Marco Paul's Voyages and Travels; Vermont
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Marco was much interested in watching this process, and when the sawing of this log was completed, and another log drawn up into its place, Forester introduced the subject of the boat. He told the man what he wished to do, namely, to have some row-locks or thole-pins made along the sides of the boat, and some oars to row it with. It would also be necessary to have seats, or thwarts, as they are called, placed in such a manner that there should be one just before each row-lock. These seats were for the oarsmen to sit upon, in rowing. The man told Forester that he might do any thing he pleased with the boat. He was sure that Forester would do it no injury. Forester asked him who would be a good man to do the work, and the man recommended to him a wagon-maker who had a shop very near the mill.
They went to the wagon-maker and explained to him what they wanted. The wagon-maker readily undertook the work. They all went down to the boat together, to plan the seats and the places for the thole-pins. They concluded to have three pairs on each side. This would require six oars. These oars the wagon-maker promised to make, and to have all the work done by the beginning of the next week. They also concluded to have the boat taken out of the water and thoroughly calked again, and her bottom payed over with pitch, as she was not perfectly tight. This being all arranged, Forester and Marco began to walk toward home.
"It seems to me strange to get a wagon-maker to work on a boat," said Marco.
"In New York, I suppose you would go to a boat-builder," said Forester.
"Yes," replied Marco, "to be sure."
"There are no boat-builders here," rejoined Forester. "In fact, there are very few trades represented here, and workmen are willing to do any kind of jobs that they can."
As only a small part of the afternoon was yet passed away, Marco asked Forester if he might go down to the river a-fishing. "I can keep within my bounds, you know," said he.
"Yes," said Forester, "you can keep within your bounds."
"And I will," said Marco. "Don't you suppose I will?"
"Why, you can tell better than I can about that," said Forester. "You have been here now some weeks, and I have treated you with considerable trust and confidence,–have I not?"
"Why, yes," said Marco.
"I have given you leave to go a-fishing, trusting to your fidelity in keeping within your bounds. I have left you alone in your study, several times in the forenoons. I have let you go up on the mountains with other boys, and lent you my watch, so that you might know when it was time to come back. Now you can tell better than I, whether you have been faithful to all of these trusts."
Marco did not answer. He did not know what to say. He walked along in silence.
"I will leave it with you to decide," said Forester. "Here we are just home; now you may go into the study and reflect a few moments upon the subject. Call to mind all the cases in which I have treated you with trust and confidence, and consider whether you have always been faithful to the trust. If, on reflection, you think that you have, you may take your fishing-line and go a-fishing. If you feel conscious that you have at any time betrayed my confidence, you must not go this afternoon. You may go out to play wherever you please about the house and garden, but you must not go a-fishing. If you are in doubt whether you have betrayed my confidence or not, and wish to ask my opinion about some particular case which comes up to your mind, you may remain in the study till I come in, and ask me, and I will tell you. I shall be in, in a few minutes."
There was a pause here. Marco looked very serious, and walked along in silence. Such a turn to the conversation was entirely unexpected to him, and he did not know what to say.
"It is possible," continued Forester, "that you may be conscious that you have clearly been guilty of betraying the confidence which I have placed in you in some instance which I know nothing of, or which you suppose I know nothing of, and you may wish to confess it to me. If you have been guilty of any such act, the best thing that you can do is to confess it to me at once; and if you wish to do it, you may wait till I come, for that purpose. So you may wait till I come either to ask me a question, or to confess a fault. If you do not wish to do either, you may go out without waiting for me; but you must not go a-fishing unless you can truly say that you have been faithful and honest, whenever I have trusted you before."
So saying, Forester parted from Marco and went into the house. Marco slowly walked into the office, and through it into the little study. He was greatly perplexed to know what to make of this address. "Can it be," thought he, "that he knows that I went away this morning? How could he have found it out? Or did he say that, only to find out now whether I have been honest or not heretofore?"
On mature reflection, Marco concluded that Forester did not probably know any thing about his having gone away. He thought that what he had just said was only a part of Forester's general plan of managing his case, and that it did not imply that Forester entertained any particular suspicions. Marco thought that he might therefore safely go a-fishing that afternoon if he was disposed; but we must do him the justice to say, that he did not entertain the idea of doing it a moment. He determined that he would not go. But as he was not prepared to confess his fault, and as he had no question to ask, he determined to go and play about the garden. He thought a little of waiting till his cousin came in, and then honestly making a confession; but he could not quite conclude upon this, and so he determined to go and think more of it. Besides, he concluded that if he were going to make a confession at all, he should rather do it that evening when he went to bed; for Forester always came up to his room after he went to bed, to have a little friendly and serious conversation with him, and to bid him good night.
He accordingly went out before Forester came in. He spent the afternoon in a miserable state of mind. He could not divest himself of the feeling of anxiety, that in some way or other, Forester had found out his transgression. He rather wondered, that, if it were true that Forester had found it out, he had not said something to him directly about it,–but then he knew it was Forester's way not always to make known, at once, all that he knew in such cases. But then he thought, again, that Forester could not know any thing about it. There was no way for him to have known it. He was away all the morning, and did not come home until after Marco got back. So he concluded that Forester did not know; but he began to wish that he did. He could not bear to think of telling him, but he wished that he knew. The burden of such a secret became intolerable to him. He strolled about the yards and garden, not knowing what to do with himself, and growing all the time more and more anxious and unhappy. He was in a very serious dilemma.
Marco cast his eyes occasionally toward the office, expecting to see Forester come out. He thought Forester would want to know whether he went a-fishing or not. But he did not come. Marco spent some time in the garden with James, who was at work there raking over the ground, and gathering in such things as might be hurt by any sudden frost. Marco worked with him for some time, and endeavored to converse with him, but he did not find him very communicative, and at last he went into the house and sat on the sofa in the parlor, reading, until supper time.
Marco fully expected that Forester would ask him at supper time whether he had been a-fishing or not; but he said nothing about it. Forester told his father and mother about their plan for a boat, and gave them a full account of their visit to the mill. His mother seemed quite interested in the account, and told Marco, that, after he got his crew well trained, she should hope that he would invite her on an excursion in the boat.
"Yes," said Marco, "we will. We must have a seat, cousin Forester, for passengers and visitors, in the stern sheets."
"The stern sheets?" said Forester, "what do you mean by the stern sheets?"
"Why, it is aft," said Marco, "between the coxswain's place and the stroke-oarsman."
"You'll have to show us," said his aunt, "when we come to see the boat."
This kind of conversation somewhat relieved Marco's mind,–but still he was ill at ease, and he determined to tell Forester the whole story at bedtime, if he could only summon up courage to begin.
Chapter VIII.
A Confession
In the room where Marco slept, there was a large, stuffed arm-chair, which was commonly called the easy chair; it was one that was seldom used by the family, except in sickness. It stood in a corner of the room not far from the head of Marco's bed. Forester used to sit in this chair while he remained conversing with Marco, when he came up to take his light.
When Forester had taken his seat in the great chair this evening, according to his usual custom, he began his conversation by saying.
"Well, Marco, have you been helping James in the garden this afternoon?"
"Why, no," said Marco, "I did not help him much,–I don't like James very well."
"Why not?" asked Forester.
"Why, I don't think he is very accommodating," replied Marco.
"What has he done to-day, which is unaccommodating?" asked Forester.
"He would not lend me his knife. I wanted to borrow his knife to cut me a cane from some apple-tree trimmings, and he would not let me have it."
"Haven't you got a knife of your own?" asked Forester.
"Yes," said Marco, "but mine won't open."
"Won't open?" repeated Forester. "What's the cause of that?"
"Why, I suppose because the joint is rusty," replied Marco.
"How came it rusty?" asked Forester.
"Why, you see I laid it down one day on a stone, where I was at work with it, and left it there, and there happened to come a rain in the night and rusted it. I did not know where it was, and so I didn't find it for a good many days."
"Then, I presume," said Forester, "that James supposed that you would leave his knife out in the same way and spoil it."
"No," replied Marco, "that was not the reason."
"You are sure that you asked him for it distinctly, and he refused?"
"Yes," said Marco.
Here there was a moment's pause. Marco thought that his cousin Forester was considering what should be done to James, for being so unaccommodating. He did not know but that he would report him to his father and have him turned away; though Marco did not really wish to have him turned away.
But Forester said, after reflecting a moment, "That makes me think of a story I have got here; listen and hear it."
Marco's Room.
So Forester took out his pocket-book and opened it, and then appeared to be turning over the leaves, for a moment, to find a place. Then he began to read, or to appear to read, as follows:
Once there was a little girl named Anne. She came to her mother one day, as she was sitting in the parlor, and began to complain bitterly of her sister Mary. Her sister Mary was older than she was, and had a doll. Anne complained that Mary would not lend her her doll.
"Are you sure that she refused to lend you her doll?" asked her mother.
"Yes, mother, I am sure she did," replied Anne.
"Perhaps she is playing with it herself," said her mother.
"No," replied Anne, "she is ironing in the kitchen."
"I think you must be mistaken," said her mother. "Go and ask her again. Don't tell her I sent you, but ask her yourself, whether she really meant that she was not willing to lend you her doll."
So Anne ran off to put the question to Mary again; presently she returned with the same answer. "Mary," she said, "would not lend it to her."
"I am very sorry to hear it," said her mother, "for now I suppose I shall have to punish you."
"To punish her, you mean," said Anne.
"No," said her mother, "to punish you. I don't suppose she is to blame."
"Why, mother–how can I be to blame, for her not being willing to lend me her doll?"
"You are, I've no doubt," said her mother. "Mary is a good-natured, accommodating girl,–always ready to do kindnesses, and if she has any unwillingness to lend any thing to you, it must be that you have created it yourself, by some misconduct. So that it will prove, no doubt, that you are the one to be punished."
Here Anne began to hang her head and look a little ashamed. Her mother's supposition proved to be correct, for, on inquiring, it appeared that Mary had lent her doll to Anne a few days before, and that when she wanted it again, Anne was unwilling to give it to her, and when Mary insisted on her bringing it to her, she became angry and threw the doll out the window.
"I never heard that story before, cousin Forester," said Marco. "And I did not know that you had stories in your pocket-book."
Forester laughed and put up his pocket-book.
"I don't believe there is any story there," said Marco. "You made it up for me, I verily believe."
"Yes," said Forester, "I did. Don't it fit your case pretty well?"
"Why, I don't know," said Marco. "I don't see why he could not let me have his knife."
"Suppose I had asked him for his knife; don't you suppose he would have lent it to me?"
"Yes," said Marco, "I've no doubt he would; he would do any thing for you, of course, because you pay him–or uncle pays him, which is the same thing."
"I don't think that that is the reason altogether," replied Forester. "There was the man at the mill to-day, who said that I might take his boat and do any thing I chose to do with it."
"Yes," said Marco, "I noticed that."
"And perhaps you thought it was very much to his credit that he did so."
"Yes," said Marco.
"But the fact is," rejoined Forester, "as I think, it was more to my credit than his; because I have had his boat a great many times heretofore, and his having so much confidence in me now, shows how I have acted with his property before. I have always taken a great deal of pains to use it carefully, to bring it back to its place safely, to get the water out, if there was any in it, and leave every thing in order. I have done this, not only because it is just and right that I should not make him suffer inconvenience on account of his doing me a favor, but as a matter of policy."
"What do you mean by a matter of policy?" asked Marco.
"Why, regard to my own interest. If I did not do so, I should soon make people unwilling to lend me their things. And I think there must be some good reason why James is not willing to lend you his knife."
"Why, he says," answered Marco, "that I don't bring back his things."
"Ah!" rejoined Forester, "that's it. I thought there must be some such reason as that. You have lost your character with James, and I advise you to acquire a new one as soon as you can. Besides, you have done him injustice this evening. You represented him as refusing you his knife because he was unaccommodating and selfish, whereas it was only proper regard to the safety of his property. What you said was calculated to make an unfavorable impression on my mind against him, and one which would have been unjust."
Marco perceived that it was so, and was silent.
"I am sorry that your knife is rusty," resumed Forester. "Perhaps I can get it open for you."
"How?" asked Marco.
"Why, I believe the best way is to soak the joint in oil. The oil will insinuate itself into the joint, and then we can get hold of the blade with a pair of nippers, or something of the kind, and open it; and then, by working it to and fro a few times, the rust will work out, and the knife be as good as it was before. If it is very rusty indeed, this plan will not answer."
"What must be done in that case?" asked Marco.
"The only way then is to carry it to some kind of smith and get him to punch out the rivet. Then we can take the blade out entirely. By this means we can clean it of its rust, and then put it in again with a new rivet. If you will give me your knife to-morrow, I will try to put it in order for you again, in one or the other of these ways.
"And now," continued Forester, after a short pause, "it is time for me to go down, unless you have something which you wish to say."
Although it was not unusual for Forester to close his evening conversation in this manner, Marco's attention was particularly arrested by the excellent opportunity which this remark afforded him to make his confession. He really wished to make it,–but he did not know how to begin. He wished that his cousin would ask him something about it, or introduce the subject in some way or other, but Forester was silent. Presently he rose, came to Marco's bedside, and asked him if he was warm enough,–for the nights at this season of the year were beginning to be cool.
"Yes," said Marco, "I'm very comfortable."
"Well, then, good night." So Forester took the lamp and walked slowly toward the door.
"Cousin Forester," said Marco.
"What?" said Forester.
"Don't go just yet."
Forester turned back and advanced to the foot of the bed. There was a high foot-board at the foot of the bed, and Forester leaned upon it with the lamp in his hand.
"Is there any thing that you want to say to me?"
Marco was silent. He looked distressed and embarrassed, and moved his head restlessly on his pillow.
"There's something wrong, isn't there, Marco," said Forester, "that you are thinking whether to confess to me or not? If there is, do just as you choose about it. I like to have you confess what you have done that is wrong, but then, if you do it at all, it must be done of your own accord."
"Well," said Marco, "I want to tell you about my going away to play this forenoon."
"How long were you gone?" asked Forester.
"Pretty much all the forenoon," replied Marco.
"Well," said Forester, "I am very glad you concluded to confess it of your own accord, but I know all about it."
Marco started up in his bed and looked his cousin in the face, and said,
"Why, cousin Forester, how did you know?"
"To prove to you that I really did know, I will tell you what you did. You got out of the window soon after I went away, and went over into Mr. Eldon's garden, where George Eldon and Samuel Warner were digging worms for bait. Then you went with them down to the river. You hid behind them when you passed in sight of the house, for fear that father would see you, as he was out in the yard, pruning trees. Then you went down to the river and sat on a log under some bushes, fishing. After a while you spied an old log canoe, drifting down the river, and the other boys waded out and got it. Then you all got into it and paddled about a while, and afterward got carried over the rips and upset in the water. Your cap drifted down the stream, and you went after it in the canoe and got it. After that, you took off your stockings and wrung out the water from them, and then came home. You got into the study only about a quarter of an hour before I came."
Marco listened to this minute account of his adventures with eager interest, wondering how his cousin could have obtained so early and such complete information. After Forester had concluded, he paused a moment and breathed a long sigh. Then he laid his head down upon his pillow again, saying,
"Well, I don't see how you found it out; and I am sorry that you did, for I meant to have told you all about it myself."
Marco seemed really disappointed at having lost the opportunity to make his full confession, but Forester told him that he considered that he had made full confession. "You made up your mind to do it," said he, "and you did begin, and it was the beginning which required all the effort. I only refrained from asking you about the details, from a wish to show you that I really knew all about it."
"I don't see how you found it out," said Marco. "I suppose it must have been that the boys told you."
"No," replied Forester; "I have not seen either of the boys, or heard any thing from them, directly or indirectly."
"Then you must have watched me yourself," said Marco, "instead of going away."
"Do you think," said Forester, "that I would pretend that I was going away, and then just go out a little way and lie in wait to watch you?
"Why, no,"–said Marco,–"I don't really suppose that you would."
"No," said Forester, "I really went away nut of town. I went to visit a sick man and help him make his will, and I did not return until just before you saw me."
"Then I don't see how you knew," said Marco.
"It is of very little consequence to you to know that," said Forester, "but I want to ask you a little more about the affair. Are you willing to answer any question that I may ask?"
Marco said that he was, and Forester asked him about the circumstances which led him to go away. Marco explained to him how he saw the boys, and what he thought that they were doing, and what induced him to go and see them, and how he was prevented from coming back as he had intended. There was an air of openness and honesty in the manner in which Marco related these facts, which convinced Forester that he was telling the truth.
Forester was glad to find that it was not a deliberate and preconcerted plan, between Marco and the other boys, to go off on this expedition; for, bad as it was for Marco to allow himself to be drawn away by such temptations, it would have been worse, or rather it would have indicated a worse state of character, if he had deliberately planned such a truancy.
"Well," said Forester, as he was about to close the conversation, "I am very glad that you concluded to confess your fault. I am very glad, too, that you did not go a-fishing this afternoon under the sort of permission which I gave you. I infer from these two things that you wish to be cured of these faults, and to become a boy of firm moral principle. Now it is a rule with me, generally, not to punish a boy for what he confesses of his own accord. Still, I think it probable it would be better for you to have some punishment for this. It would help to make a strong impression upon your mind, and make it much more easy for you to resist such temptations in time to come. But you may decide this question yourself. If you choose to submit to a punishment, and will tell me so to-morrow morning, I will think of some suitable one for you. If you do not say any thing to me about it, I shall not punish you." So saying, Forester bade Marco good night.
The next morning, Marco met Forester on the stairs, as he was coming down to breakfast, and told him that he thought he should feel better to be punished. So Forester reflected upon the subject, and at nine o'clock, when Marco went in to commence his studies, Forester told him that he had concluded upon his punishment.
"What is it to be?" said Marco.
"It is for me not to allow you to study," replied Forester, "all this forenoon, but to require you to sit still at your desk, with nothing to do. You see it will be a sort of solitary imprisonment, only your prison will in itself be a pleasant place."
Marco thought that this would not be a very severe punishment, but he found, in enduring it, that it was in fact much more severe than he had imagined. He got very tired indeed, long before the forenoon was out. He concluded that solitary imprisonment for years, in a gloomy dungeon, must be a terrible punishment indeed.
A year or two after this time, when Marco had been entirely cured of all such faults, he one day asked Forester to explain to him how he knew where he went on this memorable forenoon; and Forester willingly explained it to him. It seems that Forester's father, though a very gentle and kind-hearted man, was a very shrewd one, and having been accustomed to the discovery, in the course of his practice, of all sorts of pranks and roguery, was less disposed to place confidence in others till he knew the confidence was deserved, than Forester himself was, who had less experience. And when he knew that Forester had gone away, leaving Marco alone, he doubted a little whether he would remain industriously at his work. While he was thinking of this, he heard a slight noise which Marco made with his feet against the clapboards of the house in getting out the window. He therefore came into the study a moment afterward, and found that Marco had gone. He looked out the window and saw him going off toward the other boys. Just at that moment the man came to help him prune his trees, but before he began this work he went into the house to James, called him to a window and pointed out Marco to him, and said,