The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West by R. M. Ballantyne (book recommendations for teens .TXT) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West by R. M. Ballantyne (book recommendations for teens .TXT) đ». Author R. M. Ballantyne
âTrue, uncle, I had almost forgotten about it, but you know Iâve been so much engaged during the last few days in visiting my old friends and college companions, thatââ
âI know it, I know it, Ned, and I donât want to bother you with business matters sooner than I can help, butââ
âMy dear uncle, how can you for a moment suppose that I could be âbotheredâ byââ
âOf course not, boy,â interrupted Mr Shirley. âWell, now, let me ask you, Ned, how much gold have you brought back from the diggings?â
Ned fidgeted uncomfortably on his seatâthe subject could no longer be avoided.
âIâIâmust confess,â said he, with hesitation, âthat I havenât brought much.â
âOf course, you couldnât be expected to have done much in so short a time; but how much?â
âOnly 500 pounds,â replied Ned, with a sigh, while a slight blush shone through the deep bronze of his countenance.
âOh!â said Mr Shirley, pursing up his mouth, while an arch twinkle lurked in the corners of each eye.
âAh! but, uncle, you mustnât quiz me. I had more, and might have brought it home too, if I had chosen.â
âThen why didnât you?â
Ned replied to this question by detailing how most of his money had been lost, and how, at the last, he gave nearly all that remained to his friend Tom Collins.
âYou did quite right, Ned, quite right,â said Mr Shirley, when his nephew had concluded; âand now Iâll tell you what I want you to do. You told me the other day, I think, that you wished to become a farmer.â
âYes, uncle. I do think that that life would suit me better than any other. Iâm fond of the country and a quiet life, and I donât like cities; but, then, I know nothing about farming, and I doubt whether I should succeed without being educated to it to some extent at least.â
âA very modest and proper feeling to entertain,â said Mr Shirley, with a smile; âparticularly when it is considered that farming is an exceedingly difficult profession to acquire a knowledge of. But I have thought of that for you, Ned, and I think I see a way out of the difficulty.â
âWhat way is that?â
âI wonât tell you just yet, boy. But answer me this. Are you willing to take any farm I suggest to you, and henceforth to give up all notion of wandering over the face of the earth, and devote yourself steadily to your new profession?â
âI am, uncle; if you will point out to me how I am to pay the rent and stock the farm, and how I am to carry it on in the meantime without a knowledge of husbandry.â
âIâll do that for you, all in good time; meanwhile, will you put on your hat, and run down to Moxtonâs officeâyou remember it?â
âThat I do,â replied Ned, with a smile.
âWell, go there, and ask him for the papers I wrote about to him two days ago. Bring them here as quickly as you can. We shall then take the train, and run down to Brixley, and look at the farm.â
âBut are you really in earnest!â asked Ned, in some surprise.
âNever more so in my life,â replied the old gentleman, mildly. âNow be off; I want to read the paper.â
Ned rose and left the room, scarcely believing that his uncle did not jest. As he shut the door, old Mr Shirley took up the paper, pulled down the upper pair of spectaclesâan act which knocked the lower pair off his nose, whereat he smiled more blandly than everâand began to read.
Meanwhile, Edward Sinton put on his great-coatâthe identical one he used to wear before he went awayâand his hat and his gloves, and walked out into the crowded streets of London, with feelings somewhat akin, probably, to those of a somnambulist. Having been so long accustomed to the free-and-easy costume of the mines, Ned felt about as uncomfortable and stiff as a warrior of old must have felt when armed cap-Ă -pie. His stalwart frame was some what thinner and harder than when he last took the same walk; his fair moustache and whiskers were somewhat more decided, and less like wreaths of smoke, and his countenance was of a deep-brown colour; but in other respects Ned was the same dashing fellow that he used to beâdashing by nature, we may remark, not by affectation.
In half-an-hour he stood before Moxtonâs door. There it was, as large as life, and as green as ever. Ned really found it impossible to believe that it was so long since he last saw it. He felt as if it had been yesterday. The brass knocker and the brass plate were there too, as dirty as everâperhaps a thought dirtierâand the dirty house still retreated a little behind its fellows, and was still as much ashamed of itselfâseeminglyâas ever.
Ned raised the knocker, and smote the brass knob. The result was, as formerly, a disagreeable-looking old woman, who replied to the question, âIs Mr Moxton in?â with a sharp, short, âYes.â The dingy little office, with its insufficient allowance of daylight, and its compensating mixture of yellow gas, was inhabited by the same identical small dishevelled clerk who, nearly two years before, was busily employed in writing his name interminably on scraps of paper, and who now, as then, answered to the question, âCan I see Mr Moxton?â by pointing to the door which opened into the inner apartment, and resuming his occupationâthe same occupationâwriting his name on scraps of paper.
Ned tappedâas of yore.
âCome in,â cried a stern voiceâas of ditto.
Ned entered; and there, sure enough, was the same tall, gaunt man, with the sour cast of countenance, standing, (as formerly,) with his back to the fire.
âAh!â exclaimed Moxton, âyouâre young Sinton, I suppose?â
Ned almost started at the perfect reproduction of events, and questions, and answers. He felt a species of reckless incredulity in reference to everything steal over him, as he repliedâ
âYes; I came, at my uncleâs request, for some papers thatââ
âAh, yes, theyâre all ready,â interrupted the lawyer, advancing to the table. âTell your uncle that I shall be glad to hear from him again in reference to the subject of those papers; and take care of themâthey are of value. Good-morning!â
âGood-morning!â replied our hero, retreating.
âStay!â said Moxton.
Ned stopped, and turned round.
âYouâve been in California, since I last saw you, I understand?â
âI have,â replied Ned.
âUmph! You havenât made your fortune, I fancy?â
âNo, not quite.â
âItâs a wild place, if all reports are true?â
âRather,â replied Ned, smiling; âthereâs a want of law there.â
âHa! and lawyers,â remarked Moxton, sarcastically.
âIndeed there is,â replied Ned, with some enthusiasm, as he thought of the gold-hunting spirit that prevailed in the cities of California. âThere is great need out there of men of learningâmen who can resist the temptation to collect gold, and are capable of doing good to the colony in an intellectual and spiritual point of view. Clergymen, doctors, and lawyers are much wanted there. Youâd find it worth your while to go, sir.â
Had Edward Sinton advised Mr Moxton to go and rent an office in the moon, he could scarcely have surprised that staid gentleman more than he did by this suggestion. The lawyer gazed at him for one moment in amazement. Then he saidâ
âThese papers are of value, young man: be careful of them. Good-morningââ and sat down at his desk to write. Ned did not venture to reply, but instantly retired, and found himself in the street withânot, as formerly, an indistinct, butâa distinct impression that he had heard the dishevelled clerk chuckling vociferously as he passed through the office.
That afternoon Ned and old Mr Shirley alighted from the train at a small village not a hundred miles out of London, and wended their way leisurelyâfor it was a warm sunny day for the seasonâtowards a large, quaint, old farm-house, about two miles distant from the station.
âWhat a very pleasant-looking house that is on the hill-top!â remarked Ned, as he gave his arm to his uncle.
âDâyou think so? Well, Iâm glad of it, because thatâs the farm I wish you to take.â
âIndeed!â exclaimed Ned, in surprise. âSurely the farm connected with such a house must be a large one?â
âSo it is,â replied the other.
Ned laughed. âMy dear uncle,â said he, âhow can I manage such a place, without means or knowledge?â
âI said before, boy, that I would overcome both these difficulties for you.â
âYou did, dear uncle; and if you were a rich man, I could understand how you might overcome the first; but you have often told me you had no money in the world except the rent of a small property.â
âRight, Ned; I said so; and I say it again. I shanât leave you a sixpence when I die, and I canât afford to give you one while I am alive.â
âThen I must just leave the matter in your own hands,â replied Ned, smiling, âfor I cannot comprehend your plans.â
They had now reached the gate of the park that surrounded the fine old building of Brixley Hall.
The house was one of those rambling, picturesque old mansions, which, although not very large in reality, have a certain air of magnitude, and even grandeur, about them. The windows were modern and large, so that the rooms were well lighted, and the view in all directions was magnificent. Wherever the eye turned, it met knolls, and mounds, and fields, and picturesque groves, with here and there a substantial farm-steading, or a little hamlet, with its modest church-spire pointing ever upwards to the bright sky. Cattle and sheep lowed and bleated in the meadows, while gentle murmurs told that a rivulet flowed along its placid course at no great distance.
The spot was simply enchantingâand Ned said so, in the fulness of his heart, emphatically.
ââTis a sweet spot!â remarked his uncle, in a low, sad tone, as he entered the open door of the dwelling, and walked deliberately into the drawing-room.
âNow, Ned, sit downâhere, opposite that window, where you can see the viewâand Iâll tell you how we shall manage. You tell me you have 500 pounds?â
âYes, uncle.â
âWell, your dear mother left you her fortune when she diedâit amounts to the small sum of 200 pounds. I never told you of it before, my boy, for reasons of my own. That makes 700 pounds.â
âWill that suffice to stock and carry on so large a farm,â inquired Ned?
âNot quite,â replied Mr Shirley, âbut the farm is partly stocked already, so itâll do. Now, Iâve made arrangements with the proprietor to let you have it for the first year or two rent free. His last tenantâs lease happens to have expired six months ago, and he is anxious to have it let immediately.â
Ned opened his eyes very wide at this.
âHe says,â continued the old gentleman, âthat if you canât manage to make the two ends meet in the course of a year or two, he will extend the gratis lease.â
Ned began to think his uncle had gone deranged. âWhy, what do you mean,â said he, âwho is this extraordinary proprietor?â
âHeâs an eccentric old fellow, Ned, who lives in Londonâthey call him Shirley, I believe.â
âYourself, uncle!â cried Ned, starting up.
Dear reader, the conversation that followed was so abrupt, exclamatory, interjectional, and occasionally ungrammatical, as well as absurd, that it could not be reduced to writing. We therefore leave it to your imagination. After a time, the uncle and nephew subsided, and again became sane.
âBut,â said Ned, âI shall have to get a stewardâis that what you call him? or overseer, to manage affairs until I am able to do it myself.â
âTrue, Ned; but I have provided one already.â
âIndeed!âbut I might have guessed that. What shall I have to pay him? a good round sum, I suppose.â
âNo,â replied Mr Shirley; âhe is very moderate in his expectations. He only expects his food and lodging, besides a little care,
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