The next musical adventure of Apollos was effected by exchanging a young and tender calf for a fiddle! Every muscle of his long arm, became as a separate fiddle-bow, giving forth such endless see-sawing and tweedle-dee-ing that every good wife in the neighborhood was tempted to complain of him as a nuisance, for waking up all the babies and disturbing them in their first sleep, for the strains of Apollos, like those of “sweet Philomela,” were only heard at night. But notwithstanding all this Apollos was a general favorite, for the spirit of harmony pervaded his bosom for all animate and inanimate objects—there was to him music in all created things. His heart was gentle—his hand ever ready to do a kindness, and therefore he was suffered to fiddle to his bent, little dreaming the anathemas which the deed, not the doer, nightly originated.
Side by side stood the cottages of Leonard Davis and Luther Howell, and side by side grew up the two lovely children Paul and Linda.
Neither Davis nor Howell were in good circumstances, although both owned the farms on which they lived; yet there was a great difference in the character of the two men, which in the end led to very different results. Leonard Davis was a thriftless, indolent man, who loved better to smoke his pipe under the tavern porch, and give forth his opinions upon the politics of the day, than to cultivate his land or keep his fences in order. Luther Howell, on the contrary, was a hard-working, industrious man. He loved money although he had but little of it—yet he resolved to have more; and upon the strength of that determination dug and delved away his days, almost begrudging even the Sabbath rest.
Linda was the youngest of his five children, all of which, to Mr. Howell’s great chagrin were daughters. Mr. Davis had but one child, little Paul, whose mother had died while he was but an infant, and Mrs. Howell feeling compassion for the motherless boy encouraged him to play with her children, so that by degrees the little fellow became nearly domesticated under the same roof with the five rosy-cheeked, happy little Howells. Paul was three years older than Linda, and was very proud of the confidence which Mrs. Howell reposed in his superior age and strength, by trusting to him the care of the little toddling girl, and repaid her confidence by deserving it. Linda soon became more fond of Paul than any one else, and Paul would at any time leave his play with the older girls, or throw down his bat and ball if he but heard the sweet voice of the little Linda calling his name. He would lead her into the woods, and with a natural love of the beautiful select a spot where the moss was the greenest and freshest, and where the golden sunlight quivering through the dense foliage danced in playful gambols around them—here he would carefully seat the little girl, and gather for her the pretty wild flowers which he found hid in the thick woods, or the bright scarlet berries peeping out from the dark, glossy leaves of the winter-green; and when the little Linda was old enough to go to school, Paul still enacted himself her champion and assistant.
Linda was ten years old when Mr. Howell received a letter from his brother, living in New York, offering to relieve him of a share of his burdens by adopting one of the five girls into his family. Imbued with the same money-getting spirit as his brother, Ansel Howell had left the village many years previous, to seek the fortune he was resolved upon amassing. He had been successful, and at the date of the letter which caused so much excitement in the humble residence of Luther, Ansel might be considered a rich man.
The offer was gladly accepted, and the question next arose which of the girls should go forth from the family hive. Prudence governed their decision. Bessie could spin her day’s work with any farmer’s daughter for miles around—Sophie was already capable of taking charge of the dairy, while Polly and Margaret not only could sew nearly as well as their mother, but could also make themselves useful in various ways about the house. Linda was of the least service in the domestic keep, and therefore the choice fell upon Linda, who was thus taken from her simple country pleasures, and from her dear friend Paul to a new home and new friends amid the ceaseless din of a city.
Luther Howell reaped the benefits of his industry. His farm throve—his stock increased—the old house was torn down, and a handsome, convenient two story dwelling erected on its site; and in the course of a few years Mr. Howell went as representative to the state legislature, and was reckoned one of the most substantial men in the village. But just in proportion as things had prospered with Howell had they gone adverse with his neighbor Davis, and about the time when the new tenement of the former was being raised amid the loud cheers of the workmen, the sheriff seized upon both house and land of the latter, and that being insufficient to meet his debts, for “the want thereof they took the body”—at that time imprisonment for debt was no uncommon thing. If Davis had not been so perfectly thriftless, in all humanity his townsmen would have bailed him out, but the fact is, it was pretty generally conceded that he might just as well smoke in jail as elsewhere—pipes and tobacco therefore were freely contributed, and in the course of a few months poor Leonard Davis evaporated—his soul taking flight in a whiff of tobacco smoke!
Before the affairs of his father became so desperate, Paul had worked his way to New York, and apprenticed himself in a large printing-office, trusting with all the confidence of youth that he should return ere many years to his native village, free his father from the shackles of debt, and perhaps set up an establishment of his own. Another and a brighter vision might have mingled with these day dreams, of which we may learn more hereafter.
Paul knew that his little friend Linda lived in the same city with him, and after a long search he was at length enabled to discover the dwelling which sheltered the pet flower of his boyhood. But there was such an atmosphere of grandeur around her now, that poor Paul had not courage to penetrate further, so for several weeks he contented himself with hovering around the house in the evening and on Sundays, hoping at least to obtain a glimpse of the little girl.