A Successful Failure

You would not have said that John Hammond looked in the least like a hero, a square shouldered, rough-handed fellow of íifteen, wearing a very happy-go-lucky checked shirt and blue overalls. Those blue overalls had seen service, as their irregular patches bore witness ; driving the cows through the morning dew, hoeing, milking, and tramping the fields, they, and otheis exactly like them, had been part of John's wearing apparel for as many years as he cared to remember. And of course no boy takes pains to look back at the days when he wore short skirts and pinafores ; he imagines Ufe begins when he puts on boots and jacket and trousers. But, though John was a country fellow, with rather a steady and monotonous round of work before him, and no very brilliant prospects in ■ the future, as far as eye could see, he had like all boys worth anything, ambitions of his own. His father was a hard-working man who had, as a boy, lived on the large, rather barren farm which he had at last been able to purchase with his jealously treasured "savings," and held naturally the belief that his son would work and im prove the same land after te had grownold, died and lef t it. John had other thoughts; he feit in himself an ability for pursuits different from the one his father chose. That was well enough ; boy as he was, he saw it to be a noble and dignifled thing to till the ground and make it fair with orchard and garden, but all inen were not intended by nature for the same work. He had a genuine love for mechanical puisuits, and there was a cunning at his üngers' ends which seemed to promise a real bent toward making and fashioning. It was better to be a carpenter, even, than a farmer, but best of all would be engineering; the building of stupendous bridges and laying out of long lines of raüroads. His mother knew all these longmgs. Most mothers do flnd out theirboys inclination, I fancy, in the right kind of family. "I wish yon could have all the learning you want, Johnnie," she said one moming, fondly patting the rough head that lay on her ironing table. Then, getting a fresh iron from the stove and skillfully "trying it" with her fiuger, she went on, "bul I don't think it would be any good to talk it over with father. He wouldn't hear to it, because he thinks farmmg's good enough for anybody. And besides that, you knovv there isn't any money." "Yes, I rather guess I do," said John. dolef ully. The n catching the troubled look on his mothor's face, he said, bravely, "But don't be bothered, I can stand it anyhow. There was a great deal of real tenderness between his mother and himself. Thdt night, as John was bringing in the wood to fill the great box by the kitchen stove, an idea struck hira ; such a bright idea that he stopped short, and nearly let fall an arniful of kindlings.'Tll do it 1" he said aloud. "No, nothine, mother, I was only talking to myself," as Mrs. Hammond came out in time to hear the exclaination. Just af ter dark Je lm might have been seen going up the neatly-kept walk that led to the minister's trim little house. His only concession to the importance of making a cali all by himself had consisted in brushing his hair very smoothly, and polishing his square, determined face with soap and water till it shone again. It would not have done to put his best clothes on, for, aside from the fact that they made him ill at ase, he had been caref ui that no one at home should suspect his absence on any unusual errand. Yes, the minister was at home, and would be glad to see John alone. The boy's heart beat loudly as he was ushered into the study; minister's were in his mind inseparably connecU ed with churches, communion tables and funerala, and nothing but the importauce of his present errand could have induced hitn to encounter one alone. Mr. Burns was a hearty joviallooking man. "Glad to see yon, John," he said, warmly, rising from his study table, and greeting hitn, John thought proudly, justas if he were a grown man. "Now this is nice to have you oome by yourself for a cali," "I wanted to ask you a question," said John choking a little, in his rtrardness, choosing the extreme end of ais chair as presenting greater advanlages than a larger surface. "1 want to go to school and have a real business, different from farming, and 1 thought you'd know better about such Lhiugs than auybody here. We haven't got any money, and I want to know what to do.1' It seemed a very long speech to the boy, when he had finished, and his heart beat alaroiingly at his own daring. "Ah!" said the minister, rubbing his chiu, and eyeing the boy sharply. ' So you want a profession. Have you talked with your father ?" "No, sir, but mother knows about it, I thuught it wasn't any use to speak u father till 1 could see a way to do it. iïe'd say no, unless he could see some real sense in it." "Yes, L understand, and it was wise of you to think of it. Do you want to go to college ? or haven't you got as f ar as settUng that ?" So John, encouraged by the kind tone and appareut inte rest of his listener went on totalk of his plans more freely than he had ever told them to any one. The minister listened, put in a word now and then, and at the end gave a nod of approval. "I think something must be done f or jou, my boy," he said, heartily, "but I can'tsay a word more till l've thought it all over, and when I have, 111 eithe seud für you, or go up ana see your father. Willthatdo? It would do beautifully, Joun thought, and lie went away delighted beyond reason. And in the.days which followed he did very little but whistle and toss lúa cap up into the air at uncertain intervü's, rousing in hi3 mother homeiyfearsthatMohn wasn't well, becauae his appetite was so poor." But atter sonie waiting, the day carne when the minister called and asked to see his father. John, on his way from a neighbor's, saw the two in close conclave, near the kitchen window, and, in a ridiculous desperation ran into the barn to hide on the highest hay mow of all. No ono carne to flnd him, a fact not to, be wondered at, cousidering that the hay mow is not a common resort of families in general, however well the boys may know its fragrant, dusty corners. Finally he crept out and went into the house, rather shame faced, but very conspicuously uneoncious of any out-of-theway oecurrence. Hi3 mother, rather flushed and excited, was laying the suppertable; his íalher, by the window, was reading the newspaper upside down. "So you want to go to school,'1 said the father, at last, rather gruffly. "Why didn't you come to me about it first?" John's heart sauk into his boots at the tone. . "I thought Mr. Burns might know best whether it was foolish or not, and -and-" "Oh, teil the boy, father," broke out bis mother. "It's a shame to kef p him waiting. And don't you see, he's ready to cry." It all came out, then, and 1 am not sure, good as the newa was, that John did not cry af ter all. He was to study with the minister that winter, mathematics and general English branches, and the next f all his father would mortgage the Rlver pasture, or perhap3 sell it for the money necessary for the lirst year's expenses ; they could not plan beyond that. Perhaps, then, the boy's ability would have proved itself worth the borrowing of money, if he cared to pledge himself for its payment, when he had gotten to the point of earning for himself. How John worked that winter at booka and "chores'1 no other boy without an object in life would ever believe. And when summer camo, a little tired, but still enthusiastic, he was all hope for che coming fall term at school. Mr. Burns praised his scholarship and ability without mea3ure,and the father, at ürst agreeing to the plan under protest, and because the minister declared it to be the best thing, grew prouder than ever of his boy, and, willing that he should make his way in the world, let the farm pass into what hand3 it would. But there carne a morí; ing - and I am sorry to teil this part of the story - when the little household was all in confusión, and the village doctor was looked for with as much anxiety as if he carried the keys of life in his black case. Mr. Hammond had had a stroke of paralysis, and the doctor could only say, pltyingly, that there was not immediate danger of his death, but that he must be a helpless man al ways. The farmer moaned and tried to speak. The good doctor's voice had not been low enough, and f rom outside Ihe door the verdict had reached the sick man's ears. Jolin was close by his father's side, half teriiQed by hia drawu face. The moan carne again, and he put his own face down to translate the half-inarticulate sound. "The farm? the work ?" he questioned. The eyes brightened with assent. "Oh, father, don't bother about that. I shall stay at home. I'll take care of the farm just as you would." And he kept his promise. Sick people, through weakness and pity of themselws, eannot always be geaerous, and it is a queation whether Farmer Hammond ever quite understood the sacrifico his son made for him. His mind became a Uttle clouded by bodily illness, and as no one ever reminded him that John had hopel for a different life, he forgot the fact altogether. Do you know how a hard blow sotnetirnes hardens character, and changes the boy into a man. in the spaeeof days? It was so with John. He put nis own plans i esolutely aside, and took on his shoulders the burden of his father's work, hiring when it was necessary, but bending all his energies toward. making the farm pay. And it did, as farms go ; there was never much ready money ín the family pnrse, but there were üelds of grain, a cellar stocked with vegetable beauties, and thriving live8tock as witnes3es of success. Beyond that his father had been as happy as a man so disabled ever could be. When , afteryears, the father died, it waa too late for the aceoinplishmert of John's boyish puiposes. It you should ask him to day how he regards his life it is probable he would teil you that it seems a failuie,but his townsmen teil a different story. Clieery, helpful and brave, he never fails a friend, aud has made the. very best of the place duty seemed to mark out for him. I could show you a score of intelligent articles from his pen on various agiïcultural subjects; and I could recountdozens of his brave deeds, bat the story of his life dwin dies down to the one moral - that, although circumstances may deny aman what he longs for most, he cansucceed in becoming good and great at heart in spite of them. And, af ter all, character is the only thing worth striving for.