Chapter VIII: Harrison Leaving School

"The Lord . . . . blesseth the habitation of the just."

THOUGH we have made rather a long digression, yet we think, the reader will be interested to know more of the family in which our hero was to reside.

As his children grew up Mr. Cowles endeavored to instill into their minds the principles which had governed his own life.

One evening, Warren, the oldest boy, was trying to write a composition. He had finished his caption, and was leaning his head on his hand, puzzling his brain as to how he should begin. His father came and looked over his shoulder, and read, "Honesty is the best policy."

"Honesty is the only policy, for the matter of that," he exclaimed. "If you had seen as many persons as I have, try to work by some other, and try cheating or lying as the best policy, you'd be convinced they had no policy at all. Men don't want to be fooled more than once. When they see you have overreached them, they are shy of you ever afterwards. Or, if you are skilful at the business, and they don't find you out for a little, why then it's so much the worse for you; for you're just clapped into jail, and there's the end of your story."

"But, after all," continued the old man, "policy is neither here nor there. Policy isn't the rule we're required to go by. We've a higher rule than that. We've the plain commands of God, right up and down. You can't leap over them nor crawl under them. There they are, and there they'll stand, strong as the everlasting hills."

Mr. Cowles, in his earnestness, had arisen, and was walking back and forth across the room.

"I wish you wouldn't say it so fast, father," called the boy; "I can't write half of it."

The mother smiled; but the father turned to his son and asked, "What are you doing, Warren?"

"Writing a composition, sir."

"And what shall you do with it when it is done?"

"Write my name at the bottom, sir, and give it to the master."

"Write mine, you mean, my boy. Don't you see that if you write down what I say, it will be my composition, not yours; and the master wont thank you for the job of correcting mine, I reckon. No, Warren, that's downright cheating, though I don't suppose you thought it."

"Come, boy!" said he, as the child began to cry, "there's no harm done yet. You're welcome to all my ideas, only put 'em into your own words. Isn't that it, wife?"

In this way, and under such discipline, Mary Jane, Warren, and John grew up to be an honor to their parents, and a blessing to all connected with them.

These worthy persons first formed the acquaintance of Mrs. Danforth at the time of her sore affliction. Mr. Cowles was one of the committee of the church to attend to similar cases of distress, and his kind consideration for her at that season had won her entire confidence and gratitude. They were, therefore, the first persons to whom she applied for advice, after leaving the house of Mrs. Haven, and it was with great willingness that they consented to her proposal to take Harrison into their family.

John Cowles was nearly Harrison's age, but not as fax advanced in his studies. This the latter much regretted, as he had just commenced Algebra, and found it taxed his intellectual powers to the utmost. Several times he was on the point of asking to be excused from this lesson, but the thought that his mother would be disappointed checked him. He knew if he were to ask her consent to this course, and tell her, "I can't understand it, mother," she would say, as she had often said before, "I know you don't, my dear. If you did, it would be unnecessary for you to attend school. That is the very object you go to school for, to learn to understand it."

Sometimes, however, Harrison puzzled a long time over the sum, because he did not understand the principle involved. Then Warren would come to his assistance, and explain the rule by which the result could be gained.

One special advantage which the boy derived from being in this family, was the privilege of attending, with his young friends, a course of public lectures on scientific subjects. While Mr. Cowles was exceedingly strict about many things, which he considered of hurtful, or even of doubtful tendency, he spared no expense within his means to afford them gratification in what he thought would be of permanent benefit. He even allowed them many innocent amusements.

Since he had been able, he had, every year, hired a substantial carriage and taken his entire family for a visit to his aged mother in the country. These were occasions of jubilee to the reunited household. Mr. Cowles often said he went back to the city strengthened for any duty after feeling his mother's trembling hand resting on his head, while she pronounced her fervent blessing.

It was Harrison's duty in this well-ordered family to cut kindlings, carry coal, go to market, sweep the steps and side-walk, or perform any of those multitudinous duties always necessary in a family of six. These services had formerly been rendered by John, who now assisted his father at the store.

In order to have time for a morning review of his lesson, our hero arose early, so as to get through as much of his work as possible before breakfast. Then he was by no means unmindful of his personal appearance; and he liked to rub the door-plate, sweep and scrub the steps before he should be likely to be recognized by any of his acquaintance who might chance to pass. Then he could dress for school, and go to market habited like a gentleman.

When Mrs. Danforth first noticed this trait in her son, she was much distressed by it. She knew that he must be aware that he was uncommonly attractive in his appearance, but she did not wish him to attach any importance to the fact. She feared that he might be led on by it, as his father had been, to consider honest labor beneath him. Yes, as she reflected more upon the subject, she could see that of late Harrison had appeared less humble, more proud and self-reliant. She prayed earnestly that God would protect her boy from sin, that he might see the folly of attaching importance to mere outward appearance, and that his heart might be kept pure and humble like that of a child.

Perhaps the peculiar circumstances of her own lot made her over sensitive on this point, certainly it is a duty to be neat and tasteful in dress, if we do not devote too much time and thought to it.

Her Heavenly Father answered her prayer, though in a manner that she dreamed not of.

About a fortnight later she returned home in a close carriage, about a week before the time for which she had engaged was expired. The good physician, whose acquaintance she first made in Ella's sick room, soon followed, and peremptorily ordered her to take her bed saying it was as true of nurses as of doctors that they made the worst patients in the world.

When Harrison returned from school he found his mother in a high fever, and was greatly alarmed to perceive that she did not appear to recognize him. Mrs. Cowles, who had a moment before left the room, found him standing by the bed side, large tears rolling down his cheeks. She endeavored to soothe him; but the poor boy could not shake off the fear that his beloved mother was to be removed from him by death.

Fortunate, indeed, was Mrs. Danforth, to be placed in the midst of such kind friends. Everything was done for her comfort as tenderly and cheerfully as if she had been a mother or a sister. Then, Harrison seemed suddenly gifted with the skill and experience in nursing for which his mother had been so distinguished. He could scarcely be persuaded to go from the room, and never left her to sleep. He lay upon a couch at her side, and at her slightest call was on his feet, wide awake, ready to administer to her comfort.

Ladies whom she had nursed constantly sent baskets of provisions,— dainty little dishes to tempt her appetite,—while others came in person to inquire for her, and to sit for a few hours by her bed side.

The Saturday following her sickness was the first on which Harrison had failed to visit Mrs. Haven and Ella in their suburban home. Occasionally he stayed over night, and walked to church with them in the morning, but generally only made a call of a few hours. On the occasion in question, Ella watched at the window from two until five, and then had a hearty cry when her mother convinced her it was too late for him to come. The next morning, in church, her eyes were constantly wandering to the humble slip in the gallery where Mrs. Danforth hired seats for herself and her son. After the service was through she whispered to her mother that she was sure Harrison was sick, and begged that they might go through the street where he lived and inquire for him.

They did so. And while Ella unwillingly accompanied Mary Jane to church in the afternoon, Mrs. Haven remained to assist Mrs. Cowles in the care of her very sick friend.

At the end of three weeks Mrs. Danforth sent her son to several ladies to inform them that she regretted being unable to meet her engagements with them. At the same time she confessed to her kind physician her doubts whether she should ever again be well enough to bear so much fatigue and loss of sleep as were necessary in the faithful discharge of the duties of a monthly nurse. She acknowledged that often, after being up through the night, she experienced such a dizziness and languor that it was with difficulty she could rouse herself; that the constant care which she felt for her patients, and her sympathy with their sufferings, deprived her of her appetite, so that at times she really loathed her food.

One mild day near the close of winter, more than a month from the commencement of her illness, Dr.— called for her in his carriage; and, having surrounded her with shawls and robes, drove away to the cottage of Mrs. Haven, where his patient had promised to pass a few days. This was the closing week of Harrison's term, and his teacher had expressed a strong desire for him to be present. So he was not to accompany his mother, though he much wished to do so; for he knew that in this time she meant to decide somewhat upon her future course.

For the last fortnight he had taken his books to his mother's room and improved every spare moment in the review of studies upon which he knew his class to be engaged, so that he was not so much behind them as he had feared; and, as during the last week he gave his undivided attention to his lessons, he was able to retain the high stand he had heretofore maintained in his class.

As he stood forth to receive the medal awarded him, he little thought that his schooldays were ended, that he should be numbered among that happy band no more.

When he joined his mother on Wednesday evening, he found that her ride, though so short, had proved too much for her strength, and that she had not yet recovered from it. The evening was passed in discussing plans for the future, and at length it was decided that Mrs. Danforth should retain her room at Mr. Cowles's, together with a small one in the rear, which they had kindly agreed to give her, and that Harrison should endeavor to find a place in a store. Mrs. Haven really urged the widow to remain with her until her health rendered her able to work at her old employment, and Ella added her earnest entreaties; but she was firm. If it was absolutely necessary, she said, she would not resist their kindness; but she still had a small sum left untouched; and while it was in her power she preferred to be independent.

"I am old enough now," said Harrison, in a resolute tone, "to support you, mother. I wish you would give up the thought of making vests, except for me; I shall begin to wear them soon."

"Oh don't!" cried Ella, gazing at him with admiring eyes; "I'm afraid you'll look just like a man!"

They all laughed, and Harrison assured her he was almost a man.

"I'm so sorry!" exclaimed the little girl, mournfully.

"Why?" inquired her mother.

"Because—because—" she hesitated, "because he has always been a boy ever since I've known him; and I'm afraid when he's a man he won't come running in at the gate, and laugh, and say, 'How do you do, Ella?' and dig round my flowers, and say, 'Have you nothing for me to do, Mrs. Haven?' I'm afraid he'll just come in and hold out his finger so, for me to shake, and then sit down and read the newspapers all the time he is here, as cousin Grason does."

"I promise you, I won't do that," answered Harrison proudly. "I shall do exactly the same as I do now, except perhaps that I shall walk instead of run. You know now I have so little time I want to improve it to the utmost; so I don't loiter much on the way when I'm coming out here."

Still Ella shook back her curls, and could not be persuaded to say that she was not sorry.

"But," said her mother, "when Harrison is a man you will be a young lady."

"And perhaps," suggested Mrs. Danforth, "you will not care to see him then as you do now. He is just about to enter upon his great struggle with life. He will have to work hard. Perhaps if you should meet him some day with a carter's frock on, you would turn your head in the other direction, and not like to have it known that you were acquainted with him."

Harrison's face was crimson; but the little girl only laughed. "You know very well I shouldn't do that!"

"How do I know?" he asked, seriously.

"Because you looked real funny when you were sitting in the back-porch with your apron tied close around your neck, and that little straw hat on; but I liked you just as well as I do now."

"You have argued the case fairly and won!" exclaimed her mother laughing. "I had no idea she remembered that," she added, turning to Mrs. Danforth. "It was more than three years ago. Why, she was not five years old."

The little girl remained silent and thoughtful for a few minutes, and then asked, "When I'm grown to be a woman, Harrison, if I'm poor,— I mean very, very poor,—should you be ashamed to speak to me?" She looked earnestly in his face, anxiously awaiting his reply.

"Why, Ella! you ought to know that I should like you all the same, or rather better; though I should be sorry to have you very, very poor, as you call it."

"What kind of business should you prefer?" inquired Mrs. Haven; "I suppose you have some fancy about it."

"I had rather be a merchant," responded the boy, "if I could be a good one, as your husband was."

"If he were living," exclaimed the lady, with deep feeling, "he would be able to advise you, and probably could readily procure you a place. I will do all in my power to assist you; but you know there are difficulties attending good situations. For instance, in such a house as my husband's, many a gentleman would be willing to pay a handsome sum annually for the sake of having his sons learn the business thoroughly."

"I know it!" cried Harrison. "Mr. Cowles says if Mr. Lothrop, where he has worked so long, would take Warren into his store he would be glad to have him work three years without pay. It would be the making of him."

"But you have to support your mother," suggested Mrs. Haven, playfully.

"Yes, ma'am; and for that reason I shall not apply for such a place. I shall try to get in where they will give me a regular salary from the very beginning. I am willing to work early and late; and it don't cost us much for our food, does it, mother?"

Mrs. Danforth sighed, though presently she spoke, in a cheerful tone,— "If I have my health, my son, I have no doubt we shall be very comfortable."