“No, sir; I don’t think money is everything. There’s Isaac Murch, as straightforward, kind-hearted a fellow as ever lived,—as smart a man as was ever wrapped up in skin; but he thinks money is everything. He’ll give, too, especially to a good cause; but it comes hard. He’ll go through a deal to get a dollar. I mean to have a good living,—I think that’s for every one who strives for it,—and earn my wages, wherever I am. I don’t believe in wasting, or any of your low stuff, but I had rather have friends who love me for my own sake, good health, enjoy myself, and have others enjoy themselves with me, than all the money in the world.”
“Money won’t buy happiness, Walter.”
“You know, sir, you were saying just now that you hoped you shouldn’t have to grind your broad-axe again for six years; you did so long to turn over some of this wild land, plant an orchard, have grain, fruit and flowers, and cattle in the pastures.”
“Yes, and I felt more than I said.”
“But haven’t you made pretty much all the property you have out of the sea?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you want to work on the land.”
“Because I love to. I love to work with tools, but I want some time to plant and sow, and see things grow, whether I make anything or not; it’s my nature.”
“So it’s my nature to go to sea. I wish you could see all the boats Flour (I mean Peterson) has made and rigged for me. I wouldn’t care if there was only land enough to build wharves to tie vessels up, to clean and grave their bottoms, and all the rest was water.”
“But it is a hard life, and rude company. You are a quiet, thoughtful boy, and as affectionate as a woman.”