The Monikins. Джеймс Фенимор Купер

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      “The charges of his education will be easily settled, Mr. Goldencalf,” added my mother; “but the Doctor has consented with difficulty to take the responsibility of my poor babe, and that only under two conditions.”

      The stock-dealer required an explanation with his eyes.

      “One is, that the child shall be left solely to his own care, after he has reached his fourth year; and the other is, that you make an endowment for the support of two poor scholars, at one of the principal schools.”

      As my mother got out the last words, she fell back on her pillow, whence her interest in the subject had enabled her to lift her head a little, and she fairly gasped for breath, in the intensity of her anxiety to hear the answer. My ancestor contracted his brow, like one who saw it was a subject that required reflection.

      “Thou dost not know perhaps, Betsey, that these endowments swallow up a great deal of money—a great deal—and often very uselessly.”

      “Ten thousand pounds is the sum that has been agreed upon between Mrs. Goldencalf and me,” steadily remarked the Doctor, who, in my soul, I believe had hoped that his condition would be rejected, having yielded to the importunities of a dying woman, rather than to his own sense of that which might be either very desirable or very useful.

      “Ten thousand pounds!”

      My mother could not speak, though she succeeded in making an imploring sign of assent.

      “Ten thousand pounds is a great deal of money, my dear Betsey—a very great deal!”

      The color of my mother changed to the hue of death, and by her breathing she appeared to be in the agony.

      “Well, well, Betsey,” said my father a little hastily, for he was frightened at her pallid countenance and extreme distress, “have it thine own way—the money, yes, yes—it shall be given as thou wishest—now set thy kind heart at rest.”

      The revulsion of feeling was too great for one whose system had been wound up to a state of excitement like that which had sustained my mother, who, an hour before, had seemed scarcely able to speak. She extended her hand toward her husband, smiled benignantly in his face, whispered the word “Thanks,” and then, losing all her powers of body, sank into the last sleep, as tranquilly as the infant drops its head on the bosom of the nurse. This was, after all, a sudden, and, in one sense, an unexpected death: all who witnessed it were struck with awe. My father gazed for a whole minute intently on the placid features of his wife, and left the room in silence. He was followed by Dr. Etherington, who accompanied him to the private apartment where they had first met that night, neither uttering a syllable until both were seated.

      “She was a good woman, Dr. Etherington!” said the widowed man, shaking his foot with agitation.

      “She was a good woman, Mr. Goldencalf.”

      “And a good wife, Dr. Etherington.”

      “I have always believed her to be a good wife, sir.”

      “Faithful, obedient, and frugal.”

      “Three qualities that are of much practical use in the affairs of this world.”

      “I shall never marry again, sir.”

      The divine bowed.

      “Nay, I never could find such another match!”

      Again the divine inclined his head, though the assent was accompanied by slight smile.

      “Well, she has left me an heir.”

      “And brought something that he might inherit,” observed the Doctor, dryly.

      My ancestor looked up inquiringly at his companion, but apparently most of the sarcasm was thrown away,

      “I resign the child to your care, Dr. Etherington, conformably to the dying request of my beloved Betsey.”

      “I accept the charge, Mr. Goldencalf, comformably to my promise to the deceased; but you will remember that there was a condition coupled with that promise which must be faithfully and promptly fulfilled.”

      My ancestor was too much accustomed to respect the punctilios of trade, whose code admits of frauds only in certain categories, which are sufficiently explained in its conventional rules of honor; a sort of specified morality, that is bottomed more on the convenience of its votaries than on the general law of right. He respected the letter of his promise while his soul yearned to avoid its spirit; and his wits were already actively seeking the means of doing that which he so much desired.

      “I did make a promise to poor Betsey, certainly,” he answered, in the way of one who pondered, “and it was a promise, too, made under very solemn circumstances.”

      “The promises made to the dead are doubly binding; since, by their departure to the world of spirits, it may be said they leave the performance to the exclusive superintendence of the Being who cannot lie.”

      My ancestor quailed; his whole frame shuddered, and his purpose was shaken.

      “Poor Betsey left you as her representative in this case, however, Doctor,” he observed, after the delay of more than a minute, casting his eyes wistfully towards the divine.

      “In one sense, she certainly did, sir.”

      “And a representative with full powers is legally a principal under a different name. I think this matter might be arranged to our mutual satisfaction, Dr. Etherington, and the intention of poor Betsey most completely executed; she, poor woman, knew little of business, as was best for her sex; and when women undertake affairs of magnitude, they are very apt to make awkward work of it.”

      “So that the intention of the deceased be completely fulfilled, you will not find me exacting, Mr. Goldencalf.”

      “I thought as much—I knew there could be no difficulty between two men of sense, who were met with honest views to settle a matter of this nature. The intention of poor Betsey, Doctor, was to place her child under your care, with the expectation—and I do not deny its justice—that the boy would receive more benefit from your knowledge than he possibly could from mine.”

      Dr. Etherington was too honest to deny these premises, and too polite to admit them without an inclination of acknowledgment.

      “As we are quite of the same mind, good sir, concerning the preliminaries,” continued my ancestor, “we will enter a little nearer into the details. It appears to me to be no more than strict justice, that he who does the work should receive the reward. This is a principle in which I have been educated, Dr. Etherington; it is one in which I could wish to have my son educated; and it is one on which I hope always to practise.”

      Another inclination of the body conveyed the silent assent of the divine.

      “Now, poor Betsey, Heaven bless her!—for she was a meek and tranquil companion, and richly deserves to be rewarded in a future state—but, poor Betsey had little knowledge of business. She fancied that, in bestowing these ten thousand pounds on a charity, she was acting well; whereas she was in fact committing injustice. If you are to have the trouble and care СКАЧАТЬ