Neighbour Gray
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"Have you met our new neighbor Gray, friend Tompkins?" inquired one farmer of another. They were at Peter Craig's blacksmith shop.
"No; and what's more, I don't want to meet him," was abruptly answered.
"Don't want to meet him?"
"No! I've said just what I mean," replied Tompkins, ill-naturedly. "I don't want to meet him, nor have anything to do with him."
"You'll change your mind, I think," said the blacksmith.
"Will I?" A sneer curled the lip of farmer Tompkins.
"Yes, and that before Mr. Gray is two months in Somerville," replied Peter Craig. "But, please, tell us what you have against our new neighbor.
"Oh, nothing very particular, only I don't like him."
"There is one thing to be said in his favor," remarked the blacksmith — "he keeps good horses."
"Humph! No better than is to be found in the neighborhood," said Tompkins. "No better, in fact, than I have."
"I'm not so sure of that," returned Peter Craig. "I put shoes on his carriage horses yesterday, and, if I'm any judge, their match is not within ten miles of these parts. No, no, friend Tompkins, you haven't the horseflesh on your sixty acres, that will compare with neighbor Gray's.
"Bah! neighbor Gray's! Nobody's got anything, from a pitchfork up to a threshing machine, that will compare with neighbor Gray's! It makes me downright angry to hear people talk after this fashion. Who's Mr. Gray, I'd like to know?"
"He's a gentleman," said the blacksmith, a little warmly.
"Gentleman!" Tompkins spoke with a bitter sneer, "I hate gentlemen!"
"The gentleman is the only true man," remarked Peter Craig.
"Of course — kid gloves, calf-skin, broadcloth, are everything — and the individual nothing."
"Not so fast, friend Tompkins; not so fast. It is the heart that makes the gentleman."
"If that is the case, I don't think there's much chance for your new neighbor. But, gentleman, or no gentleman, I detest this Gray from the bottom of my heart, and wish he were a thousand miles away from Somerville!"
As Tompkins closed this sentence, in a pretty loud tone of voice, his ear caught the sound of a footstep, and turning quickly, he saw Mr. Gray approaching through the blacksmith's shop, having entered by the opposite door from the one near which the little group of men were standing. He was near enough to have heard the closing sentence, and, from the expression of his countenance, it was pretty evident that its meaning was understood.
The moment Tompkins saw him, his face crimsoned, and, turning off abruptly, he strode away. As he did so, he thought he heard the voice of Mr. Gray calling after him. But he had not the manliness to stop and meet, face to face, the individual whose name he had abused so freely.
An ill-natured, jealous-minded, unhappy kind of a man, was this Tompkins. You will find his counterpart in almost every neighborhood. Mr. Gray, towards whom he cherished such unkind feelings, had bought, some months before, the farm that immediately adjoined his, and, a few weeks previously, taken formal possession. Now, Tompkins wanted this farm, and had been for some time endeavoring to strike a bargain with its previous owner, when Mr. Gray, seeing the property advertised for sale, complied with the terms, and became the purchaser. Tompkins wished to exchange his farm for the other, and give notes for the difference in price; and although the owner had two or three times declined his offer, he was still in hope of making the arrangement, when Mr. Gray dashed all his hopes to the ground.
From that moment, he hated Mr. Gray in his heart, and wished him all manner of evil. But for all this, Tompkins didn't feel very comfortable in mind about the harsh sentence which he was very certain Mr. Gray had heard. Talk as freely as he would behind his neighbor's back, he was not quite prepared to denounce him to his face; and for this reason, if for none other, he could show no cause for his animosity. The farm was in market, and his new neighbor had as good a right to purchase as anyone else. It was not at all probable that Mr. Gray knew anything about his previous negotiations; and even if he had, that was no reason why he should not purchase if an offer of the farm were made to him.
Compelled now to look at the affair as if looking upon it with other people's eyes, Tompkins was not able to justify himself in the unkind attitude he had taken. Imagination brought him face to face with the incensed Mr. Gray, who said to him, in a stern, demanding voice:
"What is the meaning of this language? What have I done, that you detest me, and wish me a thousand miles away from Somerville?"
In vain did farmer Tompkins seek to frame some reply in his thoughts which would have the appearance of justification. It would not answer to refuse giving any reason for his conduct; for that would place him in the light of a mere traducer of his neighbor without cause. Nor would it do to state the true reason; for that was one which, however valid in his own eyes, could hardly appear so in the eyes of anybody else.
Farmer Tompkins was in somewhat of a quandary. He had brought himself into rather a humiliating relation to this new neighbor; and the more he thought about it, the less clearly did he see himself honorably out of his trouble.
But Tompkins was not the man to "humble himself," to use his own words, to anyone, by acknowledging that he had done wrong, no matter how sharp were his own convictions on the subject. And of all men in the world, Mr. Gray was the last to whom he would make humiliating acknowledgments. He hated and despised him the more, now that he felt himself something in his power. And he determined to brave it out. If neighbor Gray called upon him for explanations, he would insult him to his face!
On the next morning Tompkins had occasion to visit the blacksmith's shop again.
"What did that Gray have to say about me yesterday?" he asked of Peter Craig, in his most abrupt, ill-natured manner.
"He didn't mention your name," replied the blacksmith.
The farmer looked surprised.
"He must have heard me."
"I rather think he did," said the blacksmith.
"And didn't say anything at all?"
"Not about you."
Farmer Tompkins was puzzled and disappointed. As much as he hated, and affected to despise Mr. Gray, he felt nervous about the effect produced upon him by the harsh words he had spoken; and he had hoped to get some clue thereto from the blacksmith.
A few hours later in the day, as he was riding away from home, he saw his new neighbor approaching along the road not far distant. Obeying the first impulse of his mind, he turned his horse's head, and struck off into a narrow lane, that took him nearly a mile out of his way. In consequence, he was too late for an appointment at which some important business was to be done, and lost an expected advantage.
"I wish this Gray had been in the Dead Sea before he thought of coming to Somerville," was his angry ejaculation, when, on arriving at the appointed place, he found the business closed, and all the benefit he had hoped to gain forever beyond his reach.
Just as farmer Tompkins, on returning from his fruitless ride, came in sight of home, he saw Mr. Gray leaving the house. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Yes; it was even so. Mr. Gray was passing through the gate; and now was moving down the road in the direction of his own home. Tompkins slackened the speed of his horse so that he might not come too fully in view until Mr. Gray reached a bend in the road, around which he passed out of sight.
"What did that fellow want?" he asked, sharply, of his wife, on reaching home.
"Of whom are you speaking?" she inquired.
"Why of Gray — confound him!"
"He merely asked for you," replied the wife.
"Did he say that he would call again?"
"No."
"Humph!" Farmer Tompkins was worried. It was plain that Mr. Gray was not a man to be assailed and traduced, without calling his traducer to an account. So far as vituperation was concerned, farmer Tompkins found that an easy matter — it came as "natural as eating." But the thought of being called to an account — of being asked for explanations — of being required to give reasons for the strong language he had seen proper to use, was very far from being agreeable.
All that afternoon, farmer Tompkins was in hourly dread of another call from his new neighbor Gray. Every sound of approaching feet, or sudden call, or noise of the shutting gate, caused him to startle, or look up from his work. He was provoked with himself for all this; but, for his life, could not help it. A little while before sundown, he came over from the barn to get something from the house. As he came in at the back door, a young woman, wearing a blue sun-bonnet, went out at the front door.
"Who is that?" he asked of his wife.
"Neighbor Gray's girl," was replied.
The farmer's heart gave a quicker bound.
"What did she want?"
He knit his brows as he awaited the answer.
"Mrs. Gray sent over a tumbler of jelly for Maggy."
Now, Maggy was a dear little two years' old pet, with soft blue eyes, and light brown hair that fell in wavy circles about her neck, and a heart as full of love, as that of her father was of ill-will to almost every one but herself. To him she was sunlight and joy. The love that gushed forth for her, seemed all the stronger because it had free course in no other direction. But Maggy was sick. A fever had seized upon her delicate frame, and wasted her almost to a shadow, and now, although the destroyer had departed from their dwelling, the child was as weak as in the days of earliest infancy.
"Mrs. Gray sent over a tumbler of jelly for Maggy."
What an unexpected answer! Farmer Tompkins was altogether unprepared for it.
"How did she know that Maggy was sick?"
His voice was less imperative.
"Mr. Gray asked about her when he was here this morning."
"Who? What?"
Farmer Tompkins was again taken by surprise.
"Mr. Gray asked kindly about her; and when I told him that she was better, he looked very much pleased."
The farmer turned his face partly away, so that his wife should not see its expression.
"How does Maggy seem this afternoon?" he asked, a few moments afterwards.
"Better," said the wife.
"I must look at her for a moment; dear little pet!" And Tompkins went into the bedroom where she lay. An older sister stood by her side, holding the jelly, and feeding her with it.
"How is my little Maggy?" said the father, as he bent over and kissed her.
"I'm better," she answered, smiling — then added, in a pleased way,
"Don't you think Mrs. Gray was very good to send me this nice jelly?"
"Yes, dear."
How could he help answering yes?
When farmer Tompkins returned to the barn, he felt very strangely. There was a pressure on his feelings, for which he could not clearly account; and no wonder — for the farmer was not much given to the observation of his own mental processes. That little act of kindness towards Maggy, so altogether unexpected, had thrown his mind into sudden confusion. He had felt a dislike for Mrs. Gray, simply because he hated her husband — but how could he continue to cherish this feeling for one who had shown kindness towards his little Maggy? It was next to impossible. And Mr. Gray had asked after Maggy! And further still — it was natural to conclude, that the kind act of his wife had some sort of dependence upon his direction of her thoughts towards the sick child.
"I wish I hadn't said anything against him at Peter Craig's." Now that thought marked the beginning of a better state of mind in farmer Tompkins. "I don't like him; and will never forgive him as long as I live. But there is no occasion to make an enemy even of a dog. And, of course, he's my sworn enemy from this day forth. I wonder what brought him over here. No, I don't wonder either! Well, let him do his worst; he'll find no backing down in Ephraim Tompkins."
On the next morning, Tompkins went over to the blacksmith's shop to see if Peter Craig had finished mending a plough which he had left there some days before. He had said nothing about being in a hurry; and did not really need the plough for a week. But he thought he would step over and see how the work was progressing. As he entered the shop, he saw the plough lying near the forge. But the blacksmith was hammering away upon a wagon tire. Now, although Tompkins didn't need the plough for some days, he felt displeased at seeing his work put aside for the work of somebody else, and said, a little tartly —
"I expected to see that plough finished by this time."
"And so it would have been, friend Tompkins; but our new neighbor, Mr. Gray, had the misfortune to break a wagon-tire yesterday afternoon, just in the midst of some hauling that must be finished by tomorrow. So I let your plough lie, as I knew you were not in a hurry, and was sure you would be willing to oblige Mr. Gray. I will have it all ready for you in the morning."
"Tomorrow morning won't do!" said Tompkins, angrily. "I want my plough today!"
"I'm sorry," said the blacksmith, in a troubled manner. "I didn't think it would make any difference, or I wouldn't have put aside your work for Mr. Gray or anybody else."
"Oh yes you would!" retorted Tompkins, in a spiteful tone. "Mr. Gray is everything in Somerville now — and I'm nobody!"
"Don't say that, friend Tompkins," said the blacksmith; "I would do your work as quickly as I would Mr. Gray's. If the plough had belonged to him, and you had come with the broken wagon-tire, I would have laid aside the plough to mend the tire."
But farmer Tompkins was not disposed to listen to reason. This act of letting his work lie over for a day, in order to do that of his neighbor, against whom he had so deep a grudge, made him almost blind with passion, and he was talking in a loud, angry voice, when neighbor Gray's form darkened the door of the blacksmith shop. The new neighbor had called over to see how the mending of the wagon-tire progressed. Just as he entered, Tompkins used his name in connection with some pretty harsh language. Not seeming to notice this, Mr. Gray came forward, and offering his hand to Mr. Tompkins, said very kindly —
"How is your little daughter this morning? I hope she is very much better?"
"She is better, I thank you," replied Tompkins, almost stammering out the words, at the same time that he allowed Mr. Gray to take his hand and shake it, pretty much as he would have shaken a stick.
"I hope," continued Mr. Gray, "that our friend the blacksmith hasn't done anything wrong in laying aside your work to do mine. If so, I ask you to let all the blame fall upon my shoulders. We were so unfortunate as to break our wagon-tire, and all our work was at a stand-still until it was mended. It was one of those emergencies in which all neighbors are ready to accommodate each other, even at the cost of a little inconvenience."
Now, farmer Tompkins hardly expected a greeting like this, and was considerably thrown aback, as the sailors say. The kind inquiry after Maggy — the remembrance of Mrs. Gray's thoughtful attention to the sick child — and, more particularly, the open, frank, friendly manner in which Mr. Gray spoke, all had the effect to disarm him. He wanted to repel the new neighbor — "to speak out his mind" to him — to let him see something of the antagonism that was in his heart. But the cordial good nature, and kind, gentlemanly bearing of Mr. Gray were too much for him, and thawed the ice of his feelings faster than a determined ill-nature could freeze the surface.
"I called over yesterday afternoon," continued Mr. Gray, "to mention what I had done; and ask if it would put you to any inconvenience. And I intended to speak with you about a matter which I will mention now. It is this — "
And he drew farmer Tompkins aside, in order that he might talk with him alone.
"I find," he continued, "in having the searches made for the purpose of fixing a true title to the farm just bought, and which adjoins yours, that there has been a clear mistake in running the boundary between your farm and mine — a mistake that includes at least five acres of that fine meadow land to the west of your barn."
"I don't believe a word of it!" exclaimed farmer Tompkins, firing up, and looking the picture of angry indignation. "My title-deeds call for sixty acres, and sixty acres I mean to hold, if I fight for it until doomsday!"
"Gently, gently, neighbor Tompkins," replied Mr. Gray. "There need be no trouble about the matter. We don't need any law to settle a business like this. A compromise, where both parties desire to do right, is the easiest thing in the world. You will find me very reasonable."
"It's more than you will find me, then, Mr. Gray, if you attempt to get five acres of my meadow land. I can tell you that, in the beginning."
"I don't want a foot of your land," said Mr. Gray.
"What then do you want?" demanded the exasperated farmer.
"Simply to do right," was the calm reply. "I find that I am considerably over on your line, and that the amount of land I inclose which really belongs to you, is about five acres."
Farmer Tompkins startled, looked confused, and flushed to a deeper crimson.
"I requested," continued Mr. Gray, "my conveyancer to go carefully over the matter again, and make his report, which was done yesterday. He says there is no doubt about the matter. I am over the line considerably. Now, what I wish to say is this: I will buy these five acres at a hundred dollars an acre, if you are inclined to sell; if not, I will have my fence removed to the true line, which a surveyor can determine."
"We need hardly say that Tompkins was completely disarmed. If a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet, he could not have been more surprised. A moment or two he stood in bewilderment of mind; then reaching out his hand to Mr. Gray, he said:
"I am rebuked. Have it your own way. Let the fence stand where it is, and keep the land if you choose — I shall still be as well off as I thought myself an hour ago."
"Right is right, friend Tompkins," replied Mr. Gray. "So if you will walk over to my house, we will settle this business at once. I prefer keeping the land and paying for it the price mentioned."
"It is yours at any price," answered Mr. Tompkins. After a few moments of silence, he added: "I was your enemy, Mr. Gray — your enemy, I now see, without a cause. You have disarmed me in the first encounter. Let us now be friends."
And he reached forth his hand, which was warmly grasped by the new neighbor.
After that, farmer Tompkins was a different man. Mr. Gray proved a true friend, for, both by example and precept, he taught him a better and happier way in the world, and he walked therein with a more cheerful spirit than of old.
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