EVERY day brought to light some new trait in Hernando’s character. He seemed absolutely unselfish and always called up the noblest qualities in others. His interest in the mine was unabated and although Elisha insisted upon relinquishing the position of superintendent, claiming he held it only by proxy, Hernando refused so decidedly to accept that he was obliged to desist. He consented, however, to become his assistant.
Among Cornelia’s friends was a young Mr. Van Tine. He was a frequent visitor at the house, nearly always forming one of their excursion parties; but Cornelia was looked upon by the family as simply a child, and Mr. Van Tine, whose father was one of the oldest settlers, had been Cornelia’s school-fellow so he was “George” Van Tine to them all.
Mr. and Mrs. Van Tine lived on a farm in the outskirts of Nootwyck. They were devout Methodists and intended that George, their only child, should be a minister of that denomination. His education was shaped accordingly till the age of eighteen, when he flatly refused to follow the ministry as a profession. Prayers that he might be brought to see the error of his way followed, but he persisted. Next he was taken from school and set at learning a trade, that of ornamental painting. This was something tangible and, having artistic taste, he excelled in it, and his parents became in a manner reconciled. They considered an education as wholly unnecessary to a business life, as a sinful waste of time. George was a natural mechanic; as a child his tastes ran in that direction. When he grew older he expressed a wish to become an architect but this was tabooed. He, however, submitted a design and, crude as it was, it showed genuine skill and received considerable praise. He simply waited his opportunity to perfect his talent.
Elisha and he were the best of friends. Cornelia had told the former of George’s disappointment in not being able to receive a thorough business education and, with characteristic readiness to aid others in any worthy object, Elisha took him under his own supervision with most gratifying results. Now, at twenty, George had obtained his parents’ consent to enter the Institute of Mechanical Arts at Nootwyck, and in two years he looked forward to the attainment of his long-cherished ambition.
June arrived with its sunshine and roses and one ideal morning before the sun peeped over the mountain, the entire household at The Laurels, including George Van Tine, started by wagon for Sam’s Point. The dewy air was fragrant with flowers and birds twittered joyously among the trees. Deliciously fresh and cool seemed the old Berm which they were following. Canal boats still crept sleepily on between Honesdale and Rondout, but the old boating days were almost over and would soon exist only as a memory of something that had served a good purpose. Past the path to the ice caves where, in caverns hundreds of feet deep, nature provides an abundant store of ice at all seasons of the year. In their vicinity, the mountains seemed to have been rent by some convulsion of nature that split the solid rocks into chasms from two to twelve feet wide, about one-half a mile in extent, and perhaps two hundred feet deep. Geologists say that they are not of volcanic action but caused by the gradual cooling off of the earth’s surface.
Canal boats still crept sleepily on
Soon the road was steadily up and they halted frequently to rest the horses and enjoy the view below. Dora had never seen the mountain laurel, and the mountain sides were literally pink with blossoms.
“Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed, examining a superb bunch that Hernando had picked for her. “The symbol of victory.”
“I regret that this is not the ‘Laurus Nobilis,’” Mr. De Vere replied. “That could not stand our climate. The Indians called this ‘Spoonwood,’ and utilized the fine-grained knots for making spoons.”