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Pocket Island

<div> <h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2><h3>PLANS FOR HAPPINESS.</h3></div> Appomattox and a glorious ending of the most sanguinary war in the history of the nineteenth century had come, and with it a few changes in Southton. Only a part of that brave E Company that three years before marched so proudly away to fight for the Union ever returned, and of those the greater number bore the scars of war and disease. Very many sorrowing women and children were scattered through the town, whose hearts were sore with wounds that only time could heal, and the empty sleeve and the vacant chair were sad reminders on all sides. The Rev. Jotham still extended his time-worn orthodox arguments to a wearisome length, usually concluding them with more or less varied and vivid pictures of the doom in store for those who failed at once to repent and believe; but strange to say the sinners who were moved by his eloquence were few and far between. It was known that he was not in sympathy with the great majority of the North, or the principles upon which the war had been fought, but believed in the right of secession, and that the North was wrong in its political position. Had he kept these opinions to himself it would have been far wiser; but he made the mistake of giving utterance to them at a Memorial Day service held in his church, which expression was so obnoxious to the most of his audience and such a direct reflection upon the brave men from the town who had shed their blood for their country that one of the leading men of Southton arose at the close of Rev. Jotham's remarks and there and then rebuked him. The affair created quite a disturbance in public feeling and was perhaps one of the indirect causes that eventually led to a division of his church and to the formation of a separate society in another part of the town. A new principal had assumed charge of the academy, the trustees having decided for several reasons that a change would be beneficial. Mr. Webber, who had ruled there for several years, industriously circulated a report that by reason of several very flattering offers to engage in mercantile pursuits, as well as failing health, he had decided to resign. As his voice, and the apparent desire to use it upon any and all possible occasions, showed no cessation of energy, a few skeptical ones were inclined to doubt that his health was seriously affected, and as it was over a year before he accepted any of the flattering offers, they believed he must have had hard work to find them. For the rest the town resumed the old-time even tenor of its way, though there had been added to its annals heroic history, and to its calendar one day of annual mourning. Aunt Sally Hart said that "Liddy Camp had showed mighty good grit and that young Manson ought to feel purty proud of her," which expression seemed to reflect the general sentiment. When the autumn days and returning health came to Manson, sunshine seemed to once more smile upon the lives of our two young friends, and how happy they were during the all too short evenings spent together in Liddy's newly furnished parlor, need not be described. It was no longer a courtship, but rather a loving discussion of future plans in life, for each felt bound by an obligation stronger even than love, and how many charming air castles they built out of the firelight flashes shall not be told. In a way, Liddy was a heroine among the little circle of her schoolmates and friends, and deserved to be, for few there were among them who could have found the strength to have faced the ghastly scenes she had, from a sense of duty. "I do not care to talk about it," she said once to one of those who had been near her in the old days at the academy; "it all came so suddenly I did not stop to think, and if I had it would have made no difference. I did not think of myself at all, or what I was to meet. How horrible it was to be thrust among hundreds of wounded and dying men; to hear what I had to, and see what I did, I cannot describe and do not wish to. Under the same circumstances," she added quietly, "I should face that awful experience over again if necessary." Life and all its plans practically resolve themselves into a question of income finally, and no matter how well aimed Cupid's darts may be, the almighty dollar and the ability to obtain possession of it, is of greater weight in the scale than all the arrows the boy-god ever carried. Even as an academy boy Manson had realized this; faintly at first, and yet with growing force, as his attachment for Liddy increased. With a certain pride in character he had resolved to withhold any declaration of love until he had at least a settled occupation in life; but when it came to going to war and parting, perhaps forever, from the girl he loved, to longer remain silent was to control himself beyond his strength. Now that she had shown how much his life meant to her by an act of devotion and self-sacrifice so unusual, his ambition to obtain a home that he could invite her to share, returned with redoubled force. What to do, or where to turn, he did not know. He was not even recuperated from the terrible ordeal that had so nearly cost him his life; but for all that his ambition was spurring him onward far in advance of his strength. One evening late that autumn, when he found himself unexpectedly alone with Mr. Camp, he said: "I have for some time wished to express to you my hopes and ask your advice regarding my future plans. First, I want to ask you for Liddy, and beyond that, what I had best turn to to obtain a livelihood. I want Liddy, and I want a home to keep her in." Mr. Camp looked at him a moment, while a droll smile crept into his face, and then replied: "I am willing you should have Liddy, of course. I wouldn't have taken her to that hospital to try to save your life if I hadn't believed you worthy of her; but beyond that I don't think I have much to say in the matter anyway. I couldn't keep you apart if I would, and I wouldn't if I could." And then he added a little more seriously: "She is all I have left in my life, and whatever plans you two make, I hope you will consider that." Manson was silent. The perfect confidence and simple pathos of Mr. Camp's statement came to him forcibly, and made him realize how much he was asking. He meditated a few moments, and then said: "I feel that I am asking for more than I deserve, and that I owe you far more than I can ever repay, but believe me, I shall do all in my power." "We won't worry about that now," replied Mr. Camp, smiling again; "wait till your arm is well, and then we will talk it all over. In the meantime"—and a twinkle came into his eyes—"you have one well arm, and I guess that's all Liddy needs just at present." The autumn and winter evenings sped by on wings of wind to Liddy and her lover, for all the sweet illusions of life were theirs. Occasionally they called on some of their old schoolmates, or were invited to social gatherings, and how proud she was of her manly escort, and he of the fair girl he felt was all his own, need not be told. One day in the spring Mr. Camp said to Manson: "How would you like to be a farmer?" "I have no objections," he replied; "my father is one, and there is no reason why I should be ashamed of it. It means hard work, but I am used to that. I am ready and willing to do anything to earn an honest living." Mr. Camp looked at him for a moment reflectively, and then said: "That has the right ring in it, my boy," and after thinking a little longer added: "I'll tell you what I'll do. Charles, if you can get Liddy to set the day I will give her a deed of the house and you a deed of the farm, provided you two will take care of me. That's fair, isn't it?" Then he added, with a smile, "I guess you can coax her consent if you try hard." The proposition was so unexpected and surprising that for a moment Manson could not speak, and then, when it all came to him, and he saw the door of his dream of happiness opened wide by such an offer, the tears almost started. For one instant he was in danger of yielding, but he recovered himself. "No mere words can possibly express my gratitude, sir," he replied, "but I could not accept so much. All I ask for, and all I will accept is Liddy, and that is enough. To let you give me your farm would make me feel that I was robbing you. I could not do it, sir." And then, as he saw a look of pain come into his would-be benefactor's face, he continued: "Now, I will tell you what I am willing, and should be more than glad to do. Let Liddy and me keep house for you, and I will manage the farm, under your direction. That is enough, and all I can accept." "I respect your feeling of independence," replied Mr. Camp, a little sadly, "but it won't work. A young man, to be content, must feel that he has a home that is, or soon will be, all his own. I do not want to put a burden on your feelings, but I want to make both you and my child happy, and"—with a little tremor in his voice—"I've only got Liddy to care for me in my old age, and it's hard to give her up. Can't you believe what I offer is wisest and best? Would it make you feel any better to give me a note and pay it when you chose? I would never ask you for it." That evening when the lovers sat under the freshly leaved maples, he told her what her father had offered. "I've known it for some time," she said, "and I feared you would feel hurt and refuse it, and hurt father, and I hope you did not. Put yourself in father's place," she continued seriously, "and tell me how you would feel. Remember that I am all he has to love and care for him, and he is very dear to me. He would not hurt you for the world, and what he thinks is the best way I believe is the best." "I will think it over," was Manson's comment. "It's so sudden and overwhelming I do not know what to say or do. I can't see a way out of it, either," he went on reflectively. "I want you and I want a home to keep you in, all our own, but how, or where it's coming from, I can't see. Then it's too much to ask him to give you up." He paused, and leaning over and resting his face on his hands, continued rather sadly: "I guess it would have been just as well if you had left me to die in the hospital." It was a cruel remark and he saw it in an instant, for he said quickly: "Forgive me, I didn't mean that. I've got you and two hands to work with, and that's hope enough. Give me time and I'll solve the problem, never fear!" When they parted she put one arm around his neck and whispered: "It's the old vocation enigma over again, Charlie, isn't it? But don't let it make you miserable, and don't ever say such a thing as that you just said again. Do you know, when I came to you in the hospital that morning, I had not slept one moment for two long days and nights! Now try and be happy to pay me for it, and remember: "'The happiest life that ever was led Is always to court and never to wed.'" Then she kissed him, in her tender way, and if he did not think she was right, it was because he was like most young men who don't know when they are well off and happy. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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