“‘The request that I have to make is that after I am dead you will tell him of this. I have made a mistake in raising him, and I know I should have cultivated his affection for me after he put on boots and mittens, and went out with his father to work, but I was afraid, for none of that is allowed in this house, as you know. I do not feel free to be kind to you, Jo, or show you any attention, for fear my husband will regard it as an interference with his discipline, which excuse he has used to separate me from my boy.
“‘I know he regards me as cold-hearted, like his father, but I am not. I love him as every mother loves her only child, but he does not understand it, and lately he avoids me whenever he can.
“‘You won’t be here long; Damon Barker wants you to live at the mill, and you won’t come back very often, for you have no reason to, therefore I ask you, now that I have opportunity, to tell Ned that I have always loved him as a mother should, and that I was indifferent to him because his father told me to be, and said it was for the best. He is getting to be quite a boy now, and when he comes home tired and ill-humored, I know he thinks we are unjust to make him work so hard, but tell him, Jo, that it is his father who did it, and that I always protested against it. I want you to take good care of him after I am dead, and I believe you will, for I can see you are very fond of him, as he is of you. I believe you will both become good and intelligent men some day; men who will love your wives and children, instead of treating them as they are treated in Fairview, and I want you to believe when you are grown up that I raised you as best I could. You have lived here nearly as long as I have, and this is your home, as well as Ned’s, and if you have not been contented and happy, it was not because I did not love you both. I trusted too much to another’s judgment, and was afraid to do what I felt I should have done. When you become men you will think a great deal of this period in your lives, for it is indelibly stamped on your memory by its discomforts, but I hope you will remember that I was sick a great deal, and could not pay you the attention I wanted to. Good night.’”
After wiping away our tears, for the story affected us both to that extent, we resolved over and over again to be more considerate of her in the future, as we now better understood her strange disposition toward us. I do not know that we had ever been more inconsiderate than other boys, but we all seemed to be waiting at our house for an opportunity to get away, and find more pleasant companions, which made us unthoughtful of each other, and I think it was to this she referred in her talk with Jo.
When we went into the house again, my father was sitting in his accustomed place, thinking. He had not changed his position since we went out of the room, an hour or two before, and I think he regretted he could not go out into the fields and lose his thoughts in working. He looked up when we came in, and addressing himself to Jo, said:—
“Are you glad to go?”
“Yes, sir,” Jo promptly responded.
This did not seem to surprise him, and he kept on thinking, as though he might have known it without asking.
“I have no doubt you think I have been a hard master,” my father said. “I have been, but because I believed it was best to teach boys to work. Before you reach my age, you will know I was right, and that the course I have pursued with you was the best one. But to show you that I am anxious for your success, I offer to help you start the mill at The Ford, if you apply yourself at Barker’s and give me reason to believe that you are worthy and capable. Whatever else you may think of me, you know I keep my word in everything. Bear this in mind during the next two years.”
When he began thinking again, I thought it was that although he always did that which was for the best, he was blamed for it, and hated.