Chapter VIII: The End of Probation

From that day forth, in peace and joyous bliss,
They lived together long, without debate;
No private jars, nor spite of enemies,
Could shake the safe assurance of their state.—SPENSER.

Besides the natural geniality and sociability of his disposition, which always moved General Lyon to bring his friends and relations about him, there were other and even stronger motives that urged him to invite Richard Hammond to remain at Old Lyon Hall. The old gentleman wanted to save “the unlucky dog from his friends,” and also he wanted to study him.

And as weeks and months of close companionship in the seclusion of the country house passed away, he _did_ study him. And apparently the study was satisfactory.

All poor Dick’s impulses were altogether good. Indeed, it was through the very goodness of his nature that he so often came to grief.

Dick could not bear to say No; and not only ever to his friends, but not even to his enemies, for his salvation, Dick could not endure to inflict pain, not only ever upon good people but not even upon sinners. And these amiable traits in his character were used by evil-disposed people to his injury.

There was indeed so much of the woman in Dick’s gentle and lively nature that very few women could have loved him as Anna did. But then there was enough of the man in Anna’s nature to produce an equilibrium of the sexes in their union.

General Lyon noticed all this, and he noticed something else—namely, that though Dick and Anna certainly loved each other devotedly, they bore their probation with exemplary patience.

This touched the heart of the veteran, but still he would not shorten the time.

Moreover, he felt the infirmities of age creeping upon him, he knew that at his years life was extremely precarious, and he certainly wanted to see another generation of Lyons in lineal descent from himself before he should go home and be no more on earth.

Yet for all this he would not hasten the marriage of Dick and Anna.

Drusilla, with her quick perceptions and warm sympathies, read the hearts of all around, and wished to make them happy.

Like an artful little angel as she was, she chose her opportunity well.

It was a lovely day in the latter part of April, and General Lyon and herself were sitting alone together in a front parlor where windows opened upon a conservatory in full bloom.

Dick and Anna were gone on a visit of inspection of the works at Hammond House.

The General had little Leonard in his arms.

Drusilla was sewing beside them.

“Ah, my dear, you do not know how much this little fellow adds to my happiness!” he said.

“I am always so glad and grateful to hear you say that, dear uncle, and I hope little Leonard as he grows in intelligence will be more and more of a comfort to you,” she replied; and then, after a little pause, she said:

“But if little Leonard, who is only my son, gives you so much content, how much joy Anna’s children will give you!”

“I don’t know, my dear: and, besides, I may not live to see them.”

“Dear uncle, you will live many years yet.”

“I cannot hope to do that, my dear. I am past seventy. I have already lived out the threescore and ten years allotted as the natural term of a man’s life.”

“But, dear uncle, I think all nature teaches us that a CENTURY is the natural term of a man’s life.”

“A pleasant theory, my child. I wish it were a true one.”

“But I think it is a true one.”

“Why do you think so?”

“From analogy. All natural philosophers and historians who have made the nature and habits of the animal creation their study have agreed upon this fact; that all healthy animals, unless their lives are terminated by violence, live five times as long as it takes them to grow up. Now it takes the human animal twenty years at least to grow to maturity; therefore the human animal really should live five times twenty years, which makes a round hundred or a CENTURY; and I firmly believe it is intended for him to live that long, if he only acted in accordance with the laws of life and health. And, dear uncle, you seem always to have acted so, and therefore I think you may safely calculate upon living out your century and then dying the gentle death of mere old age.”

“There is a certain reasonableness in your theory, my little philosopher.”

“And there is a roundness and completeness in this full century of life which is so satisfactory,” said Drusilla, heartily.

“Yes, my dear, especially to those who love this planet Earth, with all her failings, as I confess I do,” smiled the old gentleman. “And besides, I would like to see Anna and Dick happily married, with a thriving family of boys and girls about their knees.”

“Then, dear uncle, why not let them marry at once?” pleaded Drusilla.

“‘Marry at once!’ Drusilla, you astound me, child!” exclaimed the old gentleman, in unaffected astonishment.

“Yes, marry at once, dear uncle, and then, if you live to be as old as Methusaleh, you will still have only the longer time to witness their happiness,” persisted Drusilla, who, now that she had “broken the ice,” was determined to go through.

“But, my dear, I put Richard Hammond upon a probation of twelve months, and the time has not expired yet.”

“It is very nearly half gone, though. Five months of the allotted term has passed away. There are seven months of penance remaining. Dear uncle, be kind to them and commute that to one month. Let them marry in May.”

“Have they commissioned you to plead their cause, my dear?” gravely inquired General Lyon.

“Oh no, sir, they have not. And perhaps also you may think me very presumptuous and impertinent to meddle in the matter. If you do, I will beg your pardon and be silent.”

“Nonsense, my dear child! I think nothing of the sort. Speak all your thoughts freely to me. They are good and true thoughts, I know, though they may not be very worldly wise. Come now, why should I shorten the probation of Dick?”

“Oh, because he has behaved so well. Indeed, dear uncle, if you really mean that Dick should marry Anna, I think that you had just as well let him marry her now as half a year hence. I believe Dick is as good now as he will ever be, or as any young man can be. Why do you insist on a probation? If Dick were playing a part in this good behavior, he could play it six months longer as well as he has played it six months past, for so great a stake as Anna’s hand. But he is not playing a part. You know as well as I do that Dick is as frank, sincere and open-hearted as his best friend or worst enemy could desire him to be. He is not playing a part. His present steadiness is but an earnest of what his whole future life will be, with Anna by his side. Dear uncle, I really do think that all Dick’s irregularities grew out of his banishment from Anna’s society. He sought gay companions—or rather _no_; we are sure that he _never_ sought them; but he allowed himself to fall into their company to find oblivion for his regrets. With the mere promise of Anna’s hand, you see he has dropped his disreputable friends altogether. With Anna for his wife, he will never be in danger of taking them up again.”

“There is much reason in what you say, my dear,” admitted General Lyon.

“And, besides,” said Drusilla, dropping reason and resorting to sentiment, “it is such a _pity_ not to make them happy when you have the power to do it.”

“I will think of what you have advanced, my dear Drusilla,” said the veteran, gravely. “But Lord bless my soul alive!” he added, elevating his eyebrows, “now I do think of it, the young man himself has not petitioned for a curtailment of his probation!”

“_Oh, uncle, has he not?_ Not, not in set terms, perhaps, because you absolutely forbade him to resume the subject until the specified year should have terminated; and of course he felt, and still feels, bound to obey you. But has not his whole conduct for the last five months been a plea for the commutation of his sentence? Has not every word, look and act of his life here been a declaration of devotion to Anna, a prayer for mercy from you, and a promise of fidelity to both?”

“I cannot deny that.”

“Then, dear uncle, let them marry at once. Oh, forgive my plain speech! for you know you told me to speak my thoughts freely.”

“Certainly.”

“Then let them marry at once.”

“Is there no other reason you would like to urge why they should be made happy, as you express it, just now?”

“Oh, yes, dear sir; if you make them wait until the time of probation is out, it will bring the wedding to the middle of November—sad November, which is always gloomy enough in itself and is now doubly gloomy to us from its associations. Three times Anna’s marriage has been appointed to take place in November, and three times it has been defeated—twice by death, and once—but we will say no more of that. Let us change the month and even the season, dear sir. Let the marriage come off in May—this next May it is now beautiful spring—the best season in the year for a wedding and a wedding tour. Let them marry and go; and you and I and little Leonard will stay here and have a good time this summer. In autumn they will return and join us again. And early in the winter we will all go up to Washington and live at Cedarwood during the season. Dear uncle, I do think you had better let them get their wedding tour over this summer. You will miss Anna very much less in summer than in winter.”

“That is very true,” said the General, reflectively.

“And you will let them marry in May?” eagerly inquired Drusilla.

“Ah! I don’t know. I cannot move in the matter unless the young gentleman does. I cannot fling my granddaughter at Mr. Dick Hammond’s head!”

“Oh, uncle! how can you say such things? You know poor Dick is tongue-tied on that subject for the present, by your probation, as well as by his sense of honor. He _cannot_ speak of this without your leave. But only give him leave by a glance, a nod, a hint, and he will be on his knees to you to grant his suit and shorten his probation,” said Drusilla.

“Hem! Suppose you give the glance, nod, or hint, that may be required for the encouragement of this despairing lover?” proposed the General, archly.

“That I will, with all my heart and soul,” replied Drusilla, warmly.

The next day at noon, while Drusilla was walking beside her baby’s carriage out on the lawn, Dick, with his fishing rod over his back, sauntered up to her.

Drusilla dropped behind so as to let the carriage and the nurse get far enough ahead to be out of hearing, and then she said:

“Dick, I think if you will ask our uncle to release you from your promise of silence on a certain subject, that he will do so.”

“Drusilla, do you really think he will? If I thought so, if I was sure he would not banish me at once from Anna’s side, I would ask him this moment!” exclaimed Dick, his eyes dancing with eagerness.

“He will not banish you. Why should he? You will _break_ no promise to him; you will only ask him if he sees fit to _release_ you from your promise of silence on a certain subject. I think he will give you leave to speak on that subject. And, furthermore, when you do speak, I think he will listen to you favorably.”

“Oh, Drusilla! do you? Do you think so, indeed? If I thought so, I should be the luckiest dog and the happiest man in existence.”

“Go try for yourself at once, Dick. He is in his study. He has just got through his morning papers, and is enjoying his pipe. The opportunity is highly auspicious. Go at once, Dick. You will never find him in a more favorable mood.”

“I’m off this instant. Heaven bless you, Drusilla, and make you as happy as I hope to be,” exclaimed Richard Hammond, dropping his fishing tackle, and dashing away to put his destiny to the test.

Drusilla hastened after her baby’s carriage, overtook it, and continued to walk beside it, and guard it for more than an hour longer.

She had just turned with it towards the house when she was met by Dick, who was hastening to greet her.

“Oh, Drusa, Drusa, dear Drusa, it is all right now. And all through you! And I came to tell you so, and to thank you, even before I go to tell Anna!” exclaimed Dick, with his face all beaming with happiness.

And he seized and kissed Drusilla’s hand, and then darted off again, in search of Anna.

And thus through Drusilla’s intervention, was Richard Hammond’s probation commuted, and the marriage of the lovers appointed to be celebrated about the middle of May.

Meanwhile Drusilla had written to “mammy,” offering to her the situation of housekeeper, and to her husband that of head gardener at Cedarwood. She had directed her letter to the care of the Reverend Mr. Hopper, at Alexandria, feeling sure that it would by this means safely reach the hands of the nurse.

In due time Drusilla received an answer, badly written and worse spelt, yet sufficiently expressive of “mammy’s,” sentiments on the subject.

She thanked Mrs. Lyon from the bottom of her heart, and would gladly take the place and try to do her duty by the mistress. And likewise her old man. She never expected to have such a piece of good fortune come to her and her old man in the old ages of their lives. Which it had just come in good time too, seeing as her last darter was agoing to marry and leave her and her old man alone. And besides, she herself was aged before her time, all along of spending all the days of her life in close, sick rooms. And she was mortially glad to leave the profession of sick nursin’ to younger and stronger wimmin. Which she was fairly pining for the country, where her childhood and youth had been passed. She had never been able to get reconciled to the town, although she had lived into it for thirty-five years, and she loved to feed chickens and take care of cows, and make butter and cheese. And as for her old man, it was the delight of his life to hoe and rake, and plant and sow, and weed and trim gardens and vineyards, and sich like. And she was sure they would both be happier than they had ever been in all their lives before. And she prayed Heaven to bless the young madam who had taken such kind thoughts of them in their age, to insure them so much prosperity and pleasure.