Round the Block: An American Novel

by John Bell Bouton

Marcus replied confusedly, and as if it were something to be ashamed of, that he was neither the one nor the other, though he hoped some day (here he was exceedingly awkward) to be both.

The old gentleman was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, that he did not seem to notice the reply. He again braced himself in the chair, as if he would, by that act, gather strength to proceed.

"Of course, I called the child Myndert. He was the seventh of that name; and I used to think, even when he was a toddling little baby, what plans of education would be best suited to develop his talents. I know that a parent's partiality is a magnifying glass of high power; but, to the best of my belief, he was a most precocious child. I think so now, as I look back upon the days of his prattling innocence.

"After a great deal of debating, my wife and I concluded to make a lawyer of him. He was to be the first lawyer in our family annals; and we fondly pictured to ourselves that he would become an eminent judge, or that he would step from the bar into political life, and shed honor upon his country and his family as a statesman. I know how ridiculous these imaginings must seem to you, and I recall them only to show you how deeply our hearts were wrapped up in that boy.

"When our little Myndert was five years old, my wife died." Here the old gentleman clutched the arms of the chair firmly with both hands. "Our son had been very sick for a week before, and my dear Clara had nearly worn herself out watching over and nursing him. A severe cold, which she caught while going to the druggist's in a rain, did the rest. She died with one arm around me and the other around little Myndert; and her last words were a blessing on the boy, and a request that I would always love him for her sake." The old gentleman's eyes glistened with tears, and his lips twitched convulsively. Marcus evinced his sympathy in the fittest way, by keeping silence, and fixing his eyes on the floor.

"Well, sir, not to be tedious, I lavished my whole heart upon that child. His presence seemed to be some consolation for the great loss I had sustained. His features were so like hers, in all except the eyes, that I seemed to see her through him; and thus, in a peculiar sense, I loved him for her sake, indeed. He was petted and caressed from his very cradle. Ah, there was my error; but who can blame a father for over-loving his only son, and that one motherless!

"He early showed indications of a fierce temper and a sullen pride, in which respects he resembled not his mother, but her father, who, with the exception of these two faults, was a good and just man. I have heard of cases in which strong mental traits jump over a generation, and appear in the next one. I thought, and still think, that my son's singular peculiarities might be explained in that way. If you will bear with me, sir, I will give you some illustrations of his character.

"When he was nine years of age, a dear friend, now dead, advised me not to injure so precocious an intellect by too much cultivation, but to put the boy on a farm, where he could divide his time between healthful work and youthful sports, and would be kept away from the contaminating influences of the city, I agreed to make the experiment, though reluctantly, for I could not bear the thought of parting with my child. An old family acquaintance who owned a farm in Dutchess County, and had no children, was willing to take my boy.

"Little Myndert liked the idea of going into the country, and for two weeks he behaved very well; and his acting father wrote me, that if I could spare the boy, he would like to adopt him as his own. But the next letter, a week afterward, brought a different story. It was while Myndert was not put to work, that he behaved so well. But when the farmer gave him a little hoe, and asked him to grub up a few weeds in the garden, the lad threw it down, and said to the farmer, 'I hate you.' This was his favorite expression to those who aroused his displeasure when a child. The good man was astonished at this insubordination, and tried to persuade Myndert to do as he was told. But persuasion was useless; and so were the threats with which the farmer tried to frighten him. As for whipping the boy, he was, like me, too soft-hearted to do that.

"So Myndert became the master there, as he had been here. His real nature now came out. From that time until the worthy farmer sent the boy home in despair--ten weeks later--he was the wonder and terror of the neighborhood. Chickens, goslings, and young ducks were killed; boughs of apple trees and other fruit trees were broken down; strawberry beds were entered, and the plants pulled up by the roots; the windows of the village church and schoolhouse were broken with stones; and three fourths of these acts were traced to little Myndert. He always denied the charges, and put on an air of innocence, which deceived many persons.