But if Paul seemed at last to have given in to his uncle’s wishes, he was in truth no more reconciled to the lot which destiny had flung in his way than before. He simply kept his own counsel.
On the other hand two things had contributed to teach patience to the impetuous boy, who never in his life before had known anything like restraint. At first he had consoled himself for his repeated defeats in the simple matter of cake-baking by the thought that he was designed for more impressive things. But the impressive things were not ready to be done yet, and he was being measured by his failure in that which was at hand. And so it came about that he put all his will to the simple, woman’s task, until he had mastered it. In the process, he had come, also, to take a more personal interest in the family affairs; and no longer to think of himself as an outsider, to whom the interests of his kindly relatives were matters of total indifference. He was proud, too, to bear the name of one of the first inhabitants of Frederickstown. It made him feel that he had some share in the little community; he was no longer a boy “without a country,” as he had told his farmer acquaintance. He knew everyone; and he was more or less interested in their various affairs. Once, after he had been listening to some of the older men discussing, in his uncle’s warehouse, a question which had arisen concerning the matter of running the state highway through the town, or turning it off from one of the outlying roads, he had said laughingly to Jane that he was getting a mild attack of “civic interest”; and then after a moment’s thought, he had added more seriously, “But it’s true. I’ve gotten pretty fond of this place. I almost feel as if I belong to it, and it belongs to me. I’d like to make it proud of me some day. It’s all very nice and fine to say that you’re an independent citizen, and don’t hail from anywhere in particular, but you do feel lonely and left-out, and there are lots of things you never can understand. Lots of things,” he repeated, with more emphasis. “I’ve seen dozens of fellows knocking around the world, coming from nowhere in particular, and going nowhere in particular. Some of ’em were pretty clever, I guess—I’d hear ’em talking, sometimes on board ship, sometimes around the tables in the taverns. I used to listen to them—they talked as if they knew a lot, and were usually worked up over something,—Americans, and Italians and down-and-out Englishmen. Lord, how they used to shout and argue and pound their fists. But, now that I think of it, all they said was nothing much but a lot of noise. They were like sea-weed floating around without its roots sticking anywhere. They sounded awfully fiery and patriotic, but I don’t think they honestly cared much about any place under the sun, or about any thing. And that’s a bad way to be. It would be better, I think, to spend all your days in one place and to love that place, even if you got kind of narrowed down—than to belong nowhere.” These grave views surprised Jane, and perhaps she did not wholly understand Paul’s meaning. He was older than she, and was beginning to think like a man, and sometimes she could not quite follow his thoughts. But she hoped that he meant that he would find it possible to work out his own ambitions without going away. Sometimes she wondered—he spoke so little now about his plans—whether he had given them up altogether; and this she did not like to believe. But Jane, inquisitive as she was, could hold her peace very patiently when she felt that it was better so.
In the second place, Paul had become very conscious of his almost total lack of education. He could read, and write, and figure well enough to cast up the accounts with accuracy; but beyond these elements he knew nothing save what he had gleaned from his rough contact with the world. His ignorance of many things which even the twins had learned, sometimes startled even Jane; and Carl had never left off making sly fun of him for counting on his fingers like a kindergarten child when he had to calculate a simple problem in multiplication.
At first he had pretended to scorn his cousin’s book-learning, but little by little he found himself envying Carl’s extensive knowledge, which that youth was rather overfond of airing. Every generation of Winklers had seen to it that the young ones acquired a sound, simple, thorough education; and among them poor Uncle Franz had stood out as the “dunce.”
There was something quite pathetic in the sight of the big boy sitting on those winter evenings, listening to the twins lisp out their next day’s lessons to Elise, and storing away as well as he could the simple things he heard; and many times, he sat up until after midnight, over the ashes of the fire, poring over an old “Elementary History of the United States,” humbly beginning where Janey had long since finished; and stumbling over words that even Lottie could spell easily.
In the midst of these occupation, Paul spent little time in dwelling upon plans for departure. He seemed content to bide his time, if necessary, for an indefinite period; and had settled into a state of peace and amity toward all the world, with one and only one exception.
That exception was Carl. Just where the rub came between the two boys it would be hard to say; but hard as he tried to hold his temper in check, Paul found it impossible either to hit it off with Carl, or to discover the root of his cousin’s grudge against him; and it often seemed to him that Carl deliberately tried to rouse the old Adam in him. Every day Carl’s disposition became more acid, and as the spring progressed he became positively intolerable. Paul had put up with his ill-humors as well as he could, partly because, during the latter part of the winter, Carl, who was the least sturdy of his cousins had not been very well. He suffered frequently from severe headaches, and his constant studying, which he doubled as the spring examinations approached, certainly did not improve either his health or his disposition. Aunt Gertrude was worried about him, and tried to coax him to spend more of his time out of doors, for by the end of March the snow had melted away from the hills, the sun was growing warmer, and the trees already turning green with buds opening in the genial warmth of an early southern spring. He resisted these gentle efforts, however, and even when the long Easter holiday came, settled down to a process of cramming, utterly indifferent to the delicious weather. Even his father had one or two slight difficulties with him, so uncertain was his temper, and the other members of his family treated him with kid gloves, but with Paul he squabbled almost continually. Now Paul had mislaid some of his papers; now he had left the stopper off the inkwell, now he had put his shoes where he couldn’t find them. More than once it occurred to Paul that Carl was actually trying to goad him into leaving. “But what on earth have I ever done to the idiot?” he wondered. That Carl was jealous of him never dawned on his mind; and yet it was the case. Carl was jealous of the position his cousin had taken in the household; he was jealous of his physical strength; he was even jealous of the self-control with which Paul curbed his anything but mild temper, under his continual nagging.
One day, flying into a rage over some trivial matter, Carl informed him that the trouble with him was “his confounded swell-head.” By this time, Paul had reached the end of his tether; he retaliated, with a sudden thrust that went home to Carl’s most vulnerable spot.
“What’s the matter with you, anyway?” he demanded whirling upon his cousin. There was a black frown on his face; and suddenly losing his temper altogether, he seized Carl’s shoulder fiercely. “I’m sick of your eternal whining, and snarling. You snap at me at every chance you get,—but nothing on earth would make you fight like a—a man! Would it? Hey?”
Carl wrenched himself out of his grip, and backed toward the door, trembling with fury.