MR. CODDINGTON TELLS A STORY

NE of the first things Peter did the next afternoon was to go with his father and mother to Mrs. Jackson’s and relate to her himself all the happenings of the previous day. The story was, to be sure, no surprise to her, for had not Nat rushed home and incoherently rattled it off? But how much nicer it was to hear it from Peter! The boy spared no detail of the truth; he told of his school, his failures there, of his disgust at being put into the tanneries, of his desire to conceal his identity. During the tale no one interrupted him. Mr. and Mrs. Coddington, Mrs. Jackson, and Nat all listened intently to the end. Then when the story was at last finished Peter looked up and smiled at Nat’s mother.

“So one of your sons, you see, has been sailing under a false name, Mrs. Jackson,” he concluded whimsically. “Do you think you can forgive him?”

“You must try,” pleaded Mr. Coddington, putting in a laughing word. “My son has been doing the same thing and yet I’ve overlooked it.”

Everybody smiled and the tension was instantly broken.

“But to think neither Nat nor I ever suspected you, Peter!” mused Mrs. Jackson. “We must have been very stupid. Why, I don’t see how we could have helped guessing the truth long ago. As I look back on it all it seems as if a score of incidents might have told us. Either you kept your secret marvelously well or Nat and I are not very keen.”

“And even though you fooled every one else, Peter, I can’t quite understand how you fooled me,” murmured Nat.

“Peter certainly carried his scheme through well,” declared Mrs. Coddington. “Yet for our part we are very glad that the time for dissembling is past.”

“Indeed we are,” Mr. Coddington echoed. “This game of Peter’s has complicated our plans to no small extent.”

“Why, Father, I did not know it made any difference to anybody except myself,” Peter answered, looking at his parents in surprise.

“Nevertheless it has made a difference, my son,” returned the president of the company kindly. “Strong was assuredly a good fellow; indeed he was a lad to whom I always shall feel grateful, for he has taught me several lessons that I needed to learn.”

Peter opened his eyes very wide.

To think of his father’s learning lessons!

“Still,” continued Mr. Coddington, “so long as Peter Strong and not Peter Coddington formed a part of our household many plans which we had hoped to make realities had to be abandoned. Now, however, we shall try to carry through some of them; one in particular we are eager to see fulfilled, and that is why Mrs. Coddington and I have come here to-day.”

Peter wondered what was coming.

His mother answered the question that trembled on his lips.

“Your father and I thought best not to tell you beforehand, Peter,” she said softly.

“I’ll do it, whatever it is, Father,” cried Peter. “Only please do not say that you want me to go back to school. I’d even do that, though, if you really thought I had better,” he added bravely.

Mr. Coddington dropped his hand on the boy’s shoulder and smiled down into the anxious face.

“There will be no more school for you, son,” he answered slowly. “At least not the sort of school that you dread so much. No, in future you must find your books in the great world about you—in men, and in the things they are doing; and this education of yours is precisely the subject I came here to talk about.”

Leaning forward the president began slowly:

“Mrs. Jackson, on the fifteenth of next month, Mrs. Coddington and I are to sail for England.” “What!” gasped Peter, forgetting for the moment that he should not interrupt.

“We are to take Peter with us,” went on Mr. Coddington ignoring the interruption and proceeding in the same earnest, deliberate tone. “He has worked hard and faithfully, and needs a good rest. The trip, however, is not to be an entirely profitless one, for while in England I shall take him to visit some of the finest tanneries, that he may observe other methods for doing the same things that we are doing here.”

An exclamation of pleasure escaped Peter’s lips.

His father smiled.

“After we have collected in England all the information possible and have seen something of the sheep country there, and the great houses from which hides are shipped, we shall go to Paris and place orders for several large consignments of skins. I want my son to see for himself, Mrs. Jackson, just how this end of the business is conducted, for I hope and expect that some day these duties will be his, and I want him equipped to meet them with wisdom and intelligence.” “You mean that you are going to fit Peter to manage the tanneries,” nodded Mrs. Jackson.

“Precisely.”

There was a pause.

No one spoke.

It was evident that Mr. Coddington had more to say, and that he was finding it a little difficult to continue.

“In this great business, however,” he went on at last, “Peter will need help. He will not be able to carry so much care all alone.”

“But you will——” burst out Peter.

“Oh, I shall be around here for some time yet, God willing,” replied his father cheerily. “Still we old fellows cannot expect to stay here forever. We must consider the future, dear boy. Therefore I wish to train up another lad to share Peter’s burdens with him—a fellow with good stuff in him; some one whom Peter likes and can trust. It is with this end in view, Mrs. Jackson, that when we sail for England we wish to take your son with us.”

“Me!” Nat sprang from his chair.

“Would you like to go, Nat?” asked Mrs. Coddington, watching the light leap into the boy’s eyes.

“Would I like to go! Why, it is the thing I have dreamed of all my life—dreamed of, and never expected to be able to do. To go to Europe! To see all those places I’ve read about and seen pictures of! Think of it! Do you really mean it, Mr. Coddington?”

“I certainly do, my boy,” answered the president, heartily enjoying his delight. “I cannot promise to take you to all your dream-countries but you shall see some of them. It all rests with your mother. If she gives her consent you shall go.”

Mrs. Jackson’s answer was ready. While Mr. Coddington had been speaking she, with woman’s intuition, had leaped forward to the coming question and had decided upon her reply. Her one thought was for her boy. She did not permit a consideration of self to bar his way.

“I am only too glad to give my consent, Mr. Coddington,” she said firmly. “It is a great opportunity for Nat, and his mother would be the last person to allow him to refuse it. Of course he shall go.”

Then the significance of her words broke upon Nat.

He flushed.

He was mortified to realize that in his enthusiasm his thought had been only for himself and his own pleasure. For an instant his face fell. Then he sprang to his mother’s side and throwing his arms about her exclaimed:

“Of course I shall not go, mother. Go, and leave you here all by yourself! I guess not! I did not think at first that my going would mean that. It was very good of you, Mr. Coddington, to ask me, but nothing would hire me, sir, to leave my mother.”

“Oh, you would not be leaving me for long, dear,” argued his mother, crushing the boy’s cheek against her own and hurriedly dashing away a tear. “Why, people go back and forth across the ocean every day. It is not—not far—very far. You could write to me often and before you or I knew it you would be back at home again.” The trembling voice gained steadiness. “Why, it would be nothing at all, Nat! And think of all the stories you would have to tell me! While you were away I could get books and read about the places you were seeing and——”

“I never shall leave you here alone, mother, never!” repeated Nat.

“But we do not mean to have you leave your mother, Nat dear,” Mrs. Coddington said. “You have not waited to hear the end of our plan. Your mother is to go too. She is to be my guest on the trip. Oh, yes, Mrs. Jackson. That is the other part of our plan. I shall be very forlorn while these three leather makers are rushing about among the tanneries and warehouses. They won’t want to take me with them—nor am I at all sure I should care to go if they did. So I am depending for my pleasure on your companionship, you see.”

With charming grace she bent forward and put her hand pleadingly on Mrs. Jackson’s. “You won’t refuse Peter’s mother this favor, will you?” she begged.

Mrs. Jackson covered the hand with her own slender one and when she answered her voice quivered with emotion.

“You are very, very kind, both you and Mr. Coddington,” she answered. “I have no words to thank you; but believe me, while I heartily appreciate your generosity, I feel that too much has already been done for Nat and me—far more than I should have accepted had I realized that it was Mr. Coddington himself and not the company who was doing it. Do not consider me ungracious in being unwilling to add this favor to the others. I would rather be under obligations to you and Mr. Coddington than to any one else in the world if it were possible. Nat shall go. The trip will be a wonderful education for him and he will, I am sure, work hard in the future to repay you for your kindness; but I could not accept such a gift.”

Unconsciously Mrs. Jackson’s chin lifted, and her figure drew itself up.

“Oh, but I want you to go,” broke in Peter. Smiling, she shook her head.

“I think, if you will pardon my frankness, you are making too much of a very slight thing, Mrs. Jackson,” declared Mr. Coddington. “Come, be honest. You are too proud to accept this trip from Mrs. Coddington and me. Isn’t that it? You doubt her wanting you as a traveling companion. But there you wrong her. She really does want you. It would be a genuine favor to her, and the obligation would be entirely on our side, you see.”

“I think your kindness blinds you to your real motive, Mr. Coddington,” Mrs. Jackson returned.

“Then listen. I will tell you a story. Long ago, at the time of the Civil War, my father——” Mrs. Jackson started, then recovered herself; but there was no question that his words had caught her keenest attention.

Imperturbably he went on with his tale.

“My father, who was a fearless young Northerner, was sent forward to carry a dispatch through the Southern lines. It was a dangerous mission and on the delivery of that message depended not alone his honor but a large measure of the success of the Northern cause. He pledged his life to carry that word. All went well until quite without warning he found himself in a rebel ambush. He made his escape but in so doing was seriously wounded and nothing but the speed of his horse prevented his recapture. His enemies were still hot in pursuit when he found he could go no further. Then when he saw his strength failing and knew the struggle was useless he took a desperate chance. A plantation stood in his path and he rode up to the house and begged for aid. Now it happened that the owners of that plantation, although Southerners, were in sympathy with the Northern cause; not only did they take in the wounded man and nurse him back to life, but the son of the family, a daring lad, ventured to continue the ride through the lines and deliver the stranger’s message.”

Mr. Coddington paused a moment.

“And did he succeed?” cried Peter breathlessly. “Yes.”

“Oh, it was splendid! Think of a boy’s doing a thing like that for his country!”

“And a boy not much older than you either, Peter,” added Mrs. Jackson eagerly.

“Why—why—how did you know?” queried Peter, bewildered.

Instantly Mrs. Jackson was all confusion; but she did not explain her impulsive words.

“That Northern soldier, Peter, was your grandfather,” declared Mr. Coddington quickly. “He all but died in the fulfilment of his task and had it not been for the nursing he received in that Southern home he undoubtedly would have done so. His family owed his life, his honor, and the success of the cause they prized so dearly to those brave friends who risked everything they possessed to serve their country and a fellow creature. And now if you will ask Mrs. Jackson perhaps she can tell you who the boy was who carried the dispatch through the Southern lines.”

“It was my brother—Nat’s uncle, Peter,” whispered Mrs. Jackson. “Why, mother,” Nat ejaculated, “you never told me it was these Coddingtons!”

“And not until the day I came to see you at the hospital, Nat, did I find out that it was these Jacksons,” said Mr. Coddington. Then turning to Nat’s mother he said: “Now you must certainly admit that the Coddingtons, Mrs. Jackson, owe a good deal to the Jacksons—life, honor, their country’s success. Between your family and mine on which side lies the obligation?”

“It was a service gladly rendered.”

“But one that cost your family dear. Oh, I have discovered, you see, how the incident came to the knowledge of your Southern neighbors and how, in rage, they burned your father’s plantation driving you all from it. I have looked up all the facts. Your father came North in the hope of recovering his fortunes; he died; you married, strangely enough, another Jackson; your husband was unfortunate and before he won a place in life he, too, was taken from you and you were left with this boy. You strayed into Milburn—it is needless to go on; you see I know all your story. I wished, my dear madam, to verify my suspicions. I have verified them. You and Nat unconsciously came to a haven where you never again shall have cause to worry. Your son shall be trained to share my son’s fortunes. The Coddingtons can never cancel their debt to the Jacksons, but at least they shall repay a part of it. You who know so well what pride is will not, I am sure, deny me this pleasure and satisfaction.”

For a few moments there was silence.

Then Mrs. Jackson extended her hand toward Mr. Coddington.

“Let us not consider it a debt between strangers,” she said. “Rather let it be a bond between friends. I will gladly accept your kindness and go to England with you all.”

And so two weeks later Peter, amid the cheers of the workmen, bade good-bye to the tanneries.

As he and his father stood alone on the deck of the great liner and watched her make her way out of the harbor Mr. Coddington said:

“Do you recall, Peter, the evening of your failure at school, and how I told you that although it was hard for me to be so severe I felt I must make a man of you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was very confident in my own strength that night; but I see now I was not so powerful as I thought, and it is you who have shown me my folly. No one in this world can build the character of another; each of us must rear his own. You have made a far better man of yourself, my boy, than I ever could have made of you. I am proud of my son, Peter!”

The stories in this series are:

THE STORY OF COTTON
THE STORY OF GOLD AND SILVER
THE STORY OF LUMBER
THE STORY OF WOOL
THE STORY OF IRON
THE STORY OF LEATHER
THE STORY OF GLASS
THE STORY OF SUGAR
THE STORY OF SILK
THE STORY OF PORCELAIN