The day was very warm, and the heat of the sun almost overpowering. Mr. Davenport took a long “nooning,” as was his custom when the weather was oppressively hot. Throwing himself upon a settle, after dinner, in the coolest room he could find, he sometimes indulged in a nap, but more frequently employed the hour of rest with a book or newspaper, or in conversation with his wife or children, or in thinking over the affairs of the farm. On this occasion, Clinton brought in the trap, and showed it to him. After examining it in silence, he inquired:
“How much is your loss, Clinty?—have you figured it up?”
“No, sir; I haven’t thought anything about that,” he replied.
“Then it doesn’t trouble you much, I presume,” said his father.
“No, sir; I care a good deal more for the poor hens than I do for the money,” replied Clinton.
“That’s right!” said his father; “you’ve made considerable profit out of your poultry, and you must expect to meet with some losses, once in a while. Losses are inseparable from business; and the wisest way is to make the best of them when we can’t avoid them. If a man meets with nothing but prosperity, he is apt to grow reckless in his management, and oppressive towards others; or he becomes wholly absorbed with the world, and forgets that there is a God or a future life. But adversity, if a man knows how to profit by it, will correct these faults. I have met with some pretty serious losses in my day; but I can see, now, that I am better off than I should have been if they had never befallen me.”
“Do you think you are better off for being cheated out of everything you owned, when Mr. Jellison failed?” inquired Clinton.
“I have no doubt of it, now, although it was a severe blow to me at the time,” replied his father. “I was a young man then, and had set my heart too intently on making money, as though that were the great object of life. Perhaps, if I had not met with that loss, I should have grown up a miser. I have learned this lesson, on my way through the world: that a man’s happiness doesn’t depend on the amount of money he owns. In one sense, in fact, we do not own anything—we are only stewards. The property is lent to us for the time, and we are bound to make a good use of it. It belongs to the world, or, rather, to God. It was in the world before we came, and it will remain here after we have gone; and we shall have to give an account of the use we make of it while it is in our hands. As I have a claim on all you own, so there is One who has a claim on whatever I possess.”
“But I didn’t know you had a claim on my money,” replied Clinton.
“Have you ever settled for your board, and clothing, and education, and all the other expenses of your bringing up?” inquired his father.