XXII.
GEORGE LUDLOW AND ALMON FRISBIE.
George Ludlow was introduced in a former chapter; Mrs. Fabens and her daughter discussed his character and life. They spoke of him as poor, and dependent on his own hands for a living for the family; as despised by certain young people in Summerfield who happened to stand above need; and yet as manly and capable; a lover of nature and books. I need say nothing of his person, except that he was homely to a stranger and handsome to a friend. I need say little more of his past history than this; he had labored for Fabens for a few weeks, and now a mutual regard quite ripened to affection, was rising between him and Fanny.
George well knew her worth and happy fortune; he remembered that he was poor in what the world called riches; yet, possessing a manly self-respect, he considered himself as made in no way inferior on account of his poverty; and observing that she reciprocated freely any regard he gave her, he had the boldness at last to declare his affection, and intimate the happiness it would pour into his heart and life, some day to possess her as his wife; and it was not in her will, nor in that of her parents, to return one word of discouragement; although it was an opinion of theirs, to which he freely responded, that the final decision should be deliberately weighed, and the union set over to a time at which they would be better prepared for a happy bridal and a happy life.
But the impressions left by Fairbanks on the mind of Fabens, after the conversation in the harvest field, tended only to strengthen the Squire in the opinion that his wife had misjudged the gentlemanly merchant; and to elevate Fairbanks the more in his confidence and esteem. And returning to the house that evening, Fanny remarked to her mother, that she must have judged, too hastily: "for much as I have tasked my powers of discernment," said she, "I cannot detect the first design or word, which would lead me to suspect that Mr. Fairbanks is deceptive. True, he rather addresses himself to one's self-esteem, and is open, and ardent for a comparative stranger; but it must be a manly way of his, which he forgets to hold in reserve; and I believe he is a gentleman. I am sure, too, mother, that I have not allowed myself to feel flattered by his words; nor could I ever regard him as nearer than a friend. A true friend to us I believe he is. A face expressing so much open goodness; a bearing so instinctively affable, could not belong to a bad man."
Fairbanks was too clear-sighted not to read and know the hearts with which he was making acquaintance; and his well-considered plans suffered nothing for want of diligence on his part, in being brought to a fulfilment. Nor did he stand or act alone.
Almon Frisbie was his clerk and confidant, and talked of a friendship that began long before they left the Hudson; and he was prompt at any moment to receive his counsels in sacred trust, and go on all his errands. He was ardent and unreserved in expressing his love for Fairbanks; and Fairbanks was free and fond in the good things he said of Frisbie; and the people of Summerfield were very happy with such valued acquisitions to their society; and enjoyed the pleasantest hours whenever they numbered the merchant and clerk among their guests.
Promptly at the time agreed on, Frisbie came with the money to pay for the delivered wheat-crop; paid the entire sum in Spanish milled dollars; and spent an agreeable evening, discussing character, hearing Fabens's history from before the time of his settlement there; and giving incidents of his own life, and his adventures and experiences, with Fairbanks.
It was a pleasant hour. This was the second winter they were enjoying their new house, and the change and contrast could not be forgotten. The new house stood on a gentle eminence, a quarter of a mile from the road, and within a distant view of the lake, which was beautiful in summer. There was a fine selection of all the forest trees that once flourished on the farm, in front of the house, which had been transplanted there twelve years before, in preparation of shade and beauty for the dooryard; and though their verdant honors had been shed in autumn, they reminded the hearts within of their guardian presence, by the whisperings of love they blent with the winter blast.
The house was a high story and a half, and stood thirty-five by thirty on the ground. It had a north room and south room, with bedrooms attached; it had four chambers, two large and two small, above; and a kitchen, a tea-room, and wood-house in the rear. It was painted white without, with a coal-black border on the tops of the chimneys, and had blinds of Paris green. It had white walls and oak-grained doors and casings in the south room, and white walls, doors and casings in the north room. The north room was Fanny's, and the spare bed was spread with a blue and white carpet-coverlet, spun with her own hand, and woven in Auburn prison; and it was hung with snow-white curtains, which she spun and wove. She had a stove in the north room, and a fire-board behind, covered with trees, watered with a silver lake, and stocked with a herd of deer, three of which were drinking from the lake.
In the south room was another bed; and that was hung with checkered curtains; and there was an ample fireplace; and that was the family room. There sat the company when Frisbie made his call.
Fabens was advanced in life, and yet he looked young, as if time had taken a ten years' rest. Mrs. Fabens had grown round and robust; but had not shed her blooms; while Fanny had become perfectly straight, and her hair was two shades darker; her eyes had still more lustre; her countenance still more life, and her voice still more music; while her step was more elastic, and her form was more nature.
A prodigal walnut fire glowed gloriously before them; butternuts and chestnuts were tasted, and a large dish of rosy Spitzenbergs passed around; and while Fabens and Frisbie kept up a running talk, Mrs. Fabens and Fanny enjoyed the hour, as one sat knitting fringe-mittens in the corner, and the other plied her dexterous needle piecing a bed-quilt in snow-balls by the stand; and seeming to contend with the walnut fire, which should give forth the liveliest, warming smile, and fill up all the room with the most comfort, joy, and peace.
"Yes, I have known Fairbanks, known him like a brother, since we were little boys at school," said Frisbie. "We began our A B C's together, when Mary Sanford taught school; and I remember we said, 'A,' 'B,' 'C,' 'D,' and so on, in a loud voice, both at a time. And that Mary Sanford—you did not know her, did you, Squire? She taught in the same district five years; and it was said, she impressed much of her own noble heart on her pupils (though of this, perhaps, it does not become me to speak;) but she married a false villain at last, and now she lives poor and deserted, they say, away out on the White Woman's Tract, beyond the Genesee river, with a family of children to support.
"And my heart has ached for many lovely girls who have thrown themselves away to such scoundrels. Her husband was brought up in the neighborhood too, and everybody thought George Lowry was a very pink of virtue. That made it seem so strange. Well, as I was going to say, Fairbanks always seemed a brother to me; and if there could be any fault in his treatment, he has trusted me too largely, and given me to share too many of his gifts and gains. But there, you never saw such a fellow in your life!"
"In what particular?" asked Fabens; while Mrs. Fabens took a quicker rock in her chair and scratched her forehead with her knitting needle; and Fanny paused from her piecing to hear.
"I mean in his confidence in men, and his free-heartedness, giving away what he has. He would share his last crust with an enemy, and he is so up and down honest himself, he believes the whole world honest and pure also."
"But he seems to be a good judge of character," said Fabens, "and I should think he would not be often deceived. I see he notices heads and dispositions pretty narrowly."
"He is often deceived," said Frisbie, "and he has met losses and crosses enough to make a few of his black hairs turn white. But I tell him it's owing to his putting too much confidence in men. He thinks everybody is honest because he is. His mother used to tell him, when he was a little boy, that he would always be poor, he was so confiding and free-hearted."
"There is a good deal in that," said Fabens, "and it is very true, as I have found it. Men that can be trusted most, are commonly most trusting, while the false and guilty are always on the lookout for rogues. How is Fairbanks' business now? He has met no losses in Summerfield, I hope."
"O, no, no! I did not refer to anything that had taken place since he came to this town," said Frisbie. "Of all the world, this is just the place for Fairbanks, and I tell him so. Where all are honest as one's self, there can be no trouble. He never was doing so well, by half, as now, I dare say. His business is large already, and his collections are remarkably prompt. They seem here to like him, about as well as he likes them."
"He seems to attend to his business pretty closely; I like that in him," said Fabens.
"Attend to business? Ay! if you could see all the time, how he attends to business, Squire; how he searches and foots his legers every day," said Frisbie; "how he keeps things moving and straight, and pays his notes before they come due, you would say he could not help prospering, and you would back him for any amount he would ask. But, here, it is nine o'clock, already, and I must face this cold storm, that has come up since I came."
"Don't hurry away yet," said Fabens. "There is nothing to call you home. Stay all night, we will be glad to have you, and you shall have an early start in the morning."
"O, I must go to-night," said Frisbie, and he took his cloak, and concluded the conversation—"I must go to-night. I told Fairbanks, I would be home before ten, and he knows what to depend on. We keep our word with each other. Come over and see us, Squire. We have a fine room fitted up now, in the store, where we can entertain our friends. Fairbanks is always glad to see you. He thinks Squire Fabens about east, and his family too! He would feel more freedom to visit you, if you would call on him oftener. I never saw a man who thought more of seeing his friends. And so far from home as we are, you must remember that our friends here stand in the place of the absent and dear."
Frisbie departed, and Fabens expressed the liking he had taken to the fellow, and the increased esteem he must confess for Fairbanks.
"I am sure," said Fanny, laying aside her work, but not her smiles, that outshone the walnut fire, nor that presence of blissful life, that filled up all the warm room; "I am sure, there cannot be much deception in them. We would detect it in some way, if there was."
"Do you esteem either of them as you do George Ludlow?" asked Mrs.
Fabens.
"No, I do not in all respects," answered Fanny. "My esteem for him, as for them, increases. And the way the Faddle girls treat George, makes me think all the more of him, and desire to make him happy. Then I admire his sentiments and tastes, and his love of labor. Still I would be glad to number Mr. Fairbanks and Mr. Frisbie among my friends. Was the man named Lowry or Ludry that he said married his teacher? It sounded so much like Ludlow, it startled me."
"It was Lownsly, Lowry, or something like it," answered Mrs. Fabens.—"There are some things which seem fair, and even generous in them, it is true. And Fairbanks has a way of looking very meek and innocent; and one of two things is certain: he must be unacquainted with the world, and incapable of a thought of deception, or else he is an arch and dissembling rogue. But there are some expressions about his eyes that I cannot like; and I think there is a little blarney about them both. I may be wrong; I hope I am, and if I am, that I may be forgiven. It is unpleasant to be haunted by these suspicions. But there, I could help breathing as well."
Upon this, Fabens went to his barn to look after his cattle and see if any would be likely to suffer in the storm; and finding all in comfortable quarters, he returned, saying, "I wish I could know that everybody in the world had as happy a home as we have to-night. I could then rest more warmly and sweetly. It is bitter cold night, and I fear many will suffer. I am glad I made the wood-bee for poor Troffater. His family can have the comfort of warm fires this winter. The neighbors turned out well, and a good big pile of beech and maple lies at his door. I shall sleep better for that."
They enjoyed their devotions, Fabens praying that God would bless His beloved poor, and all who were suffering and needy; while He kept their own hearts from unjust judgments, from deception and evil; and they were soon wrapped warmly and well in the slumbers of the night.