Mr. Cowles–farmer, grocer, postmaster, and money-lender–drew his chair to the fire. The large, old-fashioned stove had an open front, and it was pleasant, on such a piercing day, to see the flames leap, and hear the wood crackle, and sit in the genial warmth.

The table was neatly set for supper. There was a platter of cold prairie chicken, a glass dish containing wild-plum sauce, and a plate of biscuit; while on the stove hearth stood a white tureen, holding a few slices of hot toast.

Mrs. Cowles, having been informed by her liege lord that her presence was not desired at that particular hour, had gladly improved the opportunity to take a cup of tea with her friend Mrs. Barker, and learn the particulars concerning the accident that happened to Bill Walker and Maria Hobbs the night before, who, while returning from a log-house dance, six miles away, were upset from the wagon into Slough Creek. Mrs. Cowles dearly loved a dish of gossip, which, 286 smoking hot and seasoned to one’s taste, was always to be had at Mrs. Barker’s.

The Cowles were a money-loving and money-getting race, from the least of them to the greatest; and Mr. Charles Cowles was not a whit behind the shrewdest of them in this respect.

It was a stormy afternoon in March, and the winds, which, like troops of wild horses, came careering across the prairies, and charged upon the money-lender’s “framed” house, furiously whirled the snow, and made shrill, wintry music. Mr. Cowles added more fuel to the fire, reseated himself, put his feet into a chair, and fell into a deep study.

He was the moneyed man of the place, and, although comparatively a new comer, was the autocrat of the settlement. His first visit to the town, “prospecting,” caused considerable commotion; for if the groves and prairies had been arranged on the plan of a vast whispering-gallery, the fact that he had a golden purse could scarcely have circulated more rapidly. Many prophesied he would not condescend to dwell in so small a town–a surmise that seemed the more probable from his haughty, overbearing carriage. And when it was certain that he had bought out the best of the two stores, and carpenters were set to work building a large addition to the grocery, and teams arrived from the Mississippi loaded 287 with barrels and boxes of goods, there was general congratulation. The town will go ahead now, the settlers said; men of capital are beginning to come in, and land is sure to rise.

But Mr. Cowles did not pitch his tent there for the benefit of the public, as the public soon had reason to know. He invested nothing in “improvements,” but simply kept his stock replenished, selling at the high frontier prices, giving credit when wanted, but always taking ample security, and letting money in the same way, at five per cent. per month.

The settlers had met with the usual financial disappointments of the frontier, and then a business revulsion at the east caused a fall in the value of land, and a diminution of immigration; and, having expended the little they had on their arrival, they were compelled to do as best they could. In this extremity it became common for them to get trusted at the store for groceries, and hire money of its proprietor; and in an astonishingly short space of time, the sharp grocer held mortgages on most of the farms in the neighborhood. He was inexorable when pay-day came; and if the money was not ready, he foreclosed, deaf to all appeals. But of this he invariably gave each one who applied for a loan an offensively plain warning. He was a middle-sized, broad-chested, black-eyed man, muscular, passionate, 288 blasphemously profane, heavy-voiced, had a remarkable command of language, and when angered his eyes seemed to shoot lightning, and he would gesticulate with great energy. There was no respect of persons or station with him; high and low were served alike. When credit or money was asked for, he would say,–

“Certainly, sir; but, mind you,” with a fearful oath, “if you don’t pay according to agreement, I shan’t wait a moment. Everybody that deals with me has to be on the square. O, yes; you expect to pay, but you won’t. And don’t you come whining and crying round me then; it won’t make any sort of difference. I’ve put my grip on your land, and I tell you now that I shan’t let go. Don’t you say, then, that I didn’t tell you beforehand just how it would turn out.”

The money-lender of the young village was feared, hated, and fawned upon. His bearing was imperious and sneering towards all. He had a vigorous intellect, however, was uncommonly well-informed, and would discourse to the groups in his store, sitting with his stout legs hanging over the counter, with a coarse brilliancy, original and sagacious, from which the more cultured might cull gems of thought, fresh and striking, despite the terrible swearing, which would startle even bad men. 289

Was there “a well in the rock” of this man’s hard heart? We shall see.

The lines of the money-lender’s face were bitterly hard; but on this afternoon his features worked as if strong conflicting emotions were striving for mastery. Something unusual was stirring his brain; he sat thinking, thinking, uneasily shifting his position, and at length arose, and passing through a dark hall, entered the shop, and said,–

“Ah, Tom, is that you?”

“Yes,” answered the young man, diffidently; “Mr. Payson said you wished to see me.”

“Yes, walk in this way;” and Mr. Cowles returned to the home-room, followed by Tom.

“Do you know why I sent for you?” asked the grocer.

“No, sir.”

“Well, I had a little private matter that I wished to talk with you about; but I’m hungry as a bear, and if you’ll do me the favor to drink a cup of tea with me, I’ll try to explain.”

Tom had ever shrunk from contact with this man, and marvelled much at finding himself his guest. Yet a cosy sitting down together they had, Tom’s host being singularly attentive to him, while they partook of the nice edibles.

“Tom,” said the grocer, as they sat back from the table, “I’ve heard good accounts of you;” 290 and his voice grew soft and tremulous; “and I’m really glad of it. And I’ve had an eye on you myself quite a while; and, bad as they say old Cowles is, I like to see others do well. You stuck by your folks when you wished to go off; that’s right. You made the most of your schooling; that’s in your favor. You are an honest, right-minded lad, aiming to be, I suspect, some such a man as that missionary.”

Tom’s surprise grew apace. How did this rough, swearing, covetous dealer ferret out his heart’s secrets?

“You wished to go from home to study, but, like a true son, staid by to help the family. That must have been a great self-denial to you; was it not?”

“Yes,” faltered Tom.

“Of course it was. But how did you manage to give it up so bravely?”

“Mother advised me to pray about it, and I did.”

“Do you think it does any good to pray?” asked the grocer.

“O, yes, indeed. I couldn’t live without prayer, it helps me so much.”

“But,” objected his questioner, “do you imagine that the great God cares enough about our little affairs to answer the trifling requests we may make of him?” 291

“I do, sir,” replied Tom, with glowing cheeks and tearful eyes; “I have known him to do so many and many a time.”

“Perhaps you were deceived.”

“O,” cried Tom, “if you had been in the missionary’s family as much as I have, and heard him pray for things, and then see just what he asked for come into the house almost before he arose from his knees, you could not doubt that God had heard him. Why, sir, how do you suppose he has managed to get along on the little that the settlers have paid him, unless it has been in answer to prayer?”

“I am sure he must have been pinched,” answered the money-lender, moving uneasily.

“I would like to relate an instance or two,” continued Tom, “if it would not be–”

“No, no, it won’t be disagreeable to me; but I have not time to hear it now. I believe all you say. I tell you what it is, young man,” he added, rising and pacing the floor, deeply agitated, “I know more about these matters than folks think. There’s my brother; he’s a Methodist minister, just like this missionary about praying. He’s often prayed for me, and says he has the evidence that I shall be converted, and become a preacher.”

“Perhaps you will,” earnestly remarked Tom; 292 “you have ability enough to do a great deal of good.”

“So he says. What if it should come about! How strange it would seem for a cursing old sinner like me to preach and pray as that missionary does! They call me a hard man. But what can I do? Don’t I inform every soul that asks me for money that he’s a fool, and that I shall hold him to the writing? I get their lands, it is true; but if I did not, somebody else would. Why, they mortgage all they have, and then buy the highest priced goods in the store. I’ve no patience with such folks, and they don’t get much mercy from me.”

“But,” bluntly said Tom, “I can’t see how another’s wrong-doing justifies ours.”

“That’s so,” he returned, gloomily. “But I’ve a different sort of business to transact with you, than to defend my misdeeds. That missionary has been making me a pastoral visit, and he took it upon himself to inform me that the Lord has called you to preach the gospel, and that it is my duty to furnish money to send you off to college, or some such place, where they grind out ministers.”

“Me!” exclaimed Tom, rising to his feet.

“Yes, you; sit down, sit down, young man, and be calm;” and the grocer, in his own excitement, 293 gesticulated violently with both arms at once. “He says that I’m the only man here that has the money to do this. Pretty cool–isn’t it?–to dictate to old Cowles, the miserly money-grabber, in that way. I just turned on my heel, and left him in the middle of his ordering; but, you see, I couldn’t help thinking about it night and day. I wouldn’t wonder if that meddling missionary had been praying about it all the while; and the result is, the old money-lender is going to give you a lift, my boy. We, hackneyed, hopeless old reprobates, need just such preachers as the missionary’s famous seminary is going to make out of you; and I invited you here to say that you can depend on me for two hundred dollars in gold to start with, and as much more each year, till you graduate, as the missionary says you need. When old Cowles begins to do a thing, mind you, he never does it by halves.”

“But,” said Tom, choking with joy and wonder, “how shall I pay you?”

“Pay! pay!” roared the grocer, his eyes shooting flame; then, suddenly waxing tender, the tears extinguishing the fire-flashes, “if you will pray for a poor old rebel like me, it is all the pay I want.”

Then, going into the entry, he called,–

“Johnson! Johnson!” 294

“Here, sir,” said a voice; and the dapper little tailor, who rented a window in the store, made his appearance.

“Measure this young man for a suit of clothes,” said the grocer; “and mind and give him a genteel fit, that will do for him in the best circles east.”