The Hungerford family, after uncle John had been solemnly and ceremoniously committed to the tomb, returned to Poppleton. Everything had a kind of unsubstantial look to them, as though they had been suddenly lifted from the cares and trials of this sublunary sphere to a region of golden clouds which were very beautiful to look upon, but which would not bear the solid tramp of mortal feet. Whereas they had gone to Baltimore, ten days before, in very moderate and even humble circumstances, now they were rolling in wealth; at least the will of the late John Hungerford had so declared them to be, though they found it exceedingly difficult to realize the stupendous change which had come over them. They reached Poppleton with all these doubts unsolved, and with these cloudy sensations still hanging about them.
Mrs. Hungerford was the most practical person of the three. She was a well-educated, well-informed lady, who knew something of books, and a great deal of the world. She had brought up her little family on three hundred dollars a year, and she had necessarily been a very practical person; but as she journeyed home from Baltimore, she was troubled with a dread lest the golden clouds should suddenly roll away, the misty curtain be lifted, and the bright dream of ease, luxury, and happiness be dissipated even before she had tasted its sweetness. Twenty thousand dollars had been left to her, independently of all contingencies; and this to a woman of high aims, who had been struggling all her life with the inconveniences of a small income, was a fortune in itself. By degrees, as the train thundered along towards her home, she reasoned herself into the belief that her own legacy and that of her daughter were as real as the solid earth beneath them. Of the golden clouds, the silver fountains, and the glittering mists from Pactolian streams, that enveloped her son Eugene, she had not the courage to think. Her own little fortune was large enough and suggestive enough to satisfy the highest flights of her imagination.
So far as thought and feeling were concerned, the Hungerford family were only one individual. I do not mean to say there was never any difference of opinion among its members, for that would be saying they were all dolts and fools, and that the cottage in which they dwelt was the dullest and most insipid place in the world; but there was a rich harmony of thought and feeling, even while thought and feeling ran in different channels. Simple-minded, Christian people, of intelligence and cultivation, always remarked what a beautiful family the Hungerfords were. The mother and her children were unselfish; they lived for each other, and there was not a joy or a sorrow for one that was not for all. It made no difference, therefore, what members of the family had been mentioned in the will of John Hungerford as the recipients of legacies, or which one as the residuary legatee; by the ties of nature, what belonged to one belonged to all; and if the millionnaire had known them better, he might have left his bounty to the whole, instead of mentioning individuals.
Eugene Hungerford appeared to take his altered circumstances with the utmost composure; but he only appeared to do so. While he was universally acknowledged to be a generous, noble, and high-minded young man, he had the reputation of being odd and strange. He never did things as other people did them; not apparently for the sake of being odd and strange, but because he had a will and a way of his own. As the train bore him north, he did not seem to be elated: nor was he; for, like his mother and his sister, he was troubled with that feeling of insecurity and unsubstantialness--the fear that things would not work according to the programme laid down in John Hungerford’s will. Perhaps the old man was crazy, and had made his magnificent will without the means of doing a tithe of what the labored document proposed to accomplish. He had heard of men making wills who had not a dollar to leave behind them.
But in spite of this want of confidence in the reality of the golden era which had dawned upon him, he could not help building castles in the air: certain brilliant projects flitted through his mind, some relating to personal comforts, luxuries, and enjoyments, and others to the reformation and improvement of the world at large, but more especially to the world of Poppleton society; though this, as being within the sphere of his knowledge and experience, was only the representative of a general idea. “No pent-up Utica” was to contract his powers, when he became the sole possessor of the three millions. When he did! Eugene regarded the terms of the will as contingent, rather than conditional. They were disagreeable to him. He did not relish them. To have the holiest and dearest relations of life even mentioned in connection with money was repulsive to him.
In a worldly point of view, he must marry as soon as practicable; otherwise the contingency which would give him the three millions, absolutely, could not occur. There was certainly a worldly inducement for him to make some lady Mrs. Eugene Hungerford. He did not like it. Why should he marry, if he did not wish to do so? Why should he be bribed to enter into the holy state of matrimony? He could not very clearly define to himself his feelings on this delicate point; but there was a certain sense of compulsion which fretted and annoyed him, and which tempted him to be obstinate even against his moral, social, and pecuniary interests. To be compelled to marry in order to obtain the three millions, went exactly across the grain of his sensitive and high-strung nature. If the question had been between the three millions and taking to his bosom one whom he did not love, one to whom he was indifferent, he would not have hesitated an instant in making a decision, even if poverty and single blessedness had been the alternative.
But Eugene Hungerford was doomed to be rich in spite of himself. No obstinacy or hardship could deprive him of his entire wealth--always supposing that John Hungerford’s will was not a vision. He was to receive the income of the three millions for seven years; and then, if the conditions were not complied with, he was to have the sixth part of the whole sum. Let him be as obdurate as he pleased, he could hardly help being a millionnaire; let him be denied the blessed boon of a little John Hungerford in the future, and then even a fortune of which he had never been extravagant enough to dream, would still be coming to him. His position would not be a very hard one, though he should choose to be ugly and uncompromising.
With this view he came back to the original question, Why should he marry if he did not wish to marry? Why should he call his first born son John if it did not suit him so to call him? But in this connection there came up before him, unbidden, the image of a beautiful girl, upon whom he had long looked with admiration, and to whose virtues and gentleness his heart had yielded homage. She was all that he could ask for as the partner of his joys and his sorrows in the pilgrimage of life, though never before had he ventured to think of her as his wife. Though she was poor like himself, though her family relations were overshadowed by griefs and sorrows, she was so fair and so good, that crowds of suitors thronged her path. She could choose from a score, if not a hundred, and perhaps her choice was already made.
This beautiful girl was Mary Kingman, whom we left in the boat with Eliot Buckstone. Though only twenty, she had taught the grammar school at Poppleton Mills, and the one at the Port. Her last service had been in the High School, and she had just resigned her situation there on account of family troubles. She had been a pupil in this school with Eugene Hungerford, where a strong friendship had grown up between them. It was not love--they were too young. On his return from college, where, to save expense, he had taken to the study of the law in the office of Squire Perkins at the Port, he saw her only occasionally. The future had been too uncertain to permit him to think of marriage; and though he still cherished his early regard for her, he prudently refrained from committing himself or her to any expression of the feeling which both evidently entertained. All this was changed now; he could give her a home, a palace; he could crown her with golden wreaths, and make her the queen of the county; but above all, he could redeem her from the wasting bondage to which her domestic relations subjected her.
Thus thought Eugene Hungerford as he travelled homeward, and in spite of the vein of obstinacy in his nature, there was a fair prospect that the expectations of the deceased uncle would be realized. Mary Kingman was an angel of light in his future path, and he could not turn from the bright vision, even to become a martyr to his high sense of duty, and thus wrong himself out of the three millions.
In due time the family got out of the cars at Poppleton Mills, through which the railroad from Boston passed, and took the stage, that made two trips a day from the Port.
The marine village lay exactly two miles due south of the manufacturing village, across the space included in the lower half of the S formed by the winding of Bell River. The road was through a rocky, hilly region for the first mile, abounding in glens and steeps which were beautifully picturesque. One mile from the Port the great turnpike to the north-east, over which the mail between Boston and Portland had been carried before railroads were built, crossed the Mills road, forming an acute angle with it. In this angle was the cottage of James Hungerford.
Twenty-four years ago, when the factory agent was about to build a cage for the bird he had caught, he purchased all the land lying in the northern acute angle formed by the two roads, extending to the river and a cross road from the turnpike to the Mills. James Hungerford believed that Poppleton, with its valuable water power, and its maritime advantages, would become a great city, though it was then only in an embryo state. The tract of land he had purchased appeared to be of no practical value, and he had given only twelve hundred dollars for it. About fifty acres of it on the turnpike was level enough for cultivation, though there were several eligible sites for building on the Mills road. On one of these, at the forks of the roads, he had built his house.
People of practical sense laughed at James when he bought this land; said that “a fool and his money were soon parted,” and other sharp things, which the purchaser was too independent to heed. When Poppleton was a city, his harvest would come. He had leased it as a pasture for enough to pay his taxes and keep the fences in repair; but four and twenty years had failed to realize his hope. Poppleton had grown amazingly, but still his wild lands were not in demand.
Pine Hill, as this rough territory was called, was a favorite resort of Eugene; and when the vision of three millions dawned upon him, he could not help thinking what a paradise money would make of it. He could not have found a region in the whole state so admirably adapted to the improvements which his taste coveted. He knew just where the mansion should be located on the turnpike, just where the stable must be placed, just where certain roads should be built, and just where certain summer houses and “lazy places” were to be constructed, in order to bring into being the most splendid domain the world had ever seen. But then there were the doubts in regard to the reality of his present situation, and he permitted Pine Hill to bloom for the present in its own wild grandeur.
“Home again, mother!” exclaimed he, as he assisted Mrs. Hungerford and Julia to alight from the stage.
“Yes, and I am glad to get home.”
“So am I,” added Julia. “I am tired out.”
The neighbor’s wife who lived opposite saw them come, and hastened over with the key of the cottage, for they had no servants to keep house for them during their absence. The good woman at once made a fire, and began to get tea for the weary travellers. Very likely she wished to know how much money the Baltimore millionnaire had left to his poor relations, for the newspapers had not yet blazoned to the world the provisions of the will; but she asked no questions till the family sat down to tea. Mrs. Hungerford then told her that she and Julia had each received a legacy of twenty thousand dollars, which was magnificent enough to absorb the kind neighbor’s whole attention; and she forgot to ask any more questions, being in haste to go out and circulate the astounding intelligence that the Hungerfords had got forty thousand dollars. Eugene, therefore, to his great satisfaction, escaped her congratulations and her wondering exclamations. After tea he walked over Pine Hill.
Everything went on as usual in the Hungerford family. Doubtless great plans were laid, and great expectations were indulged; but nothing was done, and people wondered that they did not dress in silks and satins, and buy a carriage. In the course of a week, the papers had the news. Then everybody looked upon Eugene Hungerford as a money prince, and treated him with the utmost deference. The officers of the Poppleton Bank bowed low to him, and both villages wondered what he would do with his money. Eugene kept as cool as he could, and tried to be indifferent to the excitement of which he was the cause and centre. The only extravagance in which he had been known to indulge was the purchase of a beautiful sail boat, which he had long coveted. Eugene was a man of large lungs, and it required the whole atmosphere to inflate them. He was, therefore, devoted to out-door exercise, and his keenest enjoyment was derived from the ocean. This boat had been purchased partly with reference to the expected visit of an old college friend, one Dick Birch, who had promised to spend a week with him in July.
July came two months after the return of the family from Baltimore. Eugene had become in a measure accustomed to his situation, and had come to realize the full meaning of John Hungerford’s will. Two or three times he had met Mary Kingman. He had blushed; she had blushed; but he was not quite ready to say what he had to say to her. He was not sure that some less prudent young man was not already wooing her. He could not ask if she was still free; he could not ask her, or any other person, such a question; and so he waited for the future to solve the problem, and open the way for him. But each time he saw her, added to the intensity of his desire to possess her.
The stage stopped before the cottage door, and out jumped Dick Birch. A small valise for clothes, and a large package of fishing rods, game bags, fish baskets, two guns, and other sporting gear, were placed on the ground before the arrival was discovered. Eugene, who was just returning from a tramp over Pine Hill, rushed to the spot.
“Well, Dick, old boy, how are you? I am glad to see you.”
“Ah, Hungerford, I am rejoiced to meet you,” replied Dick, as he grasped the extended hand of his friend. “But I was in some doubt about coming.”
“In doubt?”
“Yes.”
“Why so?”
“I have heard bad stories about you.”
“Do you mean so?”
“Upon my word I do. I heard some old fellow down in Baltimore had died, and left you three millions, or something of that sort.”
“Such has been my misfortune, but not my fault. I didn’t die and leave all that money to a graceless scamp; so I am not to blame.”
“Then it’s true.”
“Conditionally, it is all true; but, in any event, I have had at least a million thrust upon me.”
“Poor fellow!” said Dick, with a mock sigh. “But how do you feel?”
“As I always did.”
“Is that so?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“A million is enough to spoil any fellow; three millions would ruin an angel. I had my doubts about coming.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t know that you would care to see me now.”
“Dick, you don’t speak the truth. You had no doubts.”
“Three million dollars is a great deal of money; so is one million.”
“Did you think it would make me forget my friends?”
“No, I did not think so; but hang me if one can tell what effect money will have on a man.”
“I can’t tell what effect it will have on me, but I do know that it will not cheat me out of my friends. Dick, I am delighted to see you. I have been anticipating your visit with the keenest satisfaction. I have something laid out for every day. I have just bought a boat for your sake.”
“Well, I reckon you are the same old fellow, after all,” laughed Dick.
“I know I am. I want to talk with you about the future, too; about this money, with which I am to be bored. You have a soul, Dick; and you can understand me, if any fellow can. I want your advice.”
“I don’t belong to the breed of Solemons, but I won’t charge you anything for my advice, though I am a lawyer.”
“Thank you, Dick. Now come into the house, and we will make you as comfortable as we can. We don’t live like millionnaires, but a cheerful welcome makes a soft couch.”
Eugene led the way into the sitting-room, and the guest was introduced to Mrs. Hungerford, who gave him a kind and motherly greeting.
“Where is Julia, mother?” asked Eugene, when he saw that his sister was not present.
“Gone to the post office; she will return presently.”
“Yes, where’s Julia?” laughed Dick Birch. “I want to see her. In fact, I don’t know that I should have come if it hadn’t been for seeing her.”
“Yes, you would, Dick; tell the truth.”
“I wanted to see her, at any rate. Fellows don’t often speak of their sisters, Mrs. Hungerford, as Eugene did when we were at college together.”
“Well, I think she deserves all that he may have said of her,” said the matron.
“Come, Dick, I will show you your room;” and loaded with valise, guns, fishing rods, and game bags, the young men went up stairs.
When they came down, Julia had returned, and she was formally introduced to the guest, of whom she had heard encomiums before, bordering upon the extravagant. Dick was not a handsome man, like Mr. Eliot Buckstone, whom we left in the boat with Miss Kingman; neither was he ugly or ill made. He had a sharp, bright eye, and his face was noble rather than handsome. He looked like a man of intellect, of high purposes, and grand ideas, rather than one of those masculine monstrosities whom some weak-minded females call “pretty.” Bah! the idea is nauseating. To be pretty is the prerogative of young ladies, though Heaven defend them if this be all they have!
Julia was not very pretty, though none would have called her homely. Perhaps she was a little disposed to be “strong-minded;” not in the offensive sense, and only enough so to have a certain contempt for things weak and effeminate. She was not afraid of spiders, or even of striped snakes. She had actually read Locke and Bacon, as well as Scott and Dickens.
She had heard a great deal about Dick Birch, and was prepared to see a miracle of all that is grand and noble in man. She blushed slightly when she met the full gaze of his sharp eye, and took his offered hand.
“This is the great moment of my life, Miss Hungerford,” said the guest. “You have been set forth to me as a princess among sisters.”
“And you to me as a prince among friends,” she replied. “When you are a candidate for the presidency, I shall certainly vote for you if woman’s rights are recognized by that time.”
“Thank you. I shall certainly be elected then; though, perhaps, you would like to know my principles before you give me your suffrage.”
“Probably you will have none by that time.”
“I certainly shall, if, when I reach that bad eminence, I can make up my mind beforehand which is to be the winning side. Do you take me for a politician?”
“I hope you won’t quarrel in the beginning,” interposed Eugene.
“I hope not; but I forgot I had a letter for you, Eugene,” said Julia, as she handed him a large envelope, post-marked Baltimore.
“Excuse me, Dick,” said he, as he opened the package.
It contained, among other papers, a draft for fifty thousand dollars, forwarded by the eminent merchants, trustees under John Hungerford’s will. It was the income which had accrued before and since the death of the millionnaire There were two other drafts for the legacies due Mrs. Hungerford and Julia.
“Fifty thousand dollars! That is more money than I ever saw,” exclaimed Eugene.
“May Heaven be kind to you!” added Dick.
“After tea, you will tell me what to do with it, Dick.”
“I shrink from the task.”
Just before sunset the young men strolled over Pine Hill. Eugene pointed out the spot on which he purposed to build his mansion. Dick approved it, and an aquatic excursion for the next day was planned before they returned.
