In Search of Treasure

“Will you name to me some of the disaffected ones, Brother Crane?”

“No, I’d rather not. You see, they all respect you. You see, you’re gettin’ into years, parson.”

“I am fifty-one.”

“True, that isn’t very old. I’m a year or two older myself.” (The deacon was fifty-nine.) “But then I am not a preacher. People don’t seem to consider age an objection in a deacon. If they did, I hope I should be willin’ to sacrifice myself on the altar of dooty.”

Mr. Fenwick rose from his chair and began to pace up and down the study. He was very much agitated, and heart-sore at the thought that the people who were so near to him should wish him to go.

“How long have you seen signs of disaffection, Deacon Crane?” he asked, pausing in his walk.

“Well, for about two years, I reckon, Mr. Fenwick.”

“And yet the people seem to come to church in as large numbers as usual.”

“It is their sense of dooty, parson. They feel that they ought to come.”

“That may be. It is certainly very commendable. I only mention it to let you understand why I have not noticed this feeling.”

“Of course, I needn’t say, parson, that I am very sorry to be the one chosen to tell you how matters stand. You see, there was a meetin’ of a few of your parishioners at my house last night, and we talked the matter over, and it was thought best that I should give you a hint.”

“May I ask who were at your house, Deacon Crane?”

“Well, I don’t think I ought to tell. Some of them might be unwilling.”

“I don’t see why.”

“They might think you would be offended.”

“I should have no right to be offended. I might feel grieved. Indeed I do. But, of course, my first thought must be of the parish, and what is good for it.”

“I knew you would feel that way, Brother Fenwick. We all know what a conscientious man you are.”

“I hope so,” faltered the minister. “You think that I ought to send in my resignation?”

“Of course, parson, you will be able to preach to good acceptance in some other parish. All people don’t have the same taste.”

“It would be hard for me to settle down among strangers.”

“Just at first it would; but after a while it would put new life into you. We all of us need a change, ministers as well as other people.”

“I will think over what you say, Deacon Crane. It has come as a surprise to me.”

“To be sure, to be sure! There is only one thing now I want to say,” and the deacon cleared his throat with portentous significance.

“And what is that other thing you have to say, deacon?” asked Mr. Fenwick.

“You know I hold a mortgage of five hundred dollars on your house?”

“Yes.”

“I was thinkin’ of callin’ it in; but if you should be goin’ to another place, I wouldn’t mind buyin’ it if we could agree upon terms.”

“I don’t feel like discussing that question now, deacon.”

“All right. There’s plenty of time.”

Deacon Crane rose to go. As he left the house a complacent smile overspread his face. He felt that he had broached the subject successfully, and deceived the minister as to the extent of the opposition to him.

Besides, and this was no unimportant consideration, he saw that there would be a chance, in all probability, of buying the minister’s modest house at a bargain, and so making a tidy little profit for himself.

Half an hour later, Mr. Ainsworth entered the presence of the minister. He had seen Deacon Crane leaving the parsonage, and guessed his object in calling.

Lest the deacon should have misrepresented matters, he wished to have a little conference with Mr. Fenwick himself.

“Mr. Fenwick,” he said, as he entered the study, “you look sober.”

“Yes, Brother Ainsworth, my heart is heavy.”

“Deacon Crane has called upon you?”

“Yes. He grieved me very much by telling me that the people wanted a change.”

“Which means that he wants a change.”

“He assured me that he and Mrs. Crane stood by me. He said it was the younger people who were getting uneasy.”

“Mr. Fenwick, Deacon Crane has for months been trying to get up an opposition to you.”

“Can this be so?”

“Yes. He has not met with very good success. I don’t think there are more than half a dozen persons besides himself that want a change, and those are members by no means prominent.”

“But why should he be so desirous of having me leave?”

“Because there is a cousin of his wife, now out of a charge, whom he hopes to get here in your place. That is the true explanation. He has deceived you as to the state of feeling in the parish.”

“Brother Ainsworth, you have relieved my mind and lifted from it a heavy burden. The deacon gave me to understand the feeling was general.”

“Moreover,” continued Mr. Ainsworth, “he wants to get hold of your house and let it to his cousin, if he can manage to get him installed as your successor.”

“Then you don’t think I ought to resign?”

“Certainly not. We don’t propose to have the deacon run the parish.”

Two days afterward Deacon Crane called again.

“Well, Brother Fenwick,” he said, “have you decided to resign?”

“No, Deacon Crane, not yet. Brother Ainsworth tells me that the great majority of the people favor my remaining.”

“He is in error,” said the deacon, tartly. “You are making a great mistake. And I want to say that I shall have to foreclose that mortgage. I want the money this day week.”

“I doubt if I can obtain it so soon,” said the minister, troubled.

“Then I will buy the place.”

“I prefer not to sell. I will try to secure the money.”

Mr. Fenwick went about among those of his friends who he thought might be able to accommodate him with a loan, but there was a stringency in the money market, and no one seemed able to oblige him.

He returned, despondent, from his search, when, as he entered the house, he found a letter awaiting him.

It ran thus:

Dear Father:

I have just arrived in New York on the Etruria. I hope to reach Bayport to-morrow.

Guy.

CHAPTER XIX

PREPARING TO RECEIVE GUY

Though he was puzzled by Guy’s letter, Mr. Fenwick was overjoyed at the thought of seeing his son again.

Why he should have arrived at New York on the Etruria, when he had been left by Captain Grover in Bombay, he could not understand.

“Probably Guy was too young for his position,” he thought, “and his employer has paid his expenses home. Never mind; he can find something to do here. It seems a long, long time since I have seen my dear boy.”

For the time he forgot the fact that he had no money with which to meet the mortgage; but it was brought back to his recollection when, later in the day, he met Deacon Crane in the village.

“Well, parson,” began the deacon, abruptly, “I hope you haven’t forgotten that the mortgage falls due day after to-morrow. Have you secured the money to pay it?”

“No, Deacon Crane. Money seems very hard to borrow just now.”

“I am aware of that. You will find it best to sell to me.”

“What do you offer?”

“A thousand dollars over and above the face of the mortgage.”

“But,” said the minister, dismayed, “that would make the place worth only fifteen hundred dollars!”

“Fifteen hundred dollars is a great deal of money.”

“Why, I paid two thousand!”

“Mebbe, mebbe; but property depreciates in the course of years.”

“Certainly the land has not depreciated, and the house is in good repair.”

“Well, money is tight. You know that yourself, for you have found it hard to borrow.”

“Can’t you let matters run on for a year longer? By that time I may be able to realize a large sum for the property.”

Deacon Crane’s thin lips tightened, and his eyes looked crafty and forbidding.

“What you ask is unreasonable, Brother Fenwick,” he said.

The minister looked despondent.

“If I sell the house,” he said, “I don’t know where I can find another.”

“You can board,” suggested the deacon.

“I should not like it. I have been accustomed to have a home of my own. Besides—I didn’t think to tell you—I am expecting Guy home.”

Deacon Crane opened his eyes wide.

“Why, I thought he was in Bombay, earning his living. Why did he leave there?”

“I don’t know. I got a letter this morning, saying that he had reached New York on the steamer Etruria.”

Deacon Crane’s puckered and wrinkled face looked jubilant. It might have been thought that he was pleased at the prospect of seeing Guy back; but this would have been a mistake.

“I am not surprised,” he said, dryly.

“I am. I did not dream of such a thing.”

“Of course, it’s plain enough. Guy didn’t suit his employer, and he has been discharged.”

“I hope it isn’t that. But even that is better than his being sick.”

“I told you, parson, that it was very unwise to let so young a boy go off to the other end of the world. I know it wasn’t your fault, his staying behind in Bombay, but I should think a sensible man like Captain Grover would have advised against it.”

“I shall soon know what brings Guy back. I only mentioned it to explain that I should need a home for him as well as myself. It makes me all the more anxious to keep the house.”

“I am sure I have no objection if you can pay off the mortgage.”

“You couldn’t extend it for another year?”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Then perhaps you will take me as your tenant?”

“I don’t think I could do that, either. I have other views.”

“I’ve got some news for you, Noah,” said Deacon Crane, when he entered his own house.

“What is it, father?”

“Guy Fenwick is coming back.”

“When?” asked Noah, eagerly.

“His father’s had a letter from New York, sayin’ that he’s just arrived by the Etruria.”

“Why, the Etruria comes from Liverpool, not from Bombay!”

“I know that. He must have come by way of England.”

“Ho! ho! Why, I thought he’d got a place in Bombay?”

“He’s probably been discharged and sent home.”

“I’m glad of it!”

“I suppose you’ll be glad to have his company again?” said the deacon, slyly, for he knew just how his son felt toward Guy.

“No, it isn’t that; but I’m glad he’s come home in disgrace. That boy was always puttin’ on airs, though his father was only a poor minister, and hadn’t half as much money as you.”

“No; nor one-fifth,” said the deacon, complacently. “I’ll tell you a secret, Noah. I’ve got a mortgage on the minister’s house.”

“I know that already.”

“But you didn’t know that I should probably have to foreclose the mortgage, and take the place. Of course, I shall get it cheap.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Perhaps I shall keep it till you are married, Noah, and give it to you to live in,” said his father, playfully.

“Then Guy won’t have any home to go to?”

“That’s about it.”

“I wouldn’t be in his shoes. He’s lost his place, and now he will lose his home, too.”

“We mustn’t rejoice over his misfortune,” said the deacon, with the air of a Pecksniff. “We should always feel sorry for the bad luck of our fellow men.”

“If you are, father, why do you foreclose the mortgage?”

“That’s business, Noah. We sometimes have to do in the way of business what we do not like to do. By the way, don’t mention to anyone what I intend to do.”

“No, I won’t. But why doesn’t the minister pay off the mortgage?”

“For the very good reason that he cannot borrow the money.”

“I thought perhaps Mr. Ainsworth would lend him. He seems to be a great friend of the minister.”

“It’s all Ainsworth can do to get the money to pay his own bills. The only man in the village that’s got any spare cash is–”

“Well, who?”

“Deacon Crane,” answered Noah’s father, with a wintry smile; “and he isn’t lendin’.”

“Ho! ho!” laughed Noah. “When is Guy Fenwick expected back?”

“I shouldn’t wonder if he’d be here this afternoon, though the minister didn’t say. I don’t suppose there’s anything to keep him in New York.”

“That is, if he’s got money enough to get home. It would be a joke if he had to walk.”

“I guess he’ll have money enough to get home, but I reckon it’ll be a good while before he gets a chance to go away again.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for him,” said Noah. “I want to see how he looks, and what he’ll say when he finds his father is going to lose the house.”

Mr. Fenwick had occasion to visit the village store during the day. Sometimes he went there without any errand, for he was always cordially received by Mr. Ainsworth.

As he entered, the storekeeper looked up.

“What is this I hear about Guy returning, Mr. Fenwick?” he asked.

“I received a letter this morning stating that he had just reached New York by the steamer Etruria.”

“You didn’t expect him, did you?”

“No. I supposed that he was still at Bombay.”

“Your special friend, Deacon Crane, seems to be pleased to think he is coming back.”

“He thinks Guy has been discharged by the merchant who employed him.”

“Of course, it is possible that he did not give satisfaction.”

“I don’t know how that may be, but I shall be glad to have my boy at home again.”

“Have you formed any views for him?”

“I suppose it will be well to let him go into some store or counting-room. He doesn’t seem to care to go to college.”

“If you see fit to let him enter my store, Mr. Fenwick, I shall be glad to receive him. I always liked Guy, and I consider him a smart boy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ainsworth. You are always kind to me and mine. I can’t decide till I have seen Guy, but I think it quite possible that we shall accept your offer.”

This was not the only opening for Guy.

Deacon Crane offered to give him work on his farm.

“I feel for your disappointment about the boy, parson,” he said, “and I think I can set him to work on my place. Of course, I can’t pay him much.”

“Thank you, Deacon Crane. I will see what Guy thinks about your offer.”

Mr. Fenwick knew, though he did not say so, that nothing would induce Guy to enter the deacon’s service.

CHAPTER XX

GUY REACHES BAYPORT

Guy did not delay long in New York. He called upon Gilbert Frazer, the American agent of his employer, and attended to the business that had been intrusted to him.

Mr. Frazer, a canny Scotchman, somewhat over fifty, was amazed that Mr. Saunders had so far trusted “a mere boy”; but in his conversation with Guy he found that “the mere boy” was quick and intelligent, and seemed thoroughly to comprehend the business on which he was employed.

“You are an extraordinary boy,” he said, raising his glasses, and peering at Guy from under the rims. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen, sir.”

“You seem to have the brains of a man of twenty-five.”

“Thank you, sir. I suppose I may consider that a compliment?”

“Surely. When will you call again? I shall need to have some further words with you.”

“I wish to visit my father, whom I have not seen for six months or more, but I will return to the city in four days.”

“Where does your father live?”

“In Bayport, Massachusetts.”

“Very good. I will expect you in four days. There will be no harm in waiting that length of time.”

“Now,” said Guy to himself, joyfully, “I shall soon be at home.”

He engaged passage by the steamer Pilgrim of the Fall River Line, and started that night.

He found himself the next morning in New Bedford. Here he took a stage for Bayport.

His heart beat with excitement when he reached the borders of his native village. He realized the charms of home.

He had traveled many thousand miles by land and sea, he had seen London and Bombay, but neither of these cities seemed so attractive to him as the obscure town on the Massachusetts coast where he had passed his boyhood days.

The first person whom he saw when he descended from the stage was Noah Crane.

In fact, Noah had managed to be around when the stage arrived, in the hope of meeting Guy.

Guy was so pleased to see a familiar face that he forgot the old animosity between himself and the deacon’s son, and exclaimed, gladly: “How are you, Noah? It seems good to see an old friend!”

“So you’ve got back?” said Noah, coolly.

“Yes, I’ve got back.”

“I thought you’d be back before long.”

Then it dawned upon Guy that Noah looked upon him as a failure, and it amused him.

“Of course I would come back, since my father lives here. Is he well?”

“Oh, yes, he’s well—in health.”

“Isn’t he well in other respects?”

“Well, you see, some of the people want a younger minister. I don’t know how it will turn out.”

“I suppose your father is one who favors a change?”

“Well, he seems to think it might be better for the parish.”

Guy smiled. The suggestion did not trouble him as it might have done six months before.

“Besides,” continued Noah, “he may lose his house.”

This was certainly news.

“I don’t understand you,” said Guy. “The house belongs to him.”

“Yes, but there’s a mortgage on it.”

“Well?”

“Father holds the mortgage, and as your father can’t pay it, of course he’ll have to give it up.”

“Do you remember how large the mortgage is, Noah?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“That isn’t much. He ought to be able to borrow that small sum.”

“Seems to me you have pretty large ideas. It’ll be a long time before you’ll be able to earn five hundred dollars.”

“Well, perhaps so,” said Guy, smiling.

“Now you’ve come back to live on your father, it’ll be harder still for him.”

“Perhaps I shall get work,” answered Guy, smiling again.

“Yes; you’ll have to earn something. My father says he will hire you to work on our farm.”

“That’s very kind of him.”

“He does it on account of your father. He feels for him, considering he has been so much disappointed in you.”

“I didn’t expect so much kindness from the deacon and you. I’ll think over this offer, if he decides to make it. But I can’t stop talking here any longer. I know father will be anxious to see me.”

“Guy is a queer boy,” thought Noah. “When I told him about his father’s troubles he only smiled as if he didn’t care. I’d like to take as long a journey as he has, but I shouldn’t like to return home a pauper.”

“Noah is as kind and amiable as ever,” thought Guy. “Evidently he thinks I am a bad failure. I wonder how he will feel when he learns how fortunate I have been.”

In a few minutes he found himself entering the yard of the parsonage.

Guy was touched by his father’s evident delight. He began to understand how near he was to his heart.

“Welcome home, Guy!” he said. “I have had my cares and anxieties, but this pays me for all!”

“Thank you, father. It seems good to be at home again.”

“And you have been in good health all the time, Guy?”

“Never better, father.”

“You must be hungry, my son. Come in, and you shall try some of Rachel’s home cooking.”

“Indeed, father, I can do it justice. Were you surprised to receive my letter?”

“Yes, Guy. I thought you were thousands of miles away. How did you like your employer, Mr. Saunders?”

The father asked this doubtfully, not knowing on what terms his son had left the merchant.

“He is an excellent man, and a good friend, father.”

“Then how did it happen that he discharged you, Guy?” asked the minister.

“Who told you he discharged me?”

“I judged so on account of your return home.”

“I am still in his employ, father. I went to England first, and have now come to America as his agent, and on his business. And you actually thought I was discharged?”

“Yes, Guy; and Deacon Crane is of the same opinion.”

“I know that,” said Guy, with a laugh. “I met Noah on getting off the stage. I really believe he went to meet me.”

“I did not know you were friends.”

“We are not. He wanted to triumph over me on account of my supposed discharge. He offered me a place on his father’s farm.”

“And Mr. Ainsworth is ready to give you a position in his store.”

“Mr. Ainsworth is a friend. I would not mind working for him if there was any need of it; but nothing would induce me to work for the deacon.”

“But how can you be in the employ of Mr. Saunders while you are here?”

“I am under pay all the time, father. I cannot be with you long. I must be in New York in four days, to attend to some business there, and soon after shall be obliged to start again on a long journey.”

“It seems strange, Guy, to think of you as in the employ of a man thousands of miles away. Are your prospects good?”

“Excellent, father. And now tell me about yourself. Has Deacon Crane been making trouble for you in the parish?”

“Yes, Guy. He tried to stir up opposition to me in favor of a younger man, but he found very few to join him. My good parishioners stood by me.

“Good for them! As for the deacon, he is a mean, malicious, double-faced man!”

“We must not speak ill of others, Guy.”

“He deserves it, if anyone does! But you spoke of anxieties. To what do you refer?”

“To a very great one, Guy. You did not perhaps know that this house was mortgaged?”

“Yes; Noah kindly informed me of it when we met this morning.”

“It is his father, Deacon Crane, who holds the mortgage.”

“What is the sum?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“That is not a large sum.”

“No; but the deacon wants it. He will not consent to extend it.”

“Can you borrow it in the village?”

“No, Guy. Times are hard. No one has any extra money. My good friend Ainsworth would lend it to me if he had it, but at present he can’t raise it.”

“Then what will follow?”

“The place will be sold to satisfy the claim. Deacon Crane has offered a thousand dollars over and above the mortgage.”

“Why, that is robbery!” said Guy, indignantly.

“True, Guy, but it can’t be helped. The deacon will secure the house, and I shall be turned out!”

“No, you won’t, father!”

“What do you mean, Guy?”

“When does the mortgage fall due?”

“To-morrow.”

“Very well; don’t borrow any trouble, father. It shall be paid.”

“But how? I don’t understand.”

“I have more than enough money to meet it.”

“But, Guy, it would not be right to use your employer’s money!”

“There is no need of that. I have more than enough money of my own.”

CHAPTER XXI

DEACON CRANE IS PERPLEXED

Mr. Fenwick was sitting at his desk when Deacon Crane called. The deacon expected to find him nervous and agitated, and was surprised to note that he was as calm and placid as usual.

“Take a seat, Deacon Crane,” said the minister.

The deacon seated himself in a rocking-chair and began to rock. It was his custom when he was excited.

“I hear, Mr. Fenwick, that your son Guy has got home,” he began.

“Yes,” answered Mr. Fenwick, with a smile of satisfaction. “Guy has got back.”

“Rather unexpected, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, unexpected, but very welcome. It has brightened me up a good deal.”

“Has it? I thought perhaps you might have been disappointed.”

“Disappointed to see Guy? Oh, no! no!”

“You know what I mean,” returned the deacon, with some asperity.

“I don’t think I do.”

“I mean, of course, that it can’t be pleasant to have your son thrown on your hands when you thought he was earnin’ his livin’.”

“I think I must ask you to explain yourself.”

“If you wasn’t a minister, I might say that you seem a little dense,” said the deacon, impatiently. “However, I feel for you. You can’t afford to have a big boy eatin’ you out of house and home. I can find work for him on my farm, though, of course, I shouldn’t feel justified in payin’ much.”

“You are considerate, deacon,” said Mr. Fenwick, with a slight smile, “and perhaps I have misled you. Guy is not out of employment.”

“No?” said the deacon, opening his eyes in surprise. “Do you mean to say that he has a position?”

“He is in the employ of Mr. Saunders of Bombay.”

“How can that be?”

“He was sent to New York on business by his employer, and took the opportunity of visiting me.”

“This don’t seem a very likely story,” said the deacon, in a tone of disappointment. “Are you sure he isn’t deceivin’ you?”

“I am quite sure,” answered Mr. Fenwick, with dignity. “Does your son ever deceive you?”

“That isn’t neither here nor there. If he told me such a story as Guy has told you I would punish him.”

“Guy doesn’t deceive me,” said the minister, quietly.