The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 94, August, 1865: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 94, August, 1865: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
"Did you hear that?" said Fred, in a voice intended for a whisper, but
which in my confusion I was sure the young gentleman had overheard.
"Half a dollar a quart!"
I moved away instantly toward home, never daring to look back at either
the widow or her customer, lest my eyes should encounter those of the
latter, as I was sure he must have heard my brother's exclamation, and
been satisfied that it was I who raised the berries he had so much
admired. It was unaccountable to me that I should be so foolish. But no
one, unable to correctly analyze his feelings, can at the moment account
for the strange impulses which an unlooked-for emergency will send
hurrying through the heart. Time and a succession of events may
sometimes unlock the mystery of their origin. I am sure that it required
both to solve the problem for me.
Fred trundled his barrow at my side as we returned to breakfast. He was
full of exultation at our success, and even began to count up what our
profits would be. We had made so capital a beginning that he was sure
they must be very large. Alas! he knew little of the world except its
sanguine hopes. He reasoned only from the beginning, without knowing the
stumbling-blocks that might be encountered before we reached the end.
But then what would this world be, if hope were banished from it? Still,
though fairly estimating all these contingent disappointments, my
spirits were buoyant as his own. That was apparently a short walk to our
distant home, for there was abundant conversation and debate to beguile
the way. My mother stood in the doorway as we approached the house; but
when Fred told her the story of the young gentleman, how he looked and
behaved,--I somehow felt unable to do it,--with the crowning incident of
the great basketful of berries he had purchased at half a dollar a
quart, and that without even asking the price, I think I never knew my
dear mother to be so delighted at any event in the quiet history of our
little family. Ah, what a happy breakfast it was that we sat down to
that morning! I could not repeat the exultations expressed on all hands
over my success. My mother seemed so supremely gratified at the prospect
now opening before us, that her delight was a bountiful reward for me.
She had never manifested so much cheerfulness since we lost our father.
Fred insisted on continuing his calculations of what our profits would
be; but though he brought out great results on paper, for he was
remarkably expert at figures, yet, even with my constitutional
enthusiasm, I refused to be unduly set up by his extravagant
anticipations. It seemed with him to be as great a happiness to merely
calculate the profit as it was for me to produce it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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