And the boy's eyes looked as though they would look to the satisfaction of the most devoted teacher.
"Well," my boy, replied Mrs. Tracy as she drew him nearer to her in loving admiration of such enthusiasm, "only yesterday I received a letter from your uncle in Northampton urging me to take you and come to make him a visit, and I thought then what a good opportunity it would be for you to see your first mountain. Now do you know what one I mean?"
"Oh yes," answered Reuben; "but you mean two, do'nt you? Mount Tom and Mount Holyoke. I learned that in my geography. I can see it now in my book where it says that Mount Tom is twelve hundred feet high, and Mount Holyoke one thousand feet high." But Bob Phelps said that there were lots of Rattlesnakes on Mount Tom, so I should not dare to go there—but then—"
"Visitors don't go on Mount Tom proper, as there is no accomodation for them," interrupted Mrs. Tracy, "but on Mount Holyoke there is the Prospect House, which your uncle said last summer was a very well-kept house. Why, it is thirty-five years ago that I was on top of that mountain, when, as a young girl, just a little older than you, I went with my father and mother. A Mr. French had just taken the house. I wonder if he is there now. He seemed determined then to do what he could for the place. I can hear him now telling my father that a spot which had been such a favorite one for over two hundred years must have some superior claim upon the people of his day. I really would love to go there again. It is one of those places which once seen is never forgotten, and then I could'nt choose a better spot for your introduction to a lovely mountain view. But, my child, it is getting late and time for you to go to bed. Run along and I will write to your uncle to-night and accept his cordial invitation."
"And tell him" added Reuben, "that I wish every boy in this world had such a boss mother as I have. Ned Bolton says so, too;" with which unique expression of love and gratitude he kissed his mother "Good night" and went off to bed to dream of, well, what do you think? Of rattle-snakes, of mountains, or even of geography? Oh, no! only nothing, for he was a healthy boy who said he couldn't spare the time to dream.
After he had gone Mrs. Tracy sat alone for a while, thinking over this early visit of hers, with all the precious memories which it suggested of her own father and mother, now dead and gone. Then she thought over the past year's intimate life which she had enjoyed with her boy, and became more and more thankful that she had been enabled thus to get up out of her selfish grief of the summer before—when death took her other children from her—and empty her own life into the larger channel of life around her. She was pleased to think of the good fruits that had arisen from her plans for her boy's vacation trips, not only upon him but upon other mothers who had been led to follow her example. She thought of the Christmas week she had spent with him in Boston, where they had enjoyed so many interesting historical sights. And in the few weeks of the vacation which was now passing, it pleased her to recall the delightful days which they had spent at Concord and at Plymouth. And now, in this evening reverie, she smiled as she thought of her boy's telling his geography class all about the Isles of Shoals. How she would loved to have heard him—her fair-haired, blue-eyed boy, talking with all the intensity of his nature of what he had seen. Ah! life had left much to her yet; and she determined anew that Reuben should never want for any of her sympathetic help, either in his sports or in his growing student life. With this renewed determination she went into the house to write her letter to her brother at Northampton.
She was just finishing it when her husband came in from his weekly meeting with the city fathers. She told him all her plan, which he heartily endorsed, and practically helped by taking out his purse and giving her a generous sum of money for the trip, saying, "I wish, my dear, that I could go too, but I cannot leave my business this season of the year. But I am only too glad that I can make money enough for you and Reuben to go. I know of no better way to invest it for the future of our boy, God bless him!
"Ah!" replied Mrs. Tracy, her face all aglow with the joy of having her own thought so fully met, "would that more fathers thought so! but while some think only of a bank account, and the great majority think nothing of any account at all, only the few know the need of a child's mind digesting money, so to speak, as it goes along."
In a few days the arrangements were completed and Mrs. Tracy and her son left their home in Salem for Northampton. Reuben quietly enjoyed the scenery all the way from Boston to Springfield. In the forty minutes' ride from Springfield to Northampton Mrs. Tracy had a delightful opportunity, which she well used, to show her boy the winding course of a river,—the beautiful Connecticut—as they followed it first on one side and then on the other. When Reuben spied the house on Mount Holyoke he realized then that he saw his first mountain. On making inquiries about the mountain with a house on it, on the other side of the river, the conductor told him that that was Mount Nonotuck, a peak of the Mount Tom range, which was nine hundred and fifty feet high. He also told him that Nonotuck was the old Indian name for Northampton, which was just then coming in sight.
On arriving at the station uncle Edward met them with his carriage to convey them to his home on Round Hill. On their way there they passed the fine building of Smith College, which particularly pleased Mrs. Tracy and caused her to say, partly to herself, "Happy, happy girls to have such privileges of college life." "What," said Reuben, "girls go to college like boys? how funny!" When, after a moment or two of seeming abstraction, he said: "That is what papa meant the other day when he said that girls were as good as boys and could learn just as well as they could, is'nt it?" But before Mrs. Tracy could answer him they had arrived at their destination.