The Merchant's Son 2

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After long indulging in revery, Arthur roused himself, and related all his plans and projects to his sister. He was to break off all connection with his father's business, and enter college immediately.

"But, Arthur, what will father say? This thing is very sudden to him; he is not prepared for it."

"That I cannot help, Lucy. If I had spoken of it before, it would only have taken from his enjoyment."

"Well, I don't know what to say about it; I think you ought to be a student; and, if you feel that you are doing right, don't be checked by anything or anybody. I will do my prettiest to soften father's displeasure."

"I know that, Lucy."

The next morning, with a firm but slow step, young Arthur entered his father's counting-room.

"Well, Arthur," exclaimed the merchant, "you are twenty-one now. You have not as much ambition in regard to business as I wish you had. You don't seem to care whether you become one of the firm or not; but you have always performed your part promptly."

"I have no wish to become a partner, father."

"Why not?" questioned Mr. Griswold, in a disappointed tone.

"I am of age now, father," said Arthur, speaking with an effort. "I never intend to be a merchant."

"Arthur!"

"I am sorry to disappoint your wishes, sir, by the course I have decided upon; but you are aware that the idea of being a merchant was always repugnant to me."

"I thought you had overcome that boyish notion."

"No, sir."

"I must say, Arthur Griswold, that you have acted very ungenerously; very little as I ever thought a son of mine would act." There were a few moments of stern silence; Mr. Griswold's lip was firmly compressed, and the severity of deep anger was in the steady gaze which he riveted upon his son's countenance. "I should at least have thought you could have been frank enough to have prepared me for this."

"It was from no lack of frankness, sir, that I did not speak of it. I knew that your views and mine differed on many points. My future course was firmly decided upon — and I was fully aware that you would not approve of it; I had failed too many times in trying to change your opinion. My only reason for not telling my plans, was to avoid opposition, and any uneasiness on your part, until the time actually arrived."

"I am deeply obliged for your tender care," said Mr. Griswold, bowing, with a curving lip. "I suppose a longer conference is not necessary."

"Not if it is unpleasant to you, father." Arthur possessed a true poet's soul in one respect, at least; his heart was warm with strong affections — he was as sensitive as a woman in feeling. After one long, eager look at his father's face, he slightly inclined his head, and left the counting-room.

"Don't look so melancholy, Arthur!" exclaimed Lucy, running out in the hall to meet him on his return. She had been watching for him, to hear how her father received the unexpected and unpleasing news of his decision.

"Even worse than I expected — worse than I expected," said Arthur, entering the parlor, and throwing himself into a chair. He remained some moments lost in deep thought, his face bent forward, and resting on his hands. Lucy eyed him, and bethought herself that it would never do for him to yield to discouraged feelings. Dropping on her knees before him, with playful grace she drew away his hands, and, looking up in his eyes, with a smile at once inquisitive and tender, said, "Eve's curiosity — brother of mine. Tell me all that he said, and all that you said."

Arthur related every word of the brief conversation that had passed; then, with some bitterness, he said, "I knew that father would be both disappointed and displeased, but I certainly had no idea that he would think my conduct unworthy."

A slight, quick flush of indignation passed over Lucy's face, but she replied gently, "He doesn't understand you, Arthur."

"And never will."

"He shall understand you in one respect," said Lucy, with an expression of proud determination, as she rose from her kneeling position. "He shall understand that your heart is as worthy and generous a one" — she paused, for she was not in the habit of telling people their good qualities, when she thought they already possessed as much knowledge on the subject as would answer their purposes. She resumed cheerfully, "Constant dropping will wear away a stone, so I will drop a good word for you in father's ear at the most propitious moments; and never fear but what his displeasure will be displaced by deeper affection than ever. You will be thought of more leniently in your absence. So don't let gloomy thoughts disturb you an instant. When shall you leave us?"

"In about a week."

"So soon?" and the young girl immediately descended from her elevated position as comforter. She burst into tears, and then it was her brother's turn to cheer and console. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, "Don't go!" but she held back the words.

The evening before young Arthur's departure had arrived, the brother and sister were again alone in the parlor, sitting by the window. It was a calm starlight evening, and there was a sad quiet in the hearts of both. The merchant had not spoken one word of harsh reproach to his son, since the disclosure of his determination, but there was a measured politeness in his manner which fell chillingly upon the warm heart of Arthur. The hearty joke and cheerful approving laugh, had been banished from the family circle during the past week. The sweet glad eyes of Lucy had not wandered around with a glance of merry meaning. Mrs. Griswold was an affectionate mother, but she was not remarkably tenacious of any views of her own; she thought just as her husband did, and, therefore, sighed profoundly over Arthur's strange whim.

"Lucy," said Arthur, in a low tone, "have there never been times with you, when you felt as if there was an immensity hanging upon a present moment — felt as if there was coming a change, a turning of your destiny?"

"I have felt so," replied the young girl; "and changes have come, but perhaps no outward changes. External changes are nothing, compared to the turning of the soul's destiny. Arthur, dear Arthur!" and she clasped his hand with fervent feeling, "you are going from home now — you will have no mother and sister to bless you, and awaken your gentlest sympathies. Would to Heaven that my prayers could change you!"

"Change me!" said Arthur, almost starting; "how, Lucy?"

"You are entering life as millions do, full of ambitious dreams, eager to bind the wreath of fame around your brow. It seems a glorious thing to you, to be called great. But your aims are far below the dignity of an immortal soul. Be great, Arthur, whether anyone knows it or not. Rule your own spirit with the stern, steady rod of truth. Shrink from no ordeal which may develop and try the strength within you. Turn every incident of your life, to some good purpose. Believe and trust that God's Providence will guide you better than you can lead yourself. Let your fellow-creatures have cause to bless you, whether their praises meet your ear or not."

"God grant I may become all you ask, my own Lucy!" Arthur answered solemnly. "If I do not realize your hopes, it will be no fault of yours. You have been a protecting angel to me; you have been always ready to bear with and comfort me, when others blamed. You have been the only human being who ever sympathized with me fully and frankly."

"And what have you been to me, Arthur?" asked his sister affectionately. "You have always been a lion in my cause. I have often thought you took my part, when I deserved a scolding."

"Then we arrive at the very evident fact, that we are two wonderfully excellent beings!" said Arthur, laughing.

Next Part The Merchant's Son 3

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