The conversation was carried on chiefly between Saul and Grace. Mrs. Barham occasionally put in her oar, a gentle tentative stroke, never out of time, never impeding progress; but the main work was in the hands of the two strong young pullers. The minister said but little. The talk was of things concerning which he knew nothing, or the echo of which, at most, had reached him from a distance, without awakening much interest. In his narrow sphere, where there was no circulating library, and where he rarely came into contact with a mind which had left the beaten high-roads, along which its possessor jogged contented daily to his business or his farm, the air was exhausted, vitiated. There was no free current of thought as in more spacious centres of activity, where men meet, discuss, and learn the lessons that are taught by friction. Not that the village was a dream of idyllic peace, or free from the jealousies that are born of theological controversy. How could it be otherwise in a comparatively small community, which boasted, besides the Episcopal church, of a Unitarian, a Baptist, a first Methodist, a second Methodist, and a Congregational chapel. It was astonishing that they all fared as well together as they did; but, in the nature of things, discussion and criticism constantly arose, and it was Mr. Barham's misfortune that these conflicts of opinion never tended to enlarge his own strongly fortified views, for the minds with which he had to deal were all distinctly inferior to his own. Endowed with considerable capacity, combative, obstinate, and unswerving in rectitude and his idea of duty, he might, under different circumstances, have become a modern St. Paul. At least, so his son said. But then St. Paul had been, as we know, buffeted about a good deal, in the course of which process he had acquired considerable knowledge of the world. It is true that, like St. Paul, Mr. Barham was neither diffident nor humble. It was possible to conceive that he might, at the close of his life, say, "I have fought a good fight, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness." But he never could have written, "I am made all things to all men," for a more uncompromising opponent in discussion, or one who less understood the wisdom of yielding in small things, never stepped the earth.
Between Saul and his father there were differences of opinion on other subjects than that of Home Rule; but the son, while he had inherited some of Mr. Barham's obstinacy and tenacity of purpose, had a more plastic mind, and possessed the invaluable capacity of being able to hold his tongue. Thus he never argued with his father, knowing that it would be useless to assail the bulwarks behind which his opinions were intrenched, and doubly reluctant, now that he had left home, to enter into controversy which might leave some soreness of feeling behind it. The father respected his son—his character, his attainments, the estimation in which he knew Saul was held. Therein lay the young man's strength. But for this, it could hardly have been that altercation should not have arisen, from time to time, between a man of so dominant a disposition as Mr. Barham and the one human being who had grown up under his direct influence, and upon whom it might be expected he would have imposed his views. A little gentle banter, as on this occasion, was all that the young professor ever permitted himself towards his father; and this the minister received much as a majestic Newfoundland does the bark of a puppy. It was beneath his notice.
"My father, you see, has become a total abstainer lately," he said to Grace, towards the end of dinner, "and it is no use my mother's quoting St. Paul to him, 'Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake.' The pitchers of ice-water he consumes in a day would float a lugger. I have remarked to him occasionally that excesses in ice-water are as pernicious—or perhaps more so—as in spirits; but my words of wisdom fall on inattentive ears."
Grace replied, "All I know is, we were specially warned against falling into the habit, when we came to America. As to my aunt, she thinks there are 'germs' or 'microbes,' or something, in every glass, and would sooner die of thirst, I believe, than drink water which she could not trace to its very source."
Even the minister himself smiled at this, but he did not attempt to argue the point; it was not worth while. His attitude throughout the evening was the same—that of a listener, standing somewhat aloof from the subjects discussed; rarely a participator in the discussion. The ground they traversed was never personal. Grace felt that her curiosity about the young professor's views and aspirations must be curbed in the presence of his father, before whom she instinctively knew he would not speak openly.
The next morning Saul returned to his work, and Mrs. Barham proposed taking Grace to visit that magnificent female university, Wellesley College, which was only a short distance by rail. It far surpasses, in extent and scope, as Grace found, any similar institution in England. Seven hundred girls were receiving instruction from the very best professors, in classics, modern languages, literature, science, and art, according to their proclivities and the object each had in view. The main building, and the fine park in which it stands, were the donation of a man who lost his only child, and devoted his vast fortune to the erection and endowment of this college. For three hundred dollars yearly, a girl has every privilege belonging to it—including bed and board; and the education of the body is no less well cared for than that of the mind. There is a gymnasium and a big lake, where the girls row in summer-time and skate in winter. They looked blooming and merry, this bright February morning, flying over the ice, their young voices, pitched in a high key, rippling along the sharpened air as they pursued each other.
Their English visitor was exceedingly interested. The aspect of the place and of the students alike charmed her; it was so cheerful, so far removed from the sternness of the Academic Grove. Here each girl seemed to be pursuing with enthusiasm, and with a joyousness of spirit that struck Grace as wholly un-English, the studies she had selected as likely to be most serviceable to her in after-life. There was no enforced "curriculum," no obligatory course of learning. A high standard of excellence in each department stimulated the energies and the ambition of the students; it seemed in no instance to have crushed them. The common objection made to women taking up serious studies, that it unfits them for domestic life, and in many instances frightens away the would-be suitor, was effectually answered when Grace was told that nearly every girl who had taken a high degree, and had left the college meaning to earn her livelihood by mental labor, had married within a few months, and had settled down, contented, in the home that had been offered her.
"Are all these girls of one class?" asked Grace of Mrs. Barham.
"No; some are the daughters of rich men, who have no need to work for their living. The greatest proportion, of course, mean to become governesses, for whom there is a great and constantly increasing demand. Some, again, will become doctors, some designers, and so on. Quite a number become writers for the periodicals or for the daily press."
"Oh! I hope they don't become interviewers, like that dreadful Miss Clutch, who forced herself on me in New York?"