The new milk and cheese-whey, the breath of the cows, and the verdure of the fields, refreshed him, and in some degree restored his exhausted strength. But now he was fretted with the question, what to do with the education he had acquired with so much hardship. An additional expenditure of time and money was required to fit him for either of the professions. He was not stimulated by any strong preference for either of them, and his generous soul resisted the idea of taxing his sister’s strength any further for his own advantage. The old question of his boyhood returned with additional force. Why should she, with her noble nature and admirable faculties, be forever penned up within the small routine of petty cares, and mere mechanical efforts? Why should she not share his destiny, and enjoy with him a more expansive atmosphere for soul and body? To this end he resolved to labour. He would earn money by the readiest means that offered, and devote his earnings to her improvement. But Esther said, “If you educate me, dear John, what can I do with my education? I can do nothing but teach school; and for that I am sure my health is not adequate. The doctor says I must take as much exercise as possible.”
“The doctor!” exclaimed John. “Why, Esther, you never told me you had been ill enough to consult a physician.”
“It is merely a slight difficulty in my lungs,” she replied. “I am going to spin on the great wheel this winter; and I think that will cure me. Do not trouble your kind heart about me, my dear John. While I have any health and strength, I will never consent to be a burden upon you, however much you may urge it. I do not believe that sisters ought to depend on brothers for support. I am sure it is far better for the characters of women to rely on their own energies. But sometimes I think we have not a fair chance in the world. I often wish, as you do, that it was easy for us to obtain a more liberal education, and customary to use that education in a freer scope for all our faculties. But never mind, dear brother, the door of your cage is open, and the world is all before you. Go where you will, I know you will never forget the sister, who loves you so dearly. You are destined to go far ahead of me in life; but your good heart will never allow you to be ashamed of your poor untutored Esther.”
John folded her close to his heart, and turned away to hide the gathering tears. He was more than ever desirous to do something for the high culture of that generous and affectionate soul. The way to earn a moderate income was soon opened to him. The widowed sister of one of the college professors wanted a private tutor for her sons; and John Golding was recommended by her brother. Here he came in contact, for the first time, with the outward refinements of life. Charming music, harmonious colours, elegant furniture, and, above all, the daily conversation of a cultivated woman, breathed their gentle and refining influences over his strong and honest soul. At first, he was shy and awkward, but the kindly atmosphere around him, gradually unfolded the sleeping flower-buds within, and without thinking of the process, the scholar became a gentleman. By careful economy, he repaid Esther the sums she had advanced for his education; but the question was forever renewed how he should manage to have her share his advantages, without sacrificing her noble spirit of independence. His visits to the old homestead reminded him, sometimes a little painfully, that he was leaving his family far behind him in the career of knowledge and refinement. His father chewed tobacco, without much regard to cleanliness. His kind old mother would cut the butter with the same knife she had used in eating. She had done so all her life, but he had never before noticed it, and it vexed him to the heart to find himself so much annoyed by it now. His serious, gentle sister, was endowed with an unusual degree of natural refinement, which is usually a better teacher of manners, than mere conventional politeness. But once, when he brought home one of his pupils, she came out to meet them dressed in a new gown, of dingy blue and brick-red, with figures large enough for bed-curtains. He blushed, and was for a moment ashamed of her; then he reproached himself that his darling Esther could seem to him in any respect vulgar. The next week he sent her a dress of delicate material and quiet colours, and she had tact enough to perceive, that this was a silent mode of improving her taste.
The most painful thing connected with his own superior culture was the spiritual distance it produced between him and his honest parents. Their relative positions were reversed. Father and mother looked up with wondering deference to their children. Like hens that have hatched ducks, they knew not what to make of their progeny, thus launching out on a fluid element, which they had never tried. But he perceived the distance between them far more clearly than they could. He could receive the whole of their thought, but was constantly obliged to check the utterance of his own, from a consciousness that allusions the most common to him, would be quite unintelligible to them. “The butterfly may remember the grub, but the grub has no knowledge of the butterfly.” With Esther he had unalloyed pleasure of companionship; for though ignorant of the world, and deficient in culture, she was an intelligent listener, and it charmed him to see her grow continually under the influence of the sunshine he could bring to her. How he loved to teach her! How he longed to prove his gratitude by the consecration of all his faculties and means to her use!
In little more than a year after he left college, a delightful change came over his prospects. A brother of the widow in whose family he had been tutor, was appointed ambassador to Spain, and through her influence he selected John Golding for his private secretary. Esther, true to her unselfish nature, urged him by all means to accept the offer. “When you were a little boy,” said she, “you were always eager to know about countries a great way off. But we little thought then that our cackling hens would ever bring you such a golden opportunity.”
John’s satisfaction would have been complete, if he could have taken Esther with him to that balmy clime. But she had many objections to offer. She said her rustic manners unfitted her for the elegant circles in which he would move; and he replied that she would catch the tone of polished society far more readily than he could. She reminded him that their parents needed his assistance to repair the old dilapidated homestead, and to purchase cows; and that he had promised to devote to their use the first money he could spare. He sighed, and made no answer; for he felt that his pecuniary resources were altogether inadequate to his generous wishes. Again the question returned, “Why cannot women go abroad, and earn their own way in the world, as well as men?” The coming ages answered him, but he did not hear the prophecy.
At last the hour of parting came. Painful it was to both, but far more painful to Esther. The young man went forth to seek novelty and adventure; the young woman remained alone, in the dull monotony of an uneventful life. And more than this, she felt a mournful certainty that she should never behold her darling brother again, while he was cheered by hopes of a happy reunion, and was forever building the most romantic “castles in Spain.” She never told him how very ill she was; and he thought her interrupted breath was caused merely by the choking emotions of an over-charged heart.
He deposited with a friend more money than he could have prevailed upon her to accept, and made a choice collection of books and engravings, to cheer her during his absence. To the last moment, he spoke of coming for her next year, and carrying her to the sunny hills of Spain. With a faint smile she promised to learn Spanish, that she might be able to talk with her brother Don Scolardo; and so with mutual struggle to suppress their tears, the brother and sister, who had gone so lovingly, hand in hand, over the rough paths of life, parted just where the glancing summit of his hopes rose bright before him.
A letter written on board ship was full of cheerful visions of the quiet literary home they would enjoy together in the coming years. The next letter announced his arrival in Spain. Oh, the romantic old castles, the picturesque mills, the rich vineyards, the glowing oranges, the great swelling bunches of grapes! He was half wild with enthusiasm, and seemed to have no annoyance, except the fact that he could not speak modern languages. “I ought not,” said he, “to complain of the college-education for which we toiled so hard, and which has certainly opened for me the closed gateway of a far nobler life than I could probably have entered by any other means. But after all, dear Esther, much of my time and money was spent for what I cannot bring into use, and shall therefore soon for get. Even my Latin was not taught me in a way that enables me to talk freely with the learned foreigners I meet. By the light of my present experience, I can certainly devise a better plan of education for my son, if I ever have one. Meanwhile, dear sister, do not work too hard; and pray study French and Spanish with all diligence; for laugh as thou wilt at my ‘castles in Spain,’ I will surely come and bring thee here. Think of the golden oranges and great luscious grapes, which thou wilt never see in their beauty, till thou seest them here! Think of seeing the Alhambra, with its golden lattice-work, and flowery arabesques! Above all, imagine thyself seated under a fig-tree, leaning on the bosom of thy ever-loving brother!”