Children -- Death -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Farm life -- Juvenile fiction; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction
"But this kind of thing is done every day, Winthrop."
"By whom?" said Winthrop.
"Why! -- by very good men; -- by everybody."
"Not by everybody."
"By what sort of people is it not done?"
"By you and me," said Winthrop smiling.
"You think then that a poor man should never marry a rich
woman?"
"Never, -- unless he can forget that she is rich and he poor."
Rufus walked for some time in silence.
"Well," he said, in a tone between dry and injured, -- "I am
going off to the West again, luckily; and I shall have no
opportunity for the present to disturb you by making false
pretences, of any sort."
"Is opportunity all that you lack?" said Winthrop looking up,
and with so simple an expression that Rufus quitted his walk
and his look together.
"Why did you never make trial for yourself, Winthrop?" he
said. "You have a remarkably fine chance; and fine opening
too, I should think. You are evidently very well received down
yonder."
"I have a theory of my own too, on the subject," said
Winthrop, -- "somewhat different from yours, but still enough
to work by."
"What's that?"
"I have no mind to marry any woman who is unwilling to be
obliged to me."
Rufus looked at his brother and at the fireplace awhile in
gravity.
"You are proud," he said at length.
"I must have come to it by living so high in the world," said
Winthrop.
"So high?" -- said Rufus.
"As near the sun as I can get. I thought it was very near,
some time in August last."
Winthrop laid by his book; and the two young men stood several
minutes, quite silent, on opposite sides of the hearth, with
folded hands and meditative countenances; but the face of the
one looked like the muddy waters of the Shatemuc tossed and
tumbled under a fierce wind; the other's was calm and steady
as Wut-a-qut-o's brow.
"So you won't have any woman that you don't _oblige_ to marry
you!" Rufus burst out. "Ha, ha, ha! -- ho, ho, ho! --"
Winthrop's mouth gave the slightest good-humoured token of
understanding him, -- it could not be called a smile. Rufus had
his laugh out, and cooled down into deeper gravity than
before.
"Well!" -- said he, -- "I'll go off to my fate, at the limitless
wild of the West. It seems a rough sort of fate."
"Make your fate for yourself," said Winthrop.
"_You_ will," said his brother. "And it will be what you will,
and that's a fair one. And you will oblige anybody you have a
mind to. And marry an heiress."
"Don't look much like it -- things at present," said Winthrop.
"I don't see the way very clear."
"As for me, I don't know what ever I shall come to," Rufus
added.
"Come to bed at present," said Winthrop. "That is one step."
"One step towards what?"
"Sleep in the first place; and after that, anything."
"What a strange creature you are, Governor! and how
doubtlessly and dauntlessly you pursue your way," Rufus said
sighing.
"Sighs never filled anybody's sails yet," said Winthrop. "They
are the very airs of a calm."
"Calm!" said Rufus.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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