Rich Enough | Page 2

we shall have time to talk over your affairs; just now, I am wholly
engaged."
Near the dinner hour Howard went to his brother's house. It was large,
and elegantly furnished, and, what in the city is rather uncommon,
surrounded by trees and pleasure-grounds, a fine yard in front, and a
large garden in the rear. Mr. Draper purchased the place when real
estate was low, and it had since risen to more than double its original
value. Howard was conducted to the dining-room, where he found his
sister-in-law, Mrs. Draper. They met with much cordiality--but he
perceived that she was thinner and paler than when they last met.
"You are not well, I fear," said Howard, anxiously.
"I have a cold," replied she; and with that nervous affection which often
follows inquiries after the health, she gave a half-suppressed cough.
"Have you seen my husband?" she asked.
"Yes, I left the stage at the corner of State Street, and went directly to
his counting-room; but I found him engrossed by business, and verily
believe I should not have obtained a moment's conversation after the

brotherly welcome that his heart gave me in spite of teas, silks, hides,
stocks, and per centage, if I had not had a little business of my own,--a
little money to invest."
"Are you, too, growing rich?" said Mrs. Draper, with a languid smile.
"O no," replied Howard; "we farmers have not much prospect of
growing rich. If we earn a comfortable living, and lay by a little at the
end of the year, we call ourselves thriving, and that is the most we can
expect."
"You have advantages," said Mrs. Draper, "that do not belong to those
who are striving to grow rich; you have wealth that money seldom can
buy,--time."
"We have our seasons of leisure," returned Howard, "and yet, I assure
you, we have employment enough to prize those periods. You would be
surprised to find how much constant occupation every season demands.
Spring is the great storehouse of our wealth, but we must toil to open
its treasures; they are hid in the bowels of the earth."
"You remind me," said Mrs. Draper, "of the story of the farmer who
had two sons. To one he left a large sum of gold; to the other his farm,
informing him he would find an equivalent portion hid in the earth. The
one invested his money in merchandise, and made 'haste to grow rich;'
the other dug every year with renewed hope of finding the gold, and
continued planting and sowing as his father had done before him. At
the end of fifteen years, they met on the same spot, the one a bankrupt,
the other a thriving farmer. I suppose," added she, "I need not put the
moral to the end of my tale, in imitation of AEsop's fables; you will
find it out."
"It is so applicable," said Howard, "to our present conversation, that I
almost think it is an impromptu for my benefit."
"Not for yours," said she; "you do not want it. But now tell me a little
about your fanning seasons. Spring, I understand, must be a very busy
one; but when you have ploughed and planted, what have you to do but

sit down and wait?"
"My dear sister," said Howard, "you, who know so much better than I
do how to carry out your comparisons, can well understand that there is
no time given us for idleness; while we wait the result of one part of
our labors, we have other works to accomplish. Spring-time and harvest
follow each other rapidly; we have to prepare our barns and granaries.
Our mowing season is always one of our busiest. We have our anxieties,
too;--we watch the clouds as they pass over us, and our spirits depend
much on sunshine and rain; for an unexpected shower may destroy all
our labors. When the grass is cut, we must make it into hay; and, when
it is properly prepared, store it in the barns. After haying-time, there are
usually roads, fences, and stone walls to repair, apples to gather in, and
butter to pack down. Though autumn has come, and the harvest is
gathered in, you must not suppose our ploughing is over. We turn up
the ground, and leave it rough, as a preparation for the spring. A good
farmer never allows the winter to take him by surprise. The cellars are
to be banked up, the barns to be tightened, the cattle looked to,--the
apples carefully barrelled, and the produce sent to market. We have
long evenings for assorting our seeds, and for fireside enjoyment.
Winter is the season for adjusting the accounts of the past year, and
finding out whether we are thriving farmers. Depend upon it, we