THE LEATHER HARNESS.

Along the banks of the blue Connecticut were dotted the substantial white houses, and the graceful elms of the village of Hadley—an old town now, and almost hidden out of sight by the stately sweep of the great elm branches; but then scarcely beyond the age of a “settlement,” and content with ways and goings that we should call very primitive. But the houses, standing to this day, show by their solid square walls and gamble roofs and handsome finishings within, that their owners felt they had a dignity to preserve, even though working their fortunes out of colonial soil, almost beyond the reach of the king’s benediction.

And the great waving seas of broomcorn and tobacco, rising and falling on every August breeze to-day, tell us what those fortunes may have grown to be; or rather, how full the cellars and granaries must have been; for the purses were not so easily swelled.

There was little money in circulation, and little market for what their famous “meadow-land” produced; but what of that? Everything that the palate could desire was stored in abundance in the house; and there was goose every day for dinner, if one could judge from the flocks that hissed across the greensward between the double row of elms along the street. And under every roof was a loom where the thrifty housewife fitted out her family with homespun suits in which stately gentlemen were quite content to follow everyday vocations. “Boughten suits” of cloth purchased at the store, were reserved for solemn and grand occasions and for the more ordinary wear of the great dignitaries of the town—the minister, the squire and the high sheriff of the county.

And what that dignity, particularly as embodied in the minister, really was, boys growing up in modern days can never fully comprehend; they can only listen to stories they hear their fathers and uncles, or great-uncles telling among themselves, just as they listen to the tales of encounter with painted Indians. No such thing nowadays; gone forever.

Imagine a set of boys wild with the excitement of their games, tumbling over or racing past each other, pell mell, helter skelter, like mad, when, at a muffled cry from one of them, “There comes the minister!” the whole troop are suddenly transfixed, stand for an instant as if struck by a thunderbolt, and then falling into ranks wait motionless, hat in hand, until that embodiment of sacred truth in gown and bands has passed them by!

But Parson Hopkins, though he knew how to preserve his dignity, and could look stern enough on Sunday when teaching those very boys how very far they were from keeping a perfect law, had enough of the true spirit of his Master hidden behind those stiff white bands to kindle a good many sparks of sympathy with all that interested them. A tradition is handed down of his even having been seen on the greensward, gown and all, playing the best bat in all their game of ball. Be that as it may, he had two boys of his own, who played him a trick that is repeated on their parents by boys of this generation; that is to say, they grew up rapidly and before he realized the fact stood head and shoulders above him; Nathan was within a week of being twenty-one, and John a year behind him.

When this crisis had arrived, the old gentleman summoned Nathan to his study, an event which would once have seemed to him of awful solemnity, and even now, that he felt himself within one week of being a man, wore an aspect most thoroughly to be respected.

His father, in a dark-green gown of ample folds, sat behind his study table; a sermon on the inalienable gift of free will lay half completed before him, a freshly starched neck band had been put on for the occasion, and his light hair combed directly toward his nose and square cut across the middle of his forehead, showed respect for the occasion by the smoothness with which it lay upon his reverend head.

“Nathan,” he said, “a few days will bring you to that age when a man is expected to take a position of his own, and begin to make way for himself in the world. You have been a dutiful son, Nathan, and I wish to give you as handsome an outfit as lies in my power. There is a deed of three acres of my meadow land, and I shall add to it a freedom suit of ‘boughten’ cloth and a leather harness. If I abounded more largely in worldly goods, I could rejoice for your sake; but I give you what I can and you must make of it what you can. And you may be sure my blessing goes with it.”

The old gentleman reached his hand toward his son, who had remained standing all this time, for young people in those days never ventured to sit in the presence of their parents unless invited. The grasp was warm and strong, but was also a signal that Nathan was dismissed; and having thanked his father as properly as he knew how, he closed the door and descended the stairs with all the speed his new grandeur would permit.

A “boughten suit,” and a leather harness.

And himself a man, dismissed affectionately from his father’s care to see what kind of a show he could make for himself in the world with three acres of meadow land as a foundation. He met his brother John as he reached the hall, but passed him with very little notice. A dignity like his must be considered by all parties.

But the year that was to make a man of John also whirled quickly round, and he, in his turn, was summoned to that solemn place of audience, the study.

“John,” said his father, “I wish to do as well by you as I did by Nathan, and would gladly have done better by you both. Your freedom suit shall be of ‘boughten cloth’ like his, you shall have a leather harness and here is a deed for the meadow land, as fine a piece as his. And may you do well with it, my boy. It is only a beginning, but that is all a young man needs. We will see what you will work out for yourself.”

John had been standing at a respectful distance from his father, listening to what he said with a gaze fixed upon the floor. Now he raised his head, and looked at the parson with an earnest face and frank, honest eyes.

“Father,” he said bluntly, “you are very kind, and I trust I shall always prove a grateful and dutiful son. But I don’t want a ‘boughten suit’ and a leather harness. I don’t want anything I may have to come down from. A rope harness is good enough for me, and so is the homespun I have worn all my life. If I am able to work my way up from them to something better that I have earned for myself, why then I can wear it and feel like a man; but if I begin with fine feathers only to drop them out, or draggle them in the mud, I shall cut a sorry figure by and by.”

For a moment the reverend face was betrayed into an expression of surprise, but it was quickly followed by another of hearty approval.

“Take your own way then, my son,” he said; “it is a good principle to start upon. Only add to it the fear of God and the love of your neighbor, and I shall live to see you all I could desire.”

A few days later John might have been seen setting resolutely forth on his first visit to his new farm, for the planting season was just coming on, and the broad meadows, stretching up and down the river without a fence to mar them, were dotted everywhere with carts and plows, horses and busy farmers, passing up and down the long furrows with merry sounds.

As he walked sturdily beside his horse he met his brother, mounted in his cart, driving in the opposite direction, and greeted him with a cordial smile, which, was returned only by a contemptuous glance at the rope harness.

“You think I am a great fool, don’t you?” said John, laughing good-naturedly.

“Well, I don’t know that I should say that?” replied Nathan rather coldly, “but I don’t agree with you. Take all you can get in this world; that’s my principle.”

“And precisely what I mean to do,” said John, “but the first thing is to get it. Taking what is given you when you are not sure you can hold on to it, I don’t like as well. But wait a minute, though; there’s a bit of rope caught in your harness, let me pull it off for you.”

“No, no,” said Nathan, “it’s a piece I put in there. You see that strap wore out and I couldn’t very well have it replaced, so I worked in a bit of rope instead. It draws just the same.”

“A pity, though,” said John; “it doesn’t look as well as leather. But I must get to my work. Good-morning and success to you.”

He plodded on, and so did time and seasons; and meanwhile the two brothers worked, not only their farms but their principles.

Nathan’s, if he had condescended to extend his remarks in the meadows, would have been not only “Take what you can get,” but “don’t trouble yourself too much about getting it. Make a good appearance in the world, and trust to things coming to you without too much hard work;” while John’s “Yes, but the first thing is to get it,” meant also, “if you have your way to make in the world, go to work and make it. Don’t despise humble beginnings, but aim at something higher. Don’t stand with your gun on your shoulder either, but fire, and whatever you fairly bring down pick up and enjoy it.”

The next spring the brothers met again, but the bit of rope in Nathan’s harness had multiplied into three or four.

“How does your harness wear?” he asked. “Mine breaks away, here and there, and as I did not realize all I hoped on my crops last year I feel a little pinched, and have mended it as I could.”

“Seems to me rather soon for a leather harness to be giving out if it is well taken care of,” said John. “I found mine getting a little weak in one place and I put in a leather strap. I thought that would be the best economy in the end.”

So things went on, and before very long Nathan’s splicings of rope grew more and more apparent, while as one portion after another of John’s harness became worn it was quietly replaced by a similar one of leather until the neighbors could not help noticing that the original leather harness was becoming rapidly transformed into one of rope, while John’s more humble outfit assumed, gradually but steadily, a more substantial character.

The “boughten suit,” also, refused to meet the wear and tear of life without a protest, and one darn after another appeared, until at last a patch of homespun seemed the only resort, and after that final disgrace the whole was dropped off, and a substitute from a home loom, and rather coarser than usual, took its place.

John worked steadily on, and with industry and his new harness in a few years had laid up capital enough to buy a partnership in the village store. The partnership soon became an ownership, and village store-keeping being profitable John one day found himself able to gather up his possessions and invest them in a fine business in Boston.

And the day came when with “boughten” clothes of the most gentlemanly cut the city could afford, and with his own horses and carriage, he came to make his native town a visit, and to find that Nathan and all his affairs had been growing more and more ropy all the while.

“Take all you can get honestly in this world, brother,” said John, with the old frank smile; “a pretty good rule sometimes, especially just now,” and he slipped into his hand a check for a thousand dollars, with which Nathan was very happy to pay off the mortgage on his farm, buy a new harness, and make himself more comfortable in several ways.

Which way do you think the best, in taking all you can get?

THE END.