David Fleming's Forgiveness

by Margaret M. Robertson

Mr Maxwell paused. He was not so sure of the exact correctness of what he had been about to say. A good many hints and remarks of Jacob, and of his wife also, which had seemed vague at the time, and which he had allowed to pass without remark, occurred to him now as possibly having reference to this trouble.

“Probably there has been misunderstanding between them,” said he after a little.

“Just so,” said the old man eagerly. “Jacob aint the man to be hard on anybody—to say hard; he likes to have what is his own, and being a good man of business he hates shiftless doings, and so shiftless folks think and say hard things of him. But as to taking the advantage of an old man like Mr Fleming—why, it would be about as mean a thing as a man could do, and Jacob aint the man to do it, whatever may be said of him.

“Why, look here, Mr Maxwell. Just let me tell you all about it.” And the old man, with perfect fairness and sufficient clearness, went into all particulars as to the state of Mr Fleming’s affairs at the time of his son’s death, and of Jacob’s claims upon him. His real respect and friendship for the old man was evident in all he said, and when he lamented that his old friend’s unreasonableness should make a settlement of his affairs so difficult, and should make unpleasant talk and hard feelings in the community, Mr Maxwell could not but spare his regret.

“Why, look here, Mr Maxwell. There hasn’t been a cent paid on the principal yet, and not all the interest, though it is years ago now, and some of that has been borrowed money. And there is little prospect of its being any different for years to come. If it had been almost any one else but Jacob, he’d have foreclosed long ago, and I don’t know but he had better when the right time comes.”

It was on Mr Maxwell’s lips to express assent to this, when a glance at the face of Miss Elizabeth arrested his words. It wore a look which he had sometimes seen on it when she wished to turn her father’s thoughts away from a subject which was becoming painful to him. There was anxiety, even pain in her face as well, on this occasion, and these deepened as her father went on.

“Only the other day Jacob was talking to me about it. ‘Father,’ says he, ‘why can’t you just say a word to the old man about letting me have a piece of his land on the river, and settle matters all up. He’ll hear you,’ says he. ‘I don’t want to make hard feelings in the church, or anywhere else,’ says he. ‘It’s as much for the old man’s interest to have his affairs all straightened out, as it is for me, and more. There need be no trouble about it, if he’d only listen to reason.’ I expect I shall have to have a talk with Mr Fleming about it some time,” added the old man gravely. “Or you might speak, Mr Maxwell. He would listen to you.”

“Only, father, it would be as well to wait till the old gentleman is quite well and strong again,” said Elizabeth, rising and folding up her work, and moving about as if to prevent the chance of more talk.

“Well, I guess so, and then I don’t suppose it would amount to much anything I could say to him. I wouldn’t like to say anything to vex or worry him. He has had a deal of trouble one way and another, since he came to the place, and it has kind of soured him, but he is always as sweet as milk to me. You aren’t going away, are you, Mr Maxwell? There, I have tired you all out with my talk, and I’ve tired myself too. But don’t you hurry away. I’ll go and step round a little to get the fresh air, and then I’ll lie down a spell, and rest. And, Lizzie, you find ‘The Puritan’ for Mr Maxwell, and he can take a look at that in the meantime.”

Elizabeth did as she was bidden, and managed to make the minister understand, without saying so, that she would like him not to go away. So he sat down to the doubtful enjoyment of the paper while Elizabeth followed her father from the room.