door.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Frost,” said the squire, lifting his hat.
“Good afternoon, Squire Haynes. Won’t you walk in?”
“Thank you; I will intrude for a few minutes. How do you do?” he said, nodding to Frank as he entered.
“Pretty well, thank you, sir,” said Frank nervously.
The squire, knowing the odium which would attach to the course he had settled upon, resolved to show the utmost politeness to the family he was about to injure, and justify his action by the plea of necessity.
“Take a seat, Squire Haynes,” said Mrs. Frost “You’ll find this rocking-chair more comfortable.’
“I am very well seated, thank you. I cannot stop long. I have merely called on a matter of business.”
“About the mortgage?” interrupted Frank, who could keep silence no longer.
“Precisely so. I regret to say that I have urgent occasion for the money, and shall be unable to renew it.”
“We have got four hundred dollars,” said Mrs. Frost, “which we are intending to pay.”
“I am sorry to say that this will not answer my purpose.”
“Why did you not let us know before?” asked Frank abruptly.
“Frank!” said his mother reprovingly.
“It was only this morning that the necessity arose. I have a note due which must be paid.”
“We are not provided with the money, Squire Haynes,” said Mrs. Frost. “if, however, you will wait a few days, we can probably raise it among our friends.”
“I regret to say that this will not do,” said the squire, “I would gladly postpone the matter. The investment has been satisfactory to me, but necessity knows no law.”
Frank was about to burst out with some indignant exclamation, but his mother, checking him, said: “I think there is little chance of our being able to pay you to-morrow. May I inquire what course you propose to take?”
“It will be my painful duty to foreclose the mortgage.”
“Squire Haynes,” said Frank boldly, “haven’t you intended to foreclose the mortgage all along? Hadn’t you decided about it when I called upon you ten days ago?”
“What do you mean by your impertinence, sir?” demanded the squire, giving vent to his anger.
“Just what I say. I believe you bear a grudge against my father, and only put me off the other day in order to prevent my being able to meet your demands to-morrow. What do you suppose we can do in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Madam!” said the squire, purple with rage, “do you permit your son to insult me in this manner?”
“I leave it to your conscience, Squire Haynes, whether his charges are not deserved. I do not like to think ill of any man, but your course is very suspicious.”
“Madam,” said Squire Haynes, now thoroughly enraged, “you are a woman, and can say what you please; but as for this young rascal, I’ll beat him within an inch of his life if I ever catch him out of your presence.”
“He is under the protection of the laws,” said Mrs. Frost composedly, “which you, being a lawyer, ought to understand.”
“I’ll have no mercy on you. I’ll sell you up root and branch,” said Squire Haynes, trembling with passion, and smiting the floor with his cane.
“At all events the house is ours to-day,” returned Mrs. Frost, with dignity, “and I must request you to leave us in quiet possession of it.”
The squire left the house in undignified haste, muttering threats as he went.
“Good, mother!” exclaimed Frank admiringly. “You turned him out capitally. But,” he added, an expression of dismay stealing over his face, “what shall we do?”
“We must try to obtain a loan,” said Mrs. Frost, “I will go and see Mr. Sanger, while you go to Mr. Perry. Possibly they may help us. There is no time to be lost.”
An hour afterward Frank and his mother returned, both disappointed. Mr. Sanger and Mr. Perry both had the will to help but not the ability. There seemed no hope left save in Mr. Morton. At six o’clock the stage rolled up to the gate.
“Thank Heaven! Mr. Morton has come!” exclaimed Frank eagerly.
Mr. Morton got out of the stage, and with him a feeble old man, or such he seemed, whom the young man assisted to alight. They came up the gravel walk together.
“How do you do, Frank?” he said, with a cheerful smile.
“We are in trouble,” said Frank. “Squire Haynes is going to foreclose the mortgage to-morrow.”
“Never mind!” said Mr. Morton. “We will be ready for him. He can’t do either of us any more mischief, Frank. His race is about run.”
A heavy weight seemed lifted from Frank’s heart. For the rest of the day he was in wild spirits. He asked no questions of Mr. Morton. He felt a firm confidence that all would turn out for the best.
CHAPTER XXXII. TURNING THE TABLES
The next morning Mr. Morton made inquiries of Frank respecting the mortgage. Frank explained that a loan of four hundred dollars would enable him to cancel it.
“That is very easily arranged, then,” said Henry Morton.
He opened his pocketbook and drew out four crisp new United States notes, of one hundred dollars each.
“There, Frank,” said he; “that will loosen the hold Squire Haynes has upon you. I fancy he will find it a little more difficult to extricate himself from my grasp.”
“How can I ever thank you, Mr. Morton?” said Frank, with emotion.
“It gives me great pleasure to have it in my power to be of service to you, Frank,” said his friend kindly.
“We will have a mortgage made out to you,” continued Frank.
“Not without my consent, I hope,” said Mr. Morton, smiling.
Frank looked puzzled.
“No, Frank,” resumed Mr. Morton, “I don’t care for any security. You may give me a simple acknowledgment of indebtedness, and then pay me at your leisure.”
Frank felt with Justice that Mr. Morton was acting very generously, and he was more than ever drawn to him.
So passed the earlier hours of the forenoon.
About eleven o’clock Squire Haynes was observed approaching the house. His step was firm and elastic, as if he rejoiced in the errand he was upon. Again he lifted the knocker, and sounded a noisy summons. It was in reality a summons to surrender.
The door was opened again by Mrs. Frost, who invited the squire to enter. He did so, wondering at her apparent composure.
“They can’t have raised the money,” thought he apprehensively. “No, I am sure the notice was too short.”
Frank was in the room, but Squire Haynes did not deign to notice him, nor did Frank choose to make advances. Mrs. Frost spoke upon indifferent subjects, being determined to force Squire Haynes to broach himself the business that had brought him to the farm.
Finally, clearing his throat, he said: “Well, madam, are you prepared to cancel the mortgage which I hold upon your husband’s farm?”
“I hope,” said Mrs. Frost, “you will give us time. It is hardly possible to obtain so large a sum in twenty-four hours.”
“They haven’t got it,” thought the squire exultingly.
“As to that,” he said aloud, “you’ve had several years to get ready in.”
“Have you no consideration? Remember my husband’s absence, and I am unacquainted with business.”
“I have already told you,” said the squire hastily, “that I require the money. I have a note to pay, and—-“
“Can you give us a week?”
“No, I must have the money at once.”
“And if we cannot pay?”
“I must foreclose.”
“Will that give you the money any sooner? I suppose you would have to advertise the farm for sale before you could realize anything, and I hardly think that car be accomplished sooner than a week hence.”
“The delay is only a subterfuge on your part,” said the squire hotly. “You would be no better prepared at the end of a week than you are now.”
“No, perhaps not,” said Mrs. Frost quietly.
“And yet you ask me to wait,” said the squire indignantly. “Once for all, let me tell you that all entreaties are vain. My mind is made up to foreclose, and foreclose I will.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” interrupted Frank, with a triumphant smile.
“Ha, young impudence!” exclaimed the squire, wheeling round. “Who’s to prevent me, I should like to know?”
“I am,” said Frank boldly.
The squire fingered his cane nervously. He was very strongly tempted to lay it on our hero’s back. But he reflected that the power was in his hands, and that he was sure of his revenge.
“You won’t gain anything by your impudence,” he said loftily. “I might have got you a place, out of pity to your mother, if you had behaved differently. I need a boy to do odd jobs about the house, and I might have offered the place to you.”
“Thank you for your kind intentions,” said Frank, “but I fear the care of this farm will prevent my accepting your tempting offer.”
“The care of the farm!” repeated the squire angrily. “Do you think I will delegate it to you?”
“I don’t see what you have to do about it,” said Frank.
“Then you’ll find out,” roared the squire. “I shall take immediate possession, and require you to leave at once.”
“Then I suppose we had better pay the mortgage, mother,” said Frank.
“Pay the mortgage! You can’t do it,” said the squire exultingly.
“Have you the document with you?” inquired Mrs. Frost.
“Yes, madam.”
“Name the amount due on it.”
“With interest eight hundred and twenty-four dollars.”
“Frank, call in Mr. Morton as a witness.”
Mr. Morton entered.
“Now, Frank, you may count out the money.”
“What!” stammered the squire, in dismay, “can you pay it.”
“We can.”
“Why didn’t you tell me so in the first place?” demanded Squire Haynes, his wrath excited by his bitter disappointment.
“I wished to ascertain whether your course was dictated by necessity or a desire to annoy and injure us. I can have no further doubt about it.”
There was no help for it. Squire Haynes was compelled to release his hold upon the Frost Farm, and pocket his money. He had never been so sorry to receive money before.
This business over, he was about to beat a hurried retreat, when he was suddenly arrested by a question from Henry Morton.
“Can you spare me a few minutes, Squire Haynes?”
“I am in haste, sir.”
“My business is important, and has already been too long delayed.”
“Too long delayed?”
“Yes, it has waited twelve years.”
“I don’t understand you, sir,” said the squire.
“Perhaps I can assist you. You know me as Henry Morton. That is not my real name.”
“An alias!” sneered the squire in a significant tone.
“Yes, I had my reasons,” returned the young man, unmoved.
“I have no doubt of it.”
Henry Morton smiled, but did not otherwise notice the unpleasant imputation.
“My real name is Richard Waring.”
Squire Haynes started violently and scrutinized the young man closely through his spectacles. His vague suspicions were confirmed.
“Do you wish to know my business with you?”
The squire muttered something inaudible.
“I demand the restitution of the large sum of money entrusted to you by my father, just before his departure to the West Indies–a sum of which you have been the wrongful possessor for twelve years.”
“Do you mean to insult me?” exclaimed the squire, bold in the assurance that the sole evidence of his fraud was undiscovered.
“Unless you comply with my demand I shall proceed against you legally, and you are enough of a lawyer to understand the punishment meted out to that description of felony.”
“Pooh, pooh! Your threats won’t avail you,” said the squire contemptuously. “Your plan is a very clumsy one. Let me suggest to you, young man, that threats for the purpose of extorting money are actionable.”
“Do you doubt my identity?”
“You may very probably be the person you claim to be, but that won’t save you.”
“Very well. You have conceded one point.”
He walked quietly to the door of the adjoining room, opened it, and in a distinct voice called “James Travers.”
At the sound of this name Squire Haynes sank into a chair, ashy pale.
A man, not over forty, but with seamed face, hair nearly white, and a form evidently broken with ill health, slowly entered.
Squire Haynes beheld him with dismay.
“You see before you, Squire Haynes, a man whose silence has been your safeguard for the last twelve years. His lips are now unsealed. James Travers, tell us what you know of the trust reposed in this man by my father,”
“No, no,” said the squire hurriedly. “It–it is enough. I will make restitution.”
“You have done wisely,” said Richard Waring. (We must give him his true name.) “When will you be ready to meet me upon this business?”
“To-morrow,” muttered the squire.
He left the house with the air of one who has been crushed by a sudden blow.
The pride of the haughty had been laid low, and retribution, long deferred, had come at last.
Numerous and hearty were the congratulations which Mr. Morton–I mean Mr. Waring–received upon his new accession of property.
“I do not care so much for that,” he said, “but my father’s word has been vindicated. My mind is now at peace.”
There was more than one happy heart at the farm that night. Mr. Waring had accomplished the great object of his life; and as for Frank and his mother, they felt that the black cloud which had menaced their happiness had been removed, and henceforth there seemed prosperous days in store. To cap the climax of their happiness, the afternoon mail brought a letter from Mr. Frost, in which he imparted the intelligence that he had been promoted to a second lieutenancy.
“Mother,” said Frank, “you must be very dignified now, You are an officer’s wife.”
CHAPTER XXXIII. CONCLUSION
The restitution which Squire Haynes was compelled to make stripped him of more than half his property. His mortification and chagrin was so great that he determined to remove from Rossville. He gave no intimation where he was going, but it is understood that he is now living in the vicinity of Philadelphia, in a much more modest way than at Rossville.
To anticipate matters a little, it may be said that John was recently examined for college, but failed so signally that he will not again make the attempt. He has shown a disposition to be extravagant, which, unless curbed, will help him run through his father’s diminished property at a rapid rate whenever it shall come into his possession.
The squire’s handsome house in Rossville was purchased by Henry Morton–I must still be allowed to call him thus, though not his real name. He has not yet taken up his residence there, but there is reason to believe that ere long there will be a Mrs. Morton to keep him company therein.
Not long since, as he and Frank lay stretched out beneath a thick-branching oak in the front yard at the farm, Mr. Morton turned to our hero and said, “Are you meaning to go to college when your father comes home, Frank?”
Frank hesitated.
“I have always looked forward to it,” he said, “but lately I have been thinking that I shall have to give up the idea.”
“Why so?”
“Because it is so expensive that my father cannot, in justice to his other children, support me through a four years’ course. Besides, you know, Mr. Morton, we are four hundred dollars in your debt.”
“Should you like very much to go to college, Frank?”
“Better than anything else in the world.”
“Then you shall go.”
Frank looked up in surprise.
“Don’t you understand me?” said Mr. Morton.
“I mean that I will defray your expenses through college.”
Frank could hardly believe his ears.
“You would spend so much money on me!” he exclaimed incredulously. “Why, it will cost a thousand dollars.”
“Very well, I can afford it,” said Mr. Morton. “But perhaps you object to the plan.”
“How good you are to me!” said Frank, impulsively seizing his friend’s hand. “What have I done to deserve so much kindness?”
“You have done your duty, Frank, at the sacrifice of your inclinations. I think you ought to be rewarded. God has bestowed upon me more than I need. I think he intends that I shall become his almoner. If you desire to express your gratitude, you can best do it by improving the advantages which will be opened to you.”
Frank hastened to his mother to communicate his brilliant prospects. Her joy was scarcely less than his.
“Do not forget, Frank,” she said, “who it is that has raised up this friend for you. Give Him the thanks.”
There was another whose heart was gladdened when this welcome news reached him in his tent beside the Rappahannock. He felt that while he was doing his duty in the field, God was taking better care of his family than he could have done if he remained at home.
Before closing this chronicle I must satisfy the curiosity of my readers upon a few points in which they may feel interested.
The Rossville Guards are still in existence, “and Frank is still their captain. They have already done escort duty on several occasions, and once they visited Boston, and marched up State Street with a precision of step which would have done no discredit to veteran soldiers.
Dick Bumstead’s reformation proved to be a permanent one. He is Frank’s most intimate friend, and with his assistance is laboring to remedy the defects of his early education. He has plenty of ability, and, now that he has turned over a new leaf, I have no hesitation in predicting for him a useful and honorable career.
Old Mrs. Payson has left Rossville, much to the delight of her grandson Sam, who never could get along with his grandmother. She still wears for best the “bunnit” presented her by Cynthy Ann, which, notwithstanding its mishap, seems likely to last her to the end of her natural life. She still has a weakness for hot gingerbread and mince pie, and, though she is turned of seventy, would walk a mile any afternoon with such an inducement.
Should any of my readers at any time visit the small town of Sparta, and encounter in the street a little old lady dressed in a brown cloak and hood, and firmly grasping in her right hand a faded blue cotton umbrella, they may feel quite certain that they are in the presence of Mrs. Mehitabel Payson, relict of Jeremiah Payson, deceased.
Little Pomp has improved very much both in his studies and his behavior. He now attends school regularly, and is quite as far advanced as most boys of his age. Though he is not entirely cured of his mischievous propensities, he behaves “pretty well, considering,” and is a great deal of company to old Chloe, to whom he reads stories in books lent him by Frank and others. Chloe is amazingly proud of Pomp, whom she regards as a perfect prodigy of talent.
“Lor’ bress you, missus,” she remarked to Mrs. Frost one day, “he reads jest as fast as I can talk. He’s an awful smart boy, dat Pomp.”
“Why don’t you let him teach you to read, Chloe?”
“Oh, Lor’, missus, I couldn’t learn, nohow. I ain’t got no gumption. I don’t know noffin’.”
“Why couldn’t you learn as well as Pomp?”
“Dat ar boy’s a gen’us, missus. His fader was a mighty smart niggar, and Pomp’s took arter him.”
Chloe’s conviction of her own inferiority and Pomp’s superior ability seemed so rooted that Mrs. Frost finally gave up her persuasions. Meanwhile, as Chloe is in good health and has abundance of work, she has no difficulty in earning a comfortable subsistence for herself and Pomp. As soon as Pomp is old enough, Frank will employ him upon the farm.
While I am writing these lines intelligence has just been received from Frank’s substitute at the seat of war. He has just been promoted to a captaincy. In communicating this he adds: “You may tell Frank that I am now his equal in rank, though his commission bears an earlier date. I suppose, therefore, I must content myself with being Captain Frost, Jr. I shall be very glad when the necessities of the country will permit me to lay aside the insignia of rank and, returning to Rossville, subside into plain Henry Frost again. If you ask me when this is to be, I can only say that it depends on the length of our struggle. I am enlisted for the war, and I mean to see it through! Till that time Frank must content himself with acting as my substitute at home. I am so well pleased with his management of the farm that I am convinced it is doing as well as if I were at home to superintend it in person. Express to Mr. Waring my gratitude for the generous proposal he has made to Frank. I feel that words are inadequate to express the extent of our obligations to him.”
Some years have passed since the above letter was written. The war is happily over, and Captain Frost has returned home with an honorable record of service. Released from duty at home, Frank has exchanged the farm for the college hall, and he is now approaching graduation, one of the foremost scholars in his class. He bids fair to carry out the promise of his boyhood, and in the more varied and prolonged campaign which manhood opens before him we have reason to believe that he will display equal fidelity and gain an equal success.