After Long Years and Other Stories
T >>
Translated from the German by Sophie A. Miller and Agnes M. Dunne >> After Long Years and Other Stories
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 | 7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11
"The gentleman laid his finger on my lips, and said: 'Remember your
vow.'
"Soon after the enemy appeared. Your grandfather fled and so did I.
Never again did I return to this city, nor did I think of the valuables
secreted in these walls. The sight of this picture, however, recalls to
my mind my vow." With a sigh of relief, Armand Seld continued: "My dear
Mr. Vollmar, God moved your heart to help a poor, strange, blind man. He
helped to open my eyes, so that I could behold this picture, and to
disclose to you your buried riches. Thus has He rewarded you for your
kindness to me."
Mr. Vollmar had listened attentively to the old man's story, and said:
"You need not thank me. I did only what was my duty. You may be right
about the treasure, for we often wondered what could have become of all
my grandfather's wealth.
"Being the wise man that he was, he would have known what havoc the war
would bring, and consequently would have collected his money and
possibly have hidden it somewhere. But where? Neither my father nor I
could ever get the slightest clue. What you have said of the little
stone stairway and the lower cellar describes exactly the place under
this house. I am more and more convinced, each moment, that my
grandfather hid his treasures there, but now the question is whether
they are still there. Let us go, at once, and find out."
[Illustration: "The chests were opened."]
They went, arm in arm. As they reached the lower cellar, the old man
shouted: "This is the place. I remember this little round spot that I
filled with putty and covered with cement."
By means of a long crow-bar, an opening was at last made, and one stone
after another fell to the floor.
"Victory!" shouted the old man. "Here are the chests, untouched. I know
my work. The treasure is still here."
Mr. Vollmar then called his son and a helper to his assistance, and the
chests were soon opened. Bags upon bags of money, jewels unnumbered,
silverware, hammered copper ornaments and some papers which had yellowed
and had almost fallen to pieces--all these, met their astonished eyes.
Taking the papers first, Mr. Vollmar read many important family records,
besides an index of the contents of the chests, and the disposition to
be made of them.
"Oh, what good luck this is! It has all been sent to us just when we
need it most," said Mr. Vollmar.
The family soon assembled to hear the good news and see the treasures.
A feast followed and fun and great merriment filled the house. The care
of the old man and his grandchild was willingly undertaken by the
Vollmars; and these good people lived together in peace and contentment
for many years.
THE INHERITANCE
CHAPTERS.
I. MR. ACTON AND HIS SON.
II. THE UNINVITED GUEST.
III. THE FLOWERING PLANT.
IV. THE TWO FAMILIES.
V. THE FEAST.
[Illustration: "By this time they had reached the grave, which was
graced by a flowering plant."]
THE INHERITANCE
CHAPTER I
MR. ACTON AND HIS SON
Mr. Acton was a clever and highly respected merchant who owed much of
his success in life to the system and exactness with which he carried on
his business. Then, too, he was so reliable, so honest, and sold his
goods so cheaply, that everyone preferred to trade with him.
His home, which he could have furnished luxuriously, was the model of
simplicity.
The only surviving member of his family was his son George, who was now
twenty years of age. He was a sturdy, manly, upright youth; willing and
obliging to his friends and kind-hearted to the poor. He reverenced God
and everything which should be held sacred in life. He was the joy of
his father's heart.
Partly on account of his father's business and partly to increase his
own knowledge and ability, George had journeyed to England, and Mr.
Acton daily awaited his return.
Late one afternoon, after a day of strenuous work, Mr. Acton sat
dreamily near the fireside, smoking his pipe. Mr. Richmond, his
bookkeeper, who had been one of his school-mates, and who on account of
his loyalty and honesty was classed as his nearest and dearest friend,
sat beside him. Together they were planning for a banquet which they
would give in honor of George's return.
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and in response to
the pleasant "Come," the servant entered and delivered a package of
letters. Mr. Acton broke the seals and hurriedly glanced over them, in
turn. As he took one which seemed to please him, his face suddenly
changed color, and the hand which held the letter began to tremble. Mr.
Richmond became startled, for he well knew that business losses, which
Mr. Acton had often experienced and borne calmly, could not be the cause
of this agitation. He touched him lightly on the shoulder and said, with
deep concern: "Do tell me what has happened."
"There, read it," said Mr. Acton, with a deep sigh, as he handed him the
letter. Then, sinking back in his arm chair and folding his hands, he
stared blankly into the distance, his grief too deep for words.
Mr. Richmond read the letter which a fellow merchant in a distant city
had written, and which referred incidentally to the sinking of a ship in
the English Channel. Unknown to the merchant, this ship had been the one
on which George Acton was to have taken passage.
This sad news stunned Mr. Richmond, but he tried to reassure his friend,
and said: "Perhaps your son is among the saved, or possibly he may not
have embarked, owing to some business delay."
"You certainly do kindle a faint spark of hope in my heart, my dear
Richmond, but I fear it will be extinguished. Let us lose no time in
getting all the information we can." He rang, and said to the servant
who answered: "Go at once and send this telegram." Then taking up the
evening newspaper his eye glanced hurriedly over column after column,
and finally he read that the ship Neptune had been sunk, and that eleven
persons had been rescued, but no names had been reported.
Between hope and fear, the next day passed. He summoned all his courage
and waited anxiously for an answer to his telegram.
All the neighbors, in fact all the people of the town, held Mr. Acton
and his son in the highest esteem, and they awaited the news of George
Acton's fate in dread suspense. At last the answer arrived: "George was
numbered among the passengers on board, but not among those rescued."
Poor Mr. Acton was so overcome that his eyes held no tears. With dumb
grief he shut himself up in his room to find his comfort in God, alone.
Several days later, there came to Mr. Acton's house an old sailor, who
had been on the ill-fated vessel, and who could give an accurate account
of the calamity.
"We encountered a storm," said the sailor, "such as I, an old sea-dog,
have never experienced. It broke shortly before midnight, and in less
than two hours it had driven us out of our course and seriously damaged
our ship. Suddenly, we felt a great thud, which threw us off our feet,
and a dreadful crash told us that the ship had foundered. The water
poured into the vessel from all sides, and the ship was soon submerged.
"The helmsman, seven sailors, two passengers and myself swam through the
tempestuous sea toward the cliffs which had shattered our ship. The
brave captain and all the other passengers went to their watery grave.
"The loss of young George Acton," continued the sailor, as he dried his
eyes, "was deeply lamented by us all. The sailors loved him very much,
for he was always so helpful and friendly. I know positively that every
one of us would willingly have sacrificed his life, in order to save
that of your son. But there was no moment to wait; the ship went under,
and we were obliged to sink or swim.
[Illustration: The Helmsman.]
"I last saw him near the bow of the vessel, just as the storm was
threatening to break. From that time on, I saw no more of him; but I
chanced to find this wallet, as I descended from the rigging;" and he
passed it over to Mr. Acton.
"It contains several letters from you to your son, and a bank note of
value. That is why I wished to deliver it myself."
Mr. Acton took the wallet, and opened it with trembling fingers. He
found the letters there which he had sent his son. "My good boy," said
the father, "kept all my letters so carefully, carried them with him,
and as I would have wished, read them often!"
The affectionate father whose grief had been dumb and dry, for the first
time shed the tears that would give relief to his pent-up feelings.
The sailor continued: "On the morning following the disaster, we found
ourselves on the bare rocks, with nothing about us but the immeasurable
sea. We found a stick and a piece of sail which had been cast upon the
rocks, and this we hoisted. We were taken up by the sailors of another
ship and landed at Havre."
Mr. Acton had listened attentively to each word. Then, taking the money
from the wallet, he presented it to the sailor, saying: "Take this for
your love to my son and for your honesty in returning the wallet to me.
Lay the money by for your old age."
The sailor was astonished at this rich gift. He thanked Mr. Acton for
his generosity and then departed.
Mr. Acton felt the loss of his son more and more each day, and soon his
health began to fail. One Sunday morning, as he returned from church, he
suddenly became very ill. He hadn't the strength to remove his clothing,
but sank into the nearest chair.
Mr. Richmond, who had accompanied him, hoped that the illness would be
slight, and buoyed his spirits with the thought that he would soon
recover.
"My dear Richmond," the merchant said, "my hopes in this world are over,
and I must now set all my affairs in order. Come, seat yourself at this
table. There is pen, ink and paper. I wish to dictate to you my last
wishes. The notary can then sign and seal the instrument.
"The great wealth with which God has blessed me would, in the natural
course, all fall to my relations. But, as I know them, this would not be
the best thing for them, but rather unfortunate. They shall each receive
a suitable portion, with the understanding that the money be not wasted,
but invested and bequeathed to their children. If the children do not
wish to study and learn some trade, they shall not get a penny of mine.
"For you, my dear Richmond, and for all my faithful assistants who
helped me amass my fortune, I shall provide generously. The worthy poor
and the afflicted, I shall not forget. Come now, write quickly; I fear
the time is short."
Mr. Acton began to dictate, but suddenly he stopped and cried: "I hear
my summons. I must go. God, who has not permitted me to finish this
deed, will in His wisdom fulfill it, and let it reach my heirs to their
best advantage!"
He paused, prayed silently and passed away.
All the members of the household were grieved at their loss. Mr.
Richmond spoke gently to them and said: "Our good, helpful, pious friend
sleeps in peace. Richly did he sow good deeds while here on earth, and
now he has gone to the land beyond where richly he will reap."
CHAPTER II
THE UNINVITED GUEST
The death of Mr. Acton cast a gloom over all the people, with the
exception of his relatives, who felt such unbounded joy over the
unexpected inheritance, that it gave them much trouble to mask their
true feelings.
"The inheritance is enormous!" was all they could say and think. When
the time came to make the division, and it was found upon investigation
that the value of the estate to be divided was only about a million, the
heirs were heard to grumble at the amount. They reprimanded the worthy
bookkeeper, Mr. Richmond, and all the other able assistants, as if they
had embezzled some of the money. These good, faithful men, instead of
receiving what Mr. Acton had fully intended they should, were obliged to
accept reproaches and immediate dismissal.
Soon the heirs began to quarrel among themselves, and for a time it
seemed as if they would have to settle their affairs in the court.
However, their eagerness to possess the money soon brought them into
accord, and each one accepted his portion.
Then, one began to build; another bought a country estate; another gave
up his business, and rode about in his carriage. Not one of them ever
thought of Mr. Acton, much less of erecting a monument on his grave.
Mr. Acton's house, besides a large share of his money, fell to the lot
of a man named Mr. Bond. He immediately had the house renovated and
furnished magnificently, and when it was completed to his satisfaction,
he invited all his relatives to celebrate the event. On the appointed
night, hundreds of lights illumined the house and gleamed in the
crystal, like so many colors of the rainbow. They were reflected from
the mirrors and shone upon the highly polished silver.
All the heirs of the departed Mr. Acton had responded to the invitation,
and were dressed to honor the occasion. Especially happy were the wives
and daughters, whose elaborate gowns were works of art. Mr. Bond's
daughter resembled a princess in the elegance of her attire, and
strutted about, in order to display her beautiful diamonds.
After supper had been served, the guests retired to the grand salon. The
entrancing tones of the music soon led couple after couple to dance to
its rhythm, and the revelry ran high.
It struck twelve by the big church clock. Suddenly there flashed over
the faces of the assembled guests, consternation and horror. The music
stopped--the dancers seemed rooted to the floor. A sudden stillness,
broken only by the echoing tones of the clock, or here and there a gasp
of fear or an exclamation of surprise, hovered over all. In one instant
the doors had been thrown open, and there on the threshold, clad in
black, and with a countenance pale as death, stood George Acton.
If he had really returned from the grave, the fear and shock that his
appearance caused could not have been greater.
All present felt a shudder pass over them, as they realized the
certainty of his return. However courteous it would have been for them
to have hidden their displeasure and to have extended their greetings to
him, not one came forward. The loss of their fortune was too distasteful
to them; the awakening from a happy dream, from a life of joyous
forgetfulness of right and duty, to a life of hard work was too
revolting for them. Mr. Bond had been obliged to seat himself to recover
his strength. Some swooned and had to be carried out.
The noble George Acton had not for one moment thought that his entrance
would have caused his relations such a shock. So he withdrew to another
room. Then the questions were heard: "Do we sleep or dream? Was it
really he, or was it an apparition?"
The heirs could not understand how George Acton, who was considered as
dead by everyone, even by the courts, could have the audacity to live,
and by his unexpected return to give them such a blow; but it came about
in a very natural way.
George Acton had, on the night of the shipwreck, swung himself from the
fast sinking vessel to a plank. Wind and waves soon carried him many
miles. Then the storm had subsided and a gentle wind had arisen. He
found himself very much exhausted, for it had taken all his strength to
cling to the plank.
After a while he managed to seat himself upon the board. At dawn, all he
could see on every side was water and sky. Completely drenched, and
faint from hunger and cold, he passed the day.
As the sun was beginning to sink, he felt that there was nothing for him
but death. He raised his eyes to heaven and prayed silently. Suddenly,
in the distance he saw the smoke-stacks of a ship, lighted by the rays
of the declining sun. The ship came nearer and nearer. At last, he was
spied by the captain and saved. His thanks to God and man for his rescue
were as hearty as his prayers had been fervent. When George had been
warmed and nourished, he begged the captain to land him at the nearest
port.
The captain expressed his willingness to do all that lay in his power;
but, said he, "This is an English warship. I dare not deviate one hair's
breadth from my appointed course. You will be obliged, unless we meet
another vessel, to continue with us on the journey to St. Helena."
The ship reached its destination, and after a weary wait of several
months, George was advised to take passage on board a coaling steamer,
then in port, and bound for Lisbon. "From there you can easily get to
London," said the captain.
George accepted this good advice, but found himself in a very great
dilemma. He, the son of a rich merchant, was, what he had never thought
possible, without one penny. As he sat lost in thought, the captain
aroused him and said: "What is it that troubles you?"
George looked up at him abashed, and said: "How can I make this trip
when I am entirely penniless?"
"Is that all?" said the captain. "Well, I have provided for that."
Whereupon he counted out to the astonished George a good round sum of
money. "Now all I want is a receipt."
"What?" cried George. "You intend to trust me, a person of whom you know
so little, with this large amount of money! You know nothing of my
circumstances, but what I have told you."
"I know your sentiments, your thoughts," said the captain, "and that is
sufficient. I would willingly give you more, if I had it to give. But
the amount will be sufficient to carry you to your destination. Were I
not able to trust a boy like you, I should not want to deal with anyone.
Now perhaps you would not mind doing a little favor for me. When you
arrive in London, please deliver this money to my old mother, who needs
my help." George promised faithfully to carry out the captain's wish.
On the morning of departure, George bade the captain and his crew
farewell, and after a devious journey, he at last arrived in London. He
hurried to the home of his father's friend, at whose house he had so
recently sojourned.
The merchant was speechless with astonishment when he recognized George,
whom he had reckoned among the dead. But greater still was George's
grief and despair when he learned that his kind, loving father had
passed away.
Without further delay, he transacted the business which the captain had
deputed to him, bought some clothing for himself, and sailed with the
next steamer to Havre. From there he took the train to his native town,
arriving late at night.
With a heavy heart, he walked through the streets to his father's house.
He expected to find it quiet and gloomy, but the brightly illuminated
windows were a painful sight. The joyous laughter and the music all
wounded his saddened heart. He could not resist the temptation to
present himself, unannounced, and end this wild revelry, this dreadful
disrespect for the dead. So, it happened that he appeared on the
threshold of the grand ball-room--an uninvited guest.
CHAPTER III
THE FLOWERING PLANT
On the following morning, George wended his way to the cemetery to visit
his father's grave. After wandering about for some time, he thought:
"How strange it is that I can not find it." At last he met a worker
there, to whom he said: "Friend, would you be so kind, as to direct me
to the tomb-stone that marks the grave of the late Mr. Acton."
The old grave-digger thrust his spade into the newly, upturned sod, and
said to George, whom he did not recognize, "Yes, I can show you the
grave, but the tomb-stone is still missing. His heirs have set up no
stone, and probably will never erect one. They have forgotten the good,
noble old soul."
By this time, they had reached the grave, which was graced by a
beautiful hydrangea, handsomer than any plant of its kind that George
had ever seen. A mass of beautiful flowers crowded forward between the
dark-green leaves and thousands of dew-drops hung on the plant and
sparkled in the morning sun.
George stood there silent, with his hands clasped tightly before him,
and his head bowed in grief, while the tears fell on the grave. The
beauty of the plant was a little comfort to him.
After he had spent some moments thinking of his departed father, he
turned to the grave-digger, and said: "Who planted this beautiful bush?"
"Oh, that good child, Lucy, the oldest daughter of Mr. Richmond who was
the book-keeper for the late Mr. Acton, she planted it. She was very
much concerned because it seemed as if the good man were never to have a
tomb-stone.
"'Oh, that we were rich' said she, 'then he certainly should have the
finest monument here in the church-yard. However, I will do what I can.
I will plant this bush and, though it be not costly like a monument, yet
it represents no less in good intentions.'
"She bought the bush last April and brought it here; and with the spade
I loaned her, she dug the earth with her tender hands and set it here.
You see it is a long distance from yonder stream and yet, she brought
the water that distance, to wet this plant whenever she visited the
grave. She really felt grateful to Mr. Acton for his kindness to her
father. All her people, too, loved him."
While George listened with interest to the grave-digger's recital, a
young man from the village happened along. He joined the group and
admired the bush. After a pause, he added; "I, too, remember Mr. Acton,
everyone speaks of his goodness. It would have been better for the old,
honest Mr. Richmond and his children had Mr. Acton lived a little
longer, for then, they would have suffered no want. Nor would Mr.
Richmond have been thrust out of business so shamelessly.
"As one misfortune seldom comes alone," continued the stranger, "so it
happened that Mr. Richmond had put all his savings into Mr. Acton's
business, where he thought it would be well invested. The heirs accused
him of falsifying the accounts and brought him to court. But the case
was deferred, and put on the calender for some distant date. In the
meantime Mr. Richmond lost his all.
"His daughter's needle is now his only support, as Mr. Richmond's
failing sight keeps him unemployed. The other members of the family are
too young to earn anything."
George had been deeply touched by these revelations. He picked a flower
from the bush, and put it into his button-hole. Then he slipped a golden
coin into the old man's hand, asked for the street and number of the
humble house where the Richmonds now resided, and turned his steps in
that direction.
CHAPTER IV
THE TWO FAMILIES
The report that George Acton had returned was the talk of the town and
had reached the ears of the Richmond family in their out-of-the-way
home. Mr. Richmond had gone forth in search of more facts on the
subject. He returned highly elated, with the good news confirmed, and
stood in the midst of his family relating it to them. Lucy stopped
sewing and her hands dropped in her lap, for the news was such a
wonderful surprise to her. Mr. Richmond closed his remarks by saying
that he regretted his inability to find George Acton anywhere, and
nobody seemed to know what had become of him. To search for him in the
cemetery had not occurred to anyone.
Just then a knock at the door announced a visitor. The door was opened,
and George stepped into their midst. Everyone was dumbfounded. The old
Mr. Richmond ran forward and pressed him to his breast. Lucy and her
brothers kissed his hands and wet them with their tears. "Oh, that your
father were with us," was all Mr. Richmond could say.
George then seated himself and learned the history of his father's last
days. Mr. Richmond told everything as he remembered, and every eye was
moist. He told, too, how rough, mean and cruel the heirs had been,
particularly Mr. Bond.
Hours passed like seconds to George, who listened breathlessly. He
assured them of his good will and promised them soon to return and
better their condition. He then left to make a few visits and to attend
to some important business.
In the meantime, the affairs in Mr. Bond's household were not very
agreeable. Following the unfortunate feast and revelry, Mr. Bond and his
wife and daughter had passed the remainder of the night planning what
they would do next.
"Nothing worse could have befallen me," said Mr. Bond, "than the return
of this boy. I would rather that this house had tumbled in on us, and
killed us all as we stood there. When I return my inheritance to George
Acton, I become a beggar. What we have wasted, is twice as much as we
ever had, and nothing will be left for us."
"Oh," said his wife, "then we must sell our jewels and our carriages,
and I must again walk to the theatres, like other ordinary people. I
shall never survive it!"
"You will, most likely, never get to a place of amusement," said Mr.
Bond. "What we have spent in one night for pleasure alone, will have to
support us for almost a year."
His daughter, who had been admiring her diamonds, then said: "Must I
return my diamonds, too?"
"Yes," said her father, "jewels, gold, silver, house, garden, money must
be returned and all luxury is at an end."
Suddenly the Bonds resolved upon a plan to flatter George Acton, beg his
pardon for their seeming disrespect, and invite him to a celebration in
honor of his return. As they were still devising how best to carry out
the plot, George Acton entered. They jumped to their feet, hastened to
greet him and assure him that his return gave them the greatest joy and
happiness, and informed him of the feast with which they proposed to
honor him.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 | 7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11