CHAPTER VI. MR. FROST MAKES UP HIS MIND
“Well, Frank,” said his father at supper-time, “I’ve been speaking to Mr. Maynard this afternoon about your plan.”
“What did he say?” asked Frank, dropping his knife and fork in his eagerness.
“After he had thought a little, he spoke of it favorably. He said that, being too old to go himself, he should be glad to do anything in his power to facilitate my going, if I thought it my duty to do so.”
“Didn’t he think Frank rather young for such an undertaking?” asked Mrs. Frost doubtfully.
“Yes, he did; but still he thought with proper advice and competent assistance he might get along. For the first, he can depend upon Mr. Maynard and myself; as for the second, Mr. Maynard suggested a good man, who is seeking a situation as farm laborer.”
“Is it anybody in this town?” asked Frank.
“No, it is a man from Brandon, named Jacob Carter. Mr. Maynard says he is honest, industrious, and used to working on a farm. I shall write to him this evening.”
“Then you have decided to go!” exclaimed Frank and his mother in concert.
“It will depend in part upon the answer I receive from this man Carter. I shall feel if he agrees to come, that I can go with less anxiety.”
“How we shall miss you!” said his wife, in a subdued tone.
“And I shall miss you quite as much. It will be a considerable sacrifice for all of us. But when my country has need of me, you will feel that I cannot honorably stay at home. As for Frank, he may regard me as his substitute.”
“My substitute!” repeated Frank, in a questioning tone.
“Yes, since but for you, taking charge of the farm in my absence, I should not feel that I could go.”
Frank looked pleased. It made him feel that he was really of some importance. Boys, unless they are incorrigibly idle, are glad to be placed in posts of responsibility. Frank, though very modest, felt within himself unused powers and undeveloped capacities, which he knew must be called out by the unusual circumstances in which he would be placed. The thought, too, that he would be serving his country, even at home, filled him with satisfaction.
After a pause, Mr. Frost said: “There is one point on which I still have some doubts. As you are all equally interested with myself, I think it proper to ask your opinion, and shall abide by your decision.”
Frank and his mother listened with earnest attention.
“You are aware that the town has decided to give a bounty of one hundred and fifty dollars to such as may volunteer toward filling the quota. You may remember, also, that although the town passed the vote almost unanimously, it was my proposition, and supported by a speech of mine.”
“Squire Haynes opposed it, I think you said, father.”
“Yes, and intimated that I urged the matter from interested motives. He said he presumed I intended to enlist.”
“As if that sum would pay a man for leaving his home and incurring the terrible risks of war!” exclaimed Mrs. Frost, looking indignant.
“Very likely he did not believe it himself; but he was irritated with me, and it is his habit to impute unworthy motives to those with whom he differs. Aside from this, however, I shall feel some delicacy in availing myself of a bounty which I was instrumental in persuading the town to vote. Though I feel that I should be perfectly justified in so doing, I confess that I am anxious not to put myself in such a position as to hazard any loss of good opinion on the part of my friends in town.”
“Then don’t take it,” said Mrs. Frost promptly.
“That’s what I say, too, father,” chimed in Frank.
“Don’t decide too hastily,” said Mr. Frost. “Remember that in our circumstances this amount of money would be very useful. Although Frank will do as well as any boy of his age, I do not expect him to make the farm as profitable as I should do, partly on account of my experience being greater, and partly because I should be able to accomplish more work than he. One hundred and fifty dollars would procure many little comforts which otherwise you may have to do without.”
“I know that,” said Mrs. Frost quickly. “But do you think I should enjoy them, if there were reports circulated, however unjustly, to your prejudice? Besides, I shall know that the comforts at the camp must be fewer than you would enjoy at home. We shall not wish to fare so much better than you.”
“Do you think with your mother, Frank?” asked Mr. Frost.
“I think mother is right,” said Frank, proud of having his opinion asked. He was secretly determined, in spite of what his father had said, to see if he could not make the farm as profitable as it would be under his father’s management.
Mr. Frost seemed relieved by his wife’s expression of opinion. “Then,” said he, “I will accept your decision as final. I felt that it should be you, and not myself, who should decide it. Now my mind will be at ease, so far as that goes.”
“You will not enlist at once, father?” asked Frank.
“Not for three or four weeks. I shall wish to give you some special instructions before I go, so that your task may be easier.”
“Hadn’t I better leave school at once?”
“You may finish this week out. However, I may as well begin my instructions without delay. I believe you have never learned to milk.”
“No, sir.”
“Probably Carter will undertake that. Still, it will be desirable that you should know how, in case he gets sick. You may come out with me after supper and take your first lesson.”
Frank ran for his hat with alacrity. This seemed like beginning in earnest. He accompanied his father to the barn, and looked with new interest at the four cows constituting his father’s stock.
“I think we will begin with this one,” said his father, pointing to a red-and-white heifer. “She is better-natured than the others, and, as I dare say your fingers will bungle a little at first, that is a point to be considered.”
If any of my boy readers has ever undertaken the task of milking for the first time, he will appreciate Frank’s difficulties. When he had seen his father milking, it seemed to him extremely easy. The milk poured out in rich streams, almost without an effort. But under his inexperienced fingers none came. He tugged away manfully, but with no result.
“I guess the cow’s dry,” said he at last, looking up in his father’s face.
Mr. Frost in reply drew out a copious stream.
“I did the same as you,” said Frank, mystified, “and none came.”
“You didn’t take hold right,” said his father, “and you pressed at the wrong time. Let me show you.”
Before the first lesson was over Frank had advanced a little in the art of milking, and it may as well be said here that in the course of a week or so he became a fair proficient, so that his father even allowed him to try Vixen, a cow who had received this name from the uncertainty of her temper. She had more than once upset the pail with a spiteful kick when it was nearly full. One morning she upset not only the pail, but Frank, who looked foolish enough as he got up covered with milk.
Frank also commenced reading the Plowman, a weekly agricultural paper which his father had taken for years. Until now he had confined his readings in it to the selected story on the fourth page. Now, with an object in view, he read carefully other parts of the paper. He did this not merely in the first flush of enthusiasm, but with the steady purpose of qualifying himself to take his father’s place.
“Frank is an uncommon boy,” said Mr. Frost to his wife, not without feelings of pride, one night, when our hero had retired to bed. “I would trust him with the farm sooner than many who are half a dozen years older.”
CHAPTER VII. LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON
“Well, father, I’ve got some news for you,” said John Haynes, as he entered his father’s presence, two or three days later.
“What is it, John?” inquired the squire, laying down a copy of the New York Herald, which he had been reading.
“Who do you think has enlisted?”
“I do not choose to guess,” said his father coldly. “If you feel disposed to tell me, you may do so.”
John looked somewhat offended at his father’s tone, but he was anxious to tell the news. “Frost’s going to enlist,” he said shortly.
“Indeed!” said the squire, with interest. “How did you hear?”
“I heard him say so himself, just now, in the store.”
“I expected it,” said Squire Haynes, with a sneer. “I understood his motives perfectly in urging the town to pay an enormous bounty to volunteers. He meant to line his own pockets at the public expense.”
“He says that he doesn’t mean to accept the bounty,” continued John, in a tone which indicated a doubt whether Mr. Frost was in earnest.
“Did you hear him say that?” asked Squire Haynes abruptly.
“Yes, I heard him say so to Mr. Morse.”
“Perhaps he means it, and perhaps he doesn’t. If he don’t take it, it is because he is afraid of public opinion. What’s he going to do about the farm, while he is gone?”
“That is the strangest part of it,” said John. “I don’t believe you could guess who is to be left in charge of it.”
“I don’t choose to guess. If you know, speak out.”
John bit his lip resentfully.
“It’s that conceited jackanapes of his—Frank Frost.”
“Do you mean that he is going to leave that boy to carry on the farm?” demanded Squire Haynes, in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Well, all I can say is that he’s more of a fool than I took him to be.”
“Oh, he thinks everything of Frank,” said John bitterly. “He’ll be nominating him for representative next.”
The squire winced a little. He had been ambitious to represent the town in the legislature, and after considerable wire-pulling had succeeded in obtaining the nomination the year previous. But it is one thing to be nominated and another to be elected. So the squire had found, to his cost. He had barely obtained fifty votes, while his opponent had been elected by a vote of a hundred and fifty. All allusions, therefore, recalling his mortifying defeat were disagreeable to him.
“On the whole, I don’t know but I’m satisfied,” he said, recurring to the intelligence John had brought. “So far as I am concerned, I am glad he has made choice of this boy.”
“You don’t think he is competent?” asked John, in surprise.
“For that very reason I am glad he has been selected,” said the squire emphatically. “I take it for granted that the farm will be mismanaged, and become a bill of expense, instead of a source of revenue. It’s pretty certain that Frost won’t be able to pay the mortgage when it comes due. I can bid off the farm for a small sum additional and make a capital bargain. It will make a very good place for you to settle down upon, John.”
“Me!” said John disdainfully. “You don’t expect me to become a plodding farmer, I trust. I’ve got talent for something better than that, I should hope.”
“No,” said the squire, “I have other news for you. Still, you could hire a farmer to carry it on for you, and live out there in the summer.”
“Well, perhaps that would do,” said John, thinking that it would sound well for him, even if he lived in the city, to have a place in the country. “When does the mortgage come due, father?”
“I don’t remember the exact date. I’ll look and see.”
The squire drew from a closet a box hooped with iron, and evidently made for security. This was his strong-box, and in this he kept his bonds, mortgages, and other securities.
He selected a document tied with red ribbon, and examined it briefly.
“I shall have the right to foreclose the mortgage on the first of next July,” he said.
“I hope you will do it then. I should like to see them Frosts humbled.”
“THEM Frosts! Don’t you know anything more about English grammar, John?”
“Those Frosts, then. Of course, I know; but a feller can’t always be watching his words.”
“I desire you never again to use the low word ‘feller,’” said the squire, who, as the reader will see, was more particular about grammatical accuracy than about some other things which might be naturally supposed to be of higher importance.
“Well,” said John sulkily, “anything you choose.”
“As to the mortgage,” proceeded Squire Haynes, “I have no idea they will be able to lift it. I feel certain that Frost won’t himself have the money at command, and I sha’n’t give him any grace, or consent to a renewal. He may be pretty sure of that.”
“Perhaps he’ll find somebody to lend him the money.”
“I think not. There are those who would be willing, but I question whether there is any such who could raise the money at a moment’s warning. By the way, you need not mention my purpose in this matter to any one. If it should leak out, Mr. Frost might hear of it, and prepare for it.”
“You may trust me for that, father,” said John, very decidedly; “I want to see Frank Frost’s proud spirit humbled. Perhaps he’ll feel like putting on airs after that.”
From the conversation which has just been chronicled it will be perceived that John was a worthy son of his father; and, though wanting in affection and cordial good feeling, that both were prepared to join hands in devising mischief to poor Frank and his family. Let us hope that the intentions of the wicked may be frustrated.
CHAPTER VIII. DISCOURAGED AND ENCOURAGED
In a small village like Rossville news flies fast. Even the distinctions of social life do not hinder an interest being felt in the affairs of each individual. Hence it was that Mr. Frost’s determination to enlist became speedily known, and various were the comments made upon his plan of leaving Frank in charge of the farm. That they were not all favorable may be readily believed. Country people are apt to criticize the proceedings of their neighbors with a greater degree of freedom than is common elsewhere.
As Frank was on his way to school on Saturday morning, his name was called by Mrs. Roxana Mason, who stood in the doorway of a small yellow house fronting on the main street.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mason,” said Frank politely, advancing to the gate in answer to her call.
“Is it true what I’ve heard about your father’s going to the war, Frank Frost?” she commenced.
“Yes, Mrs. Mason; he feels it his duty to go.”
“And what’s to become of the farm? Anybody hired it?”
“I am going to take charge of it,” said Frank modestly.
“You!” exclaimed Mrs. Roxana, lifting both hands in amazement; “why, you’re nothing but a baby!”
“I’m a baby of fifteen,” said Frank good-humoredly, though his courage was a little dampened by her tone.
“What do you know about farming?” inquired the lady, in a contemptuous manner. “Your father must be crazy!”
“I shall do my best, Mrs. Mason,” said Frank quietly, but with heightened color. “My father is willing to trust me; and as I shall have Mr. Maynard to look to for advice, I think I can get along.”
“The idea of putting a boy like you over a farm!” returned Mrs. Roxana, in an uncompromising tone. “I did think your father had more sense. It’s the most shiftless thing I ever knew him to do. How does your poor mother feel about it?”
“She doesn’t seem as much disturbed about it as you do, Mrs. Mason,” said Frank, rather impatiently; for he felt that Mrs. Mason had no right to interfere in his father’s arrangements.
“Well, well, we’ll see!” said Mrs. Roxana, shaking her head significantly. “If you’ll look in your Bible, you’ll read about ‘the haughty spirit that goes before a fall.’ I’m sure I wish you well enough. I hope that things’ll turn out better’n they’re like to. Tell your mother I’ll come over before long and talk with her about it.”
Frank inwardly hoped that Mrs. Roxana wouldn’t put herself to any trouble to call, but politeness taught him to be silent.
Leaving Mrs. Mason’s gate, he kept on his way to school, but had hardly gone half a dozen rods before he met an old lady, whose benevolent face indicated a very different disposition from that of the lady he had just parted with.
“Good morning, Mrs. Chester,” said Frank cordially, recognizing one of his mother’s oldest friends.
“Good morning, my dear boy,” was the reply. “I hear your father is going to the war.”
“Yes,” said Frank, a little nervously, not knowing but Mrs. Chester would view the matter in the same way as Mrs. Mason, though he felt sure she would express herself less disagreeably.
“And I hear that you are going to try to make his place good at home.”
“I don’t expect to make his place good, Mrs. Chester,” said Frank modestly, “but I shall do as well as I can.”
“I have no doubt of it, my dear boy,” said the old lady kindly. “You can do a great deal, too. You can help your mother by looking out for your brothers and sisters, as well as supplying your father’s place on the farm.”
“I am glad you think I can make myself useful,” said Frank, feeling relieved. “Mrs. Mason has just been telling me that I am not fit for the charge, and that discouraged me a little.”
“It’s a great responsibility, no doubt, to come on one so young,” said the old lady, “but it’s of God’s appointment. He will strengthen your hands, if you will only ask Him. If you humbly seek His guidance and assistance, you need not fear to fail.”
“Yes,” said Frank soberly, “that’s what I mean to do.”
“Then you will feel that you are in the path of duty. You’ll be serving your country just as much as if you went yourself.”
“That’s just the way I feel, Mrs. Chester,” exclaimed Frank eagerly. “I want to do something for my country.”
“You remind me of my oldest brother,” said the old lady thoughtfully. “He was left pretty much as you are. It was about the middle of the Revolutionary war, and the army needed recruits. My father hesitated, for he had a small family depending on him for support. I was only two years old at the time, and there were three of us. Finally my brother James, who was just about your age, told my father that he would do all he could to support the family, and father concluded to go. We didn’t have a farm, for father was a carpenter. My brother worked for neighboring farmers, receiving his pay in corn and vegetables, and picked up what odd jobs he could. Then mother was able to do something; so we managed after a fashion. There were times when we were brought pretty close to the wall, but God carried us through. And by and by father came safely home, and I don’t think he ever regretted having left us. After awhile the good news of peace came, and he felt that he had been abundantly repaid for all the sacrifices he had made in the good cause.”
Frank listened to this narrative with great interest. It yielded him no little encouragement to know that another boy, placed in similar circumstances, had succeeded, and he just felt that he would have very much less to contend against than the brother of whom Mrs. Chester spoke.
“Thank you for telling me about your brother Mrs. Chester,” he said. “It makes me feel more as if things would turn out well. Won’t you come over soon and see us? Mother is always glad to see you.”
“Thank you, Frank; I shall certainly do so. I hope I shall not make you late to school.”
“Oh, no; I started half an hour early this morning.”
Frank had hardly left Mrs. Chester when he heard a quick step behind him. Turning round, he perceived that it was Mr. Rathburn, his teacher.
“I hurried to come up with you, Frank,” he said, smiling. “I understand that I am to lose you from school.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Frank. “I am very sorry to leave, for I am very much interested in my studies; but I suppose, sir, you have heard what calls me away.”
“Your father has made up his mind to enlist.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you are to superintend the farm in his absence?”
“Yes, sir. I hope you do not think me presumptuous in undertaking such a responsibility?”
He looked up eagerly into Mr. Rathburn’s face, for he had a great respect for his judgment. But he saw nothing to discourage him. On the contrary, he read cordial sympathy and approval.
“Far from it,” answered the teacher, with emphasis. “I think you deserving of great commendation, especially if, as I have heard, the plan originated with you, and was by you suggested to your father.”
“Yes, sir.”
The teacher held out his hand kindly. “It was only what I should have expected of you,” he said. “I have not forgotten your essay. I am glad to see that you not only have right ideas of duty, but have, what is rarer, the courage and self-denial to put them in practice.”
These words gave Frank much pleasure, and his face lighted up.
“Shall you feel obliged to give up your studies entirely?” asked his teacher.
“I think I shall be able to study some in the evening.”
“If I can be of any assistance to you in any way, don’t hesitate to apply. If you should find any stumbling-blocks in your lessons, I may be able to help you over them.”
By this time they had come within sight of the schoolhouse.
“There comes the young farmer,” said John Haynes, in a tone which was only subdued lest the teacher should hear him, for he had no disposition to incur another public rebuke.
A few minutes later, when Frank was quietly seated at his desk, a paper was thrown from behind, lighting upon his Virgil, which lay open before him. There appeared to be writing upon it, and with some curiosity he opened and read the following:
“What’s the price of turnips?”
It was quite unnecessary to inquire into the authorship. He felt confident it was written by John Haynes. The latter, of course, intended it as an insult, but Frank did not feel much disturbed. As long as his conduct was approved by such persons as his teacher and Mrs. Chester, he felt he could safely disregard the taunts and criticisms of others. He therefore quietly let the paper drop to the floor, and kept on with his lesson.
John Haynes perceived that he had failed in his benevolent purpose of disturbing Frank’s tranquillity, and this, I am sorry to say, only increased the dislike he felt for him. Nothing is so unreasonable as anger, nothing so hard to appease. John even felt disposed to regard as an insult the disposition which Frank had made of his insulting query.
“The young clodhopper’s on his dignity,” he muttered to himself. “Well, wait a few months, and see if he won’t sing a different tune.”
Just then John’s class was called up, and his dislike to Frank was not diminished by the superiority of his recitation. The latter, undisturbed by John’s feelings, did not give a thought to him, but reflected with a touch of pain that this must be his last Latin recitation in school for a long time