"Yes. But I hardly think that he was in earnest."
How far this last remark of old Mr. Bacon was correct, the followingbrief conversation will show. It took place between Dyer and amiserable pettyfogging lawyer, in Brookville, named Grant.
"I've got a mortgage on old Bacon's farm that I wish entered up,"said the tavern-keeper, on calling at the lawyer's office.
"Can't he pay it off?" inquired Grant.
"Of course not. He's being running down for the last six or sevenyears, and is now on his last legs."
"And so you mean to trip him up before he falls of himself." Thelawyer spoke in an unfeeling tone and with a sinister smile.
"If you please to say so," returned Dyer. "I've wanted that farm ofhis for some time past. When I took the mortgage on it my object wasnot a simple investment at legal interest; you know that I can dobetter with money than six per cent a year."
"I should think you could," responded the lawyer, with a chuckle.
"When I loaned Bacon three hundred dollars, of course I neverexpected to get the sum back again. I understood, perfectly well,that sooner or later the mortgage would have to be entered up."
"And the farm becomes yours for half its real value."
"Exactly."
"Are you not striking to soon?" suggested the lawyer.
"No."
"Some friend may loan him the amount."
Dyer shook his head.
"It's a tight time in Brookville."
"I know."
"And still better for my purpose," said Dyer, in a low, meaning,voice; "drunkards have few friends; none, in fact, willing to risktheir money on them. Put the screws to Bacon, and his farm will dropinto my hands like a ripe cherry."
"You can hardly call Bacon a drunkard. You never see him staggeringabout, nor lounging in bar-rooms."
"Do you remember his farm seven years ago?"
"Perfectly well."
"Look at it now."
"There's a great difference, certainly."
"Isn't there! What's the reason of this?"
"Intemperance, I suppose."
"Drunkenness!" said the tavern-keeper. "That is the right word. Hedon't spend much in bar-rooms, but look over his store bill andyou'll find rum a large item."
"Poor Bacon! He's a good sort of a man," remarked the lawyer. "Ican't help feeling sorry for him. He's his own worst enemy."
"I want you to push this matter through in the quickest possibletime," said Dyer, in a sharp, firm voice.
"Very well. It shall be done. I know my business."
"And I know mine," returned the tavern-keeper.
On the next day, Mr. Bacon was formally notified that proceedingshad been instituted for the satisfaction of the mortgage. This wasbringing the threatened evil before his eyes in the most directaspect. In considerable alarm and perturbation, he called over tosee Dyer.
"You cannot mean to press this matter on to the utmost extremity,"said he, on meeting the tavern-keeper, the hard aspect of whosefeatures gave him little room for hope.
"I certainly mean to get my three hundred dollars," was replied.
"Can you not wait until after next harvest?"
"I have already told you that I want my money now," said Dyer, withaffected anger. "If you can pay me, well; if not, I will get my ownby aid of the Sheriff."
"That is a hard saying, Mr. Dyer," returned the farmer, in a subduedvoice.
"Nevertheless, it is a true one, friend Bacon, true as gospel."
"I haven't the money, nor can I borrow it, Mr. Dyer."
"Your misfortune, not mine. Though I must say, it is a littlestrange."
"What is strange?"
"That a man who has lived in this community as long as you have,can't find a friend willing to loan him three hundred dollars tosave his farm from the Sheriff. There's something wrong."
Yes, there was something wrong, and poor old Mr. Bacon felt it nowmore deeply than ever. Another feeble effort at remonstrance wasmade, when Mr. Dyer coldly referred him to Grant the lawyer, who hadnow entire control of the business. But he did not go to him. Hefelt that to do so would be utterly useless.
Regular proceedings were entered upon for the settlement of themortgage, and hurried to an issue as speedily as possible. It wasall in vain that Mr. Bacon sought to borrow three hundred dollars,or to find some person willing to take the mortgage on his farm, andlet him continue to pay the interest. It was a season when few hadmoney to spare, and those who could have advanced the sum required,hesitated about investing it where there was little hope of gettingthe amount back again except by execution and sale. For, Mr. Bacon,in consequence of his intemperance, was steadily running behindhand;and all his neighbours knew it.
The effect of this trouble on the mind of Mr. Bacon was to cause himto drink harder than before. His cheerful temper gave place to asilent moodiness, when in partial states of sobriety, which wherenow of rare occurrence, and he lost all interest in things aroundhim. A greater part of his time was spent in wandering restlesslyabout his house or farm, but he put his hand to scarcely any work.
Deeply distressed were Mrs. Bacon and Mary. Each of them had called,at different times on Mr. Dyer, in the hope of moving him bypersuasion to turn from his purpose.
But, only in one way would he agree to an amicable settlement, andthat was, by taking the farm for the mortgage and three hundreddollars cash; by which means he would come into possession ofproperty worth from twelve to fifteen hundred dollars. This offer herepeated to Mary, who was the last to call upon him in the hope ofturning him from his purpose.
"No! Mr. Dyer," said the young girl firmly, even while tears were inher eyes. "My father will not let the place go at a third of itsreal value."
"He over-estimates its worth," replied Dyer, with some impatience,"and he'll find this out when it comes under the hammer."
"You will not, I am sure you will not, sacrifice my father's littleplace,--the home of his children," said Mary, in an appealing voice.
"I shall certainly let things take their course," replied thetavern-keeper. "Tell your father, from me, that he has nothing tohope for from any change in my purpose, and that he need make nomore efforts to influence me. I will buy the place, as I said, forsix hundred dollars, its full value, or I will sell it for myclaim."
And saying this, the man left, abruptly, the room in which hisinterview with Mary was held, and she, hopeless of making anyimpression on his feelings, arose and retired from the house,taking, with a sad heart, her way homeward. Never before had Mary, agentle-hearted, quiet, retiring girl, been forced into such roughcontact with the world at any point. Of this act of intercession forher father, Mr. Bacon knew nothing. Had she dropped a wordof her purpose in his hearing, he would have uttered a positiveinterdiction. He loved Mary as the apple of his eye, and she lovedhim with a tender, self-devoted affection. To him, she was a choiceand beautiful flower, and even though his mind had become, in acertain degree, degraded and debased by intemperance, there was init a quick instinct of protection when any thing approached hischild.
Slowly and thoughtfully, with her eyes bent upon the ground, didMary Bacon pursue her way homeward; and she was not aware of theapproach of footsteps behind her, until a man stood by her side andpronounced her name.
"Mr. Green!" said she, in momentary surprise, pausing as she lookedup.
Mr. Green was a farmer in easy circumstances, whose elegant andhighly cultivated place was only a short distance from her father'sresidence. He was, probably, the richest man in the neighbourhood ofBrookville; though, exceedingly close in all money matters. Mr.Bacon would have called upon him for aid in his extremity, but fortwo reasons. One was, Mr. Green's known indisposition to lend money,and the other was the fact that he had several times talked to himabout his bad drinking habits; at which liberty he had takenoffence, and retorted rather sharply for one of his mild temper.
The colour mounted quickly to Mary's face, as she paused and liftedher eyes to the countenance of Mr. Green. The fact was, she had beenthinking about him, and, just at the moment he came to her side, shehad fully made up her mind to call upon him before going home.
"Well Mary," said he, kindly, and he took her hand.
Mary's lips quivered, but she could not utter a word.
Mr. Green moved on, still holding her hand, and she moved by hisside.
"I'm sorry to hear," said Mr. Green, "that your father is introuble. I learned it only an hour ago."
"That is just what I was coming to see you about," replied Mary,with a boldness of speech that surprised even herself.
"Indeed! Then you were coming to see me," said Mr. Green, in avoice that was rather encouraging than otherwise.
"Yes, sir. But father knows nothing of my purpose."
"Oh! Well, Mary, what is it you wish to say to me?"
The young girl's bosom was heaving violently. Some moments passedere she felt calm enough to proceed. Then she said--
"Mr. Dyer has a mortgage on father's place for three hundreddollars, and is going to sell it."
"Mr. Dyer is a hard man, and your father should not have placedhimself in his power," remarked Mr. Green.
"Unhappily, he is in his power."
"So it seems. Well, what do you wish me to do in the case?"
"To lend me three hundred dollars," said Mary, promptly. Thusencouraged to speak, she did not hesitate a moment.
"Lend you three hundred dollars! returned Mr. Green, rathersurprised at the directness of her request. "For what use?"
"To pay off this mortgage, of course," replied Mary.
"But, who will pay me back my money?" inquired Mr. Green.
"I will," said Mary, confidently. "You! Pray where do you expect toget so much money from?"
"I expect to earn it," was firmly answered.
Mr. Green paused, and turning towards Mary, looked earnestly intoher young face that was lit up with a beautiful enthusiasm.
"Earn it, did you say?"
"Yes, sir, I will earn and pay it back to you, if it takes alifetime to do it in."
"How will you earn it, Mary?"
Mary let her eyes fall to the ground, and stood for a moment or two.Then looking up, she said--
"I will go to Lowell."
"To Lowell?"
"Yes, sir."
"And work in a factory?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Green moved on again, but in silence, and Mary walked with ananxious heart by his side. For the distance of several hundred yardsthey passed along and not a word was spoken.
"To Lowell?" at length dropped from the lips of Mr. Green, in a tonehalf interrogative, half in surprise. Mary did not respond, and thesilence continued until they came to a point in the road where theirtwo ways diverged.
"Have you thought well of this, Mary?" said Mr. Green, as he pausedhere, and laid his hand upon a gate that opened into a part of hisfarm.
"Why should I think about it, Mr. Green?" replied Mary. "It is notime to think, but to act. Hundreds of girls go into factories, andit will be to me no hardship, but a pleasure, if thereby I can helpmy father in this great extremity."
"Is he aware of your purpose?"
"Oh, no sir! no!"
"He would never listen to such a thing."
"Not for a moment."
"Then will you be right in doing what he must disapprove?"
"It is done for his sake. Love for him is my prompter, and that willbear me up even against his displeasure."
"But he may prevent your going, Mary."
"Not if you will do as I wish."
"Speak on."
"Lend me three hundred dollars on my promise to you that I willimmediately go to Lowell, enter a factory, and remain at work untilthe whole sum is paid back again from my earnings."
"Well!"
"I will then take the money and pay off the mortgage. This willrelease father from his debt to Mr. Dyer, and bring me in debt toyou."
"I see."
"Father is an honest and an honourable man."
"He is, Mary," said Mr. Green. His voice slightly trembled, for hewas touched by the words of the gentle girl.
"He will not be able to pay you the debt in my stead."
"No."
"And, therefore, deeply reluctant as he may be to let me go, hecannot say nay."
"Walk along with me to my house," said Mr. Green, as he pushed openthe gate at which he stood, "I must think about this a little more."
The result was according to Mary's wishes. Mr. Green was a truefriend of Mr. Bacon's, and he saw, or believed that he saw, in hisdaughter's proposition, the means of his reformation. He, therefore,returned into the village, and going to the office of Grant,satisfied the mortgage on Mr. Bacon's property, and brought all thepapers relating thereto away and placed them in Mary's hands.
"Now," said he, on doing this, "I want your written promise to payme the three hundred dollars in the way proposed. I will draw up thepaper, and you must sign it."
The paper was accordingly drawn up and signed. It stipulated thatMary was to start for Lowell within three weeks, and that she was tohave two years for the full payment of the debt.
"My brave girl!" said Mr. Green, as he parted with Mary. "No onewill be prouder of you than I, if you accomplish the work to whichyou are about devoting yourself. Happy would I be, had I a daughterwith your true heart and noble courage."
Mary's heart was too full to thank him. But her sweet young face wasbeaming with gratitude, as she turned away and hurried homeward.
Mr. Bacon was walking uneasily, backwards and forwards in the oldporch, when Mary entered the little garden gate. She advancedtowards him with a bright face, holding out as she did so, a smallpackage of papers.
"Good news, father!" she exclaimed. "Good news!
"How? What, child?" eagerly asked the old man, his mind becomingsuddenly bewildered.
"The mortgage is paid, and here is the release!" said Mary, stillholding out the package of papers.
"Paid! Paid, Mary! Who paid it?" returned Mr. Bacon, with the air ofa man awaking from a dream.
"I have paid it, father dear!" answered Mary, in a trembling voice;and she kissed the old man's cheek, and then laid her face down uponhis breast.
"You, Mary?" Where did you get money?"
"I borrowed it," murmured the happy girl.
"Mary! Mary! what does this mean?" said the old man, pushing backher face and gazing into it earnestly. "Borrowed the money! Why, whowould lend you three hundred dollars? Say, child!"
"I borrowed it of Mr. Green," replied Mary, and as she said this,she glided past her father and entering into the house, hurried awayto her mother. But ere she had time to inform her of what she haddone, the father joined them, eager for some further explanations.When, at last, he comprehended the whole matter, he was, for a timelike a man stricken down by a heavy blow.
"Never," said he, in the most solemn manner, "will I consent tothis. Mr. Green must take back his money. Let the farm go! It shallnot be saved at this price."
But he soon comprehended that it was too late to recall the act ofhis daughter. The money had already passed into the hands of Dyer,and the mortgage been cancelled. Still, he was fixed in his purposethat Mary should not leave home to spend two long years of incessanttoil in a factory, and immediately called on Mr. Green in order tomake with him some different arrangement for the payment of theloan. But, to his surprise and grief, he found that Mr. Green wasunyielding in his determination to keep Mary to her contract.
"Surely! surely! Mr. Green, "urged the distressed father," you willnot hold my dear child to this pledge, made under circumstances ofso trying a nature? You will not punish--I say punish--a gentlegirl like her for loving her father too well."
"If there is any hardship in the case," replied Mr. Green, calmly,"you are at fault, and not me, Mr. Bacon."
"Why do you say that?" inquired the old man.
"For the necessity which drove your child to this act ofself-sacrifice, you are responsible."
"Oh sir! is this a time to wound me with words like these? Why doyou turn a seeming act of kindness into the sharpest cruelty?"
"I speak to you but the words of truth and soberness, Mr. Bacon.These, no man should shrink from hearing. Seven years ago, your farmwas the most productive in the neighborhood, and you in easycircumstances. What has produced the sad change now visible to alleyes? What has taken from you the ability to manage your affairs asprosperously as before? What has made it necessary for your child toleave her father's sheltering roof and bury herself for two longyears in a factory, in order to save you from total ruin? Go home,Mr. Bacon, and answer these questions to your own heart, and may thepain you now suffer lead you to act more wisely in the future."
"My daughter shall not go!" exclaimed the old man, passionately.
"I hold her written pledge to repair to Lowell at the expiration ofthree weeks, and to repay the loan I made her in two years. Will youcompel her to violate her contract?"
"I will execute another mortgage on my farm and pay you back theloan."
"Act like a wise man," said Mr. Green. "Let your daughter carry outher noble purpose, and thus relieve you from embarrassment."
"No, no, Mr. Green! I cannot think of this. Oh, sir! pity me! Do notforce my child away! Do not lay so heavy a burden on one so young.Think of her as your own daughter, and do to me as you wouldyourself wish to be done by."
But Mr. Green was deaf to all these appeals. He was a man of greatfirmness of purpose, and not easily turned to the right nor to theleft.
During the next three weeks, Mr. Bacon tried every expedient in hispower, short of a total sacrifice of his little property, to raisethe money, but in vain. Except for a circumstance new in his life,he would, in his desperation, have accepted Dyer's offer of sixhundred dollars for his farm, and thus prevented Mary's departurefor Lowell--that circumstance was his perfect sobriety. Not sincethe day when Mr. Green charged upon him the responsibility of hischild's banishment from her father's house, had he tasted a drop ofstrong drink. His mind was therefore clear, and he was restrained byreason from acts of rashness, by which his condition would berendered far worse than it was already.
Bitter indeed were the sufferings of Mr. Bacon, during the quickpassage of the three weeks--at the expiration of which time Mary wasto leave home, in compliance with her contract--and the more bitter,because his mind was unobscured by drink. At last, the moment ofseparation came. It was a clear cold morning towards the latter endof March, when Mary left, for the last time, her little chamber, andcame down stairs dressed for her journey. Ever, in the presence ofher father and mother, during the brief season of preparation, hadshe maintained a cheerful and confident exterior; but, in her heart,there was a painful shrinking back from the trial upon which she wasabout entering. On going by the door of Mary's chamber, a fewminutes before she came down, Mrs. Bacon saw her daughter kneelingat her bedside, with her face deeply buried among the clothes. Nottill that moment did she fully comprehend the trial through whichher child was passing.
The stage was at the door, and Mary's trunk strapped up in the bootbefore she came down. In the porch stood her father and mother, andher younger brother and sister, waiting her appearance.
"Good bye, father," said the excellent girl, in a cheerful voice, asshe reached out her hand.
Mr. Bacon caught it eagerly, and essayed to speak some tender andencouraging words. But though his lips moved, there was no soundupon the air.
"God bless you!" was at length uttered in a sobbing voice. A ferventkiss was then pressed upon her lips, and the old man turned away andstaggered rather than walked back into the house.
More calmly the mother parted with her child. It was a great trialfor Mrs. Bacon, but she now fully comprehended the great use to flowfrom Mary's self-devotion, and, therefore, with her last kiss,breathed a word of encouragement.
"It is for your father. Let that sustain you to the end." A fewmoments more, and the stage rolled away, bearing with it the verysunlight from the dwelling of Mr. Bacon. Poor old man! Restlesslydid he wander about for days after Mary's departure, unable to applyhimself, except for a little while at a time, to any work; but hisinquietude did not drive him back to the cup he had abandoned. No,he saw in it too clearly the cause of his present deep distress, tolook upon and feel its allurement. What had banished from herpleasant home that beloved child, and sent her forth among strangersto toil from early morning until the going down of the sun? Could helove the cause of this great evil? No! There was yet enough virtuein his heart to save him. Love for his child was stronger than hisdepraved love of strong drink. A few more ineffectual efforts weremade to turn Mr. Green from his resolution to hold Mary to hercontract, and then the humbled father resigned himself to thenecessity he could not overcome, and with a clearer mind and a newlyawakened purpose, applied himself to the culture of his farm, which,in a few months, had a more thrifty appearance than it had presentedfor years.
In the mean time, Mary had entered one of the mills at Lowell, andwas doing her work there with a brave and cheerful spirit. Somepainful trials, to one like her, attended her arrival in the cityand entrance upon the duties assumed. But daily the trials grewless, and she toiled on in the fulfilment of her contract with Mr.Green, happy under the ever present consciousness that she had savedher father's property, and kept their homestead as the gatheringplace of the family. At the end of three months, she came back andspent a week. How her young heart bounded with joy at the greatchange apparent in every thing about the house and farm, but, mostof all, at the change in her father. He was not so light of word andsmilingly cheerful as in former times, but he was sober, perfectlysober; and she felt that the kiss with which he welcomed her briefreturn, was purer than it had ever been.
On the very day Mary came back, she called over to see Mr. Green,and paid him thirty-seven dollars on account of the loan, for whichhe gave her a receipt. Then he had many questions to ask about hersituation at Lowell, and how she bore her separation from home, toall of which she gave cheerful answers, and, in the end, repeatedher thanks for the opportunity he had given her to be of such greatservice to her father.
Mr. Green had a son who, during his term at college, exhibitedtalents of so decided a character that his father, after somedeliberation, concluded to place him under the care of an eminentlawyer in Boston. In this position he had now been for two years,and was about applying for admission to the bar. As children, HenryGreen and Mary Bacon had been to the same school together, and, aschildren, they were much attached to each other. Their intercourse,as each grew older, was suspended by the absence of Henry atcollege, and by other circumstances that removed the two familiesfrom intimate contact, and they had ceased to think of each otherexcept when some remembrance of the past brought up their images.
After paying Mr. Green the amount of money which she had saved fromher earnings during the first three months of her factory life, Maryleft his house, and was walking along the carriage way leading tothe public road, when she saw a young man enter the gate andapproach her.
Although it was three years since she had met Henry Green, she knewhim at a glance, but he did not recognize her, although struck withsomething familiar in her face as he bowed to her in passing.
"Who can that be?" said he to himself, as he walked thoughtfullyalong. "I have seen her before. Can that be Mary Bacon? If so, howmuch she has improved!"
On meeting his father, the young man asked if he was right in hisconjecture about the young person he had just passed, and wasanswered in the affirmative.
"She was only a slender girl when I saw her last. Now, she is ahandsome young woman," said Henry.
"Yes, Mary has grown up rapidly," replied Mr. Green, evincing noparticular interest in the subject of his remark.
"How is her father doing now?" asked Henry.
"Better than he did a short time ago," was replied
"I'm glad to hear that. Does he drink as much as ever?"
"No. He has given up that bad habit."
"Indeed! Then he must be doing better."
"He ran himself down very low," said Mr. Green, "and was aboutlosing every thing, when Mary, like a brave, right-minded girl,stepped forward and saved him."
"Mary! How did she do that, father?"
"Dyer had a mortgage of three hundred dollars on his farm, and wasgoing to sell him out in mid-winter, when nobody who cared tobefriend him had money to spare. On the very day I heard about histrouble, Mary called on me and asked the loan of a sum sufficient tolift the mortgage.
"But how could she pay you back that sum?" asked the young man insurprise.
"I loaned her the amount she asked," replied Mr. Green, "and she hasjust paid me the first promised instalment of thirty-seven dollars."
"How did she get the money?"
"She earned it with her own hands."
"Where?"
"In Lowell."
"You surprise me," said Henry. "And so, to save her father fromruin, she has devoted her young life to toil in a factory?"
"Yes; and the effect of this self-devotion has been all that I hopedit would be. It has reformed her father. It has saved him in adouble sense."
"Noble girl!" exclaimed the young man, with enthusiasm.
"Yes, you may well say that, Henry," replied Mr. Green. "In theheart of that humble factory girl is a truly noble and womanlyprinciple, that elevates her, in my estimation, far above any thingthat rank, wealth, or social position alone can possibly give."
"But father," said Henry, "is it right to subject her to so severe atrial? It will take a long, long time, for her to earn three hundreddollars. Does not virtue like hers--"
"I know what you would say," interrupted Mr. Green. "True I couldcancel the obligation and derive great pleasure from doing so, butit is the conclusion of my better judgment, all things considered,that she be permitted to fill up the entire measure of her contract.The trial will fully prove her, and bring to view the genuine goldof her character. Moreover, it is best for her father that sheshould seem to be a sufferer through his intemperance. I say seem,for, really, Mary experiences more pleasure than pain from what sheis doing. The trial is not so great as it appears. Her reward iswith her daily, and it is a rich reward."
Henry asked no further question, but he felt more than a passinginterest in what he had heard. In the course of a week, Maryreturned to Lowell and he went back to Boston.
Three months afterwards, Mary again came home to visit her parents,and again called upon Mr. Green to pay over to him what she had beenable to save from her earnings. It so happened that Henry Green wason a visit from Boston, and that he met her, as before, as she wasretiring from the house of his father. This time he spoke to her andrenewed their old acquaintance, even going so far as to walk aportion of the way home with her. At the end of another threemonths, they met again. Brief though this meeting was, it left uponthe mind of each the other's image more strongly impressed than ithad ever been. In the circle where Henry Green moved in Boston, hemet many educated, refined, and elegant young women, some of whomhad attracted him strongly; but, in the humble Mary Bacon, whosestation in life was that of a toiling factory girl, he saw a moralbeauty whose light threw all the allurements presented by thesecompletely into shadow.
Six months went by. Henry Green had been admitted to the bar, andwas now a practising attorney in Boston. It was in the pleasantmonth of June and he had come home to spend a few weeks with hisfamily. One morning, a day or two after his return, as he satconversing with his father, the form of some one darkened the door.
"Ah Mary!" said the elder Mr. Green rising and taking the hand ofMary Bacon, which he shook warmly. "My son, Henry," he added,presenting the blushing girl to his son, who, in turn, took her handand expressed the pleasure he felt at meeting her. Knowing thebusiness upon which Mary had called, Henry, not wishing to bepresent at its transaction, soon retired. As he did so, Mary drewout her purse and took therefrom a small roll of bank bills, saying,as she handed it to Mr. Green,
"I have come to make you another payment."
With a grave, business-like air, Mr. Green took the money and, aftercounting it over, went to his secretary and wrote out a receipt.
"Let me see," said he, thoughtfully, as he came back with thereceipt in his hand. "How much does this make? One, two, three,four, five quarterly payments. One hundred and eighty-seven dollarsand a half. You'll soon be through, Mary. There is nothing likepatience, perseverance, and industry. How is your father thismorning?"
"Very well, sir."
"I think his health has improved of late."
"Very much."
"And so has every thing around him. I was looking at his farm a fewdays ago, and never saw crops in a finer condition. And how is yourhealth, Mary."
"Pretty good," was replied, though not with much heartiness ofmanner.
Mr. Green now observed her more closely, and saw that her cheekswere thinner and paler than at her last visit. He did not remark onit, however, and, after a few words more of conversation, Mary aroseand withdrew.
It was, perhaps, an hour afterwards, that Henry said to his father,
"Mary Bacon doesn't look as well as when I last saw her."
"So it struck me," returned Mr. Green.
"I'm afraid she has taken upon her more than she has the strength toaccomplish. She is certainly paler and thinner than she was, and isfar from looking as cheerful and happy as when I saw her six monthsago."
Mr. Green did not reply to this, but his countenance assumed athoughtful expression.
"Mary is a good daughter," he at length said, as if speaking tohimself.
"There is not one in a thousand like her," replied Henry, with awarmth of manner that caused Mr. Green to lift his eyes to his son'sface.
"I fully agree with you in that," he answered.
"Then, father," said Henry, "why hold her any longer to hercontract, thus far so honorably fulfilled. The trial has proved her.You see the pure gold of her character."
"I have long seen it," returned Mr. Green.
"Her father is thoroughly reformed."
"So I have reason to believe."'
"Then act from your own heart's generous impulses, father, andforgive the balance of the debt."
"Are you certain that she will accept what you ask me to give? Willher own sense of justice permit her to stop until the whole claim issatisfied?" asked Mr. Green.
"I cannot answer for that father," returned Henry. "But, let me begof you to at least make the generous offer of a release."
Mr. Green went to his secretary, and, taking a small piece of paperfrom a drawer, held it up, and said--
"This, Henry, is her acknowledgment of the debt to me. If I writeupon it 'satisfied,' will you take it to her and say, that I holdthe obligation no farther."
"Gladly!" was the instant reply of Henry. "You could not ask me todo a thing from which I would derive greater pleasure."
Mr. Green took up his pen and wrote across the face of the paper, inlarge letters, "satisfied," and then, handing it to his son, said--
"Take it to her, Henry, and say to her, that if I had given way tomy feelings, I would have done this a year ago. And now, let mespeak a word for your ear. Never again, in this life, may a youngwoman cross your path, whose character is so deeply grounded invirtue, who is so pure, so unselfish, so devoted in her love, sostrong in her good purposes. Her position is humble, but, in alife-companion, we want personal excellences, not extraneous socialadjuncts. You have my full consent to win, if you can, this sweetflower, blooming by the way-side. A proud day will it be for me,when I can call her my daughter. I have long loved her as such."
More welcome words than these Mr. Green could not have spoken to hisson. They were like a response to his own feelings. He did not,however, make any answer, but took the contract in silence andquickly left the room.
The reader can easily anticipate what followed. Mary did not go backto Lowell. A year afterwards she was introduced to a select circleof friends in Boston as the wife of Henry Green, and she is now thewarmly esteemed friend and companion of some of the mostintelligent, refined, right-thinking, and right-feeling people inthat city. Her husband has seen no reason to repent of his choice.
As for old Mr. Bacon, his farm has continued to improve inappearance and value ever since his daughter paid off the mortgage;and as he, once for all, banished liquor from his house, he is in nodanger of having his little property burdened with a newencumbrance. His cheerfulness has returned, and he bears as of old,the reputation of being the best tempered, best hearted man in theneighborhood.
THE END.
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