The Squire seemed pleased at the ready assent, for it was equally unexpected to him, knowing Gilman’s bad habits. He did not give him time to withdraw it, for the instant the stage moved off, followed, in the broad track it made through the snow, the bells of both vehicles jingling cheerfully in the frosty air. It may seem strange to those unaccustomed to the plain ways of the country, especially at the North, that a man of Squire Merrill’s evident respectability should so willingly make a companion of a tavern lounger. But, in the first place, the genuine politeness of village life would make the neighborly offer a matter of every day occurrence, and besides this, the Squire had known Gilman in far different circumstances. They played together on the district school-ground, as boys, and their prospects in life had been equally fair. Both had small, well cultivated farms, the Squire’s inherited from his father, and Gilman’s his wife’s dowry, for he married the prettiest girl in the village. Squire Merrill, with true New England thrift, had gone on, adding “field to field,” until he was now considered the richest man in the neighborhood, and certainly the most respected. His old school-fellow was one of those scheming, visionary men, who are sure in the end to turn out badly. He was not industrious by nature, and after neglecting the business of the farm all the spring, he was sure to see some wonderful discovery that was to fertilize the land far more than any labor of his could do, and give him double crops in the fall; or whole fields of grain would lie spoiling, while he awaited the arrival of some newly invented reaping machine, that was to save time and work, but which scarcely ever answered either purpose. Gradually his barn became filled with this useless lumber, on which he had spent the ready money that should have been employed in paying laborers—his fences were out of repair, his cattle died from neglect.
Mr. Gilman, like many others, called these losses “bad luck,” and parted with valuable land to make them up. But his “luck” seemed to get worse and worse, while he waited for a favorable turn, especially after he became a regular visitor at Mooney’s. Of late he had barely managed to keep his family together, and that was more owing to Mrs. Gilman’s exertions than his own.
The light sleigh “cutter,” as it was called, glided swiftly over the snow, past gray substantial stone walls, red barns, and comfortable-looking farm houses. The snow was in a solid, compact mass, filling the meadows evenly, and making this ordinary country road picturesque. Sometimes they passed through a close pine wood, with tall feathery branches sighing far away above them, and then coming suddenly in sight of some brown homestead, where the ringing axe at the door-yard, the creaking of the well-pole, or the bark of a house-dog made a more cheerful music. There are many such quiet pictures of peace and contentment on the hill-sides of what we call the rugged North, where the rest of the long still winter is doubly welcome after the hard toil of more fruitful seasons.
Squire Merrill seemed to enjoy it all as he drove along, talking cheerfully to his silent companion. He pointed out the few improvements planned or going on in the neighborhood, and talked of the doings of the last “town meeting,” the new minister’s ways, and then of Mrs. Gilman and the children. Suddenly the other broke forth—
“I say it’s too bad, Squire, and I can’t make it out, anyhow.”
“What’s too bad, Gilman?”
“Well, the way some people get richer and richer, and others poorer and poorer the longer they live. Here I’ve hardly got a coat to my back, and Abby there—nothing but an old hood to wear to meetin’, and you drive your horse, and your wife’s got her fur muff, and her satin bonnet! That’s just the way, and it’s discouraging enough, I tell you.”
“My wife was brought up to work a good deal harder than yours, Gilman, and we didn’t have things half as nice as you when we were married.”
“I know it—hang it all—”
“Don’t swear—my horse isn’t used to it, and might shy—. Well, don’t you think there must be a leak somewhere?”