Tom Tuftons Travels | Page 4

little how his
father scraped and saved, if he had but money in his pockets sufficient
for the needs of the day. Extravagance in money was less Tom's foible
than recklessness in his exploits, and a daring disregard of authority.
No doubt he would have made away with money had he possessed it;
but as everybody knew that he did not possess a long purse, and that
the Squire would not be likely to pay his son's debts of honour, he was
saved from the temptation of plunging deeply into debt. People did not
care to trust him too far.
So, as he climbed the shallow stairs three at once, he told himself that
his father had no need to speak severely to him. He had only been as

other young men, and had not got into serious debt or trouble. Tom had
almost persuaded himself, in fact, that he had been on the whole a very
estimable sort of youth, and he entered the sick room with something of
a swaggering air, as much as to say that he had no cause for shame.
But at the sight which greeted his eyes, as they met those of the sick
man, a sobering change came over him. He had seen death sometimes,
and the sight of it had always painfully affected him. He hated to be
brought up short, as it were, and forced to see the serious, the solemn,
the awe inspiring in life. He wanted to live in the present; he did not
want to be forced to face the inevitable future.
"Tom," said his father's voice, in weak but distinct accents, "you have
come, and it is well. I have things to say to you which may not longer
be delayed. Take that chair beside me. I would see your face once
again."
Tom would far rather have lingered in the shadows of the background;
but his mother had risen and motioned him to take her place. He sat
down rather awkwardly; and mother and daughter, without leaving the
room, retired to the background, and sat together upon a distant settle,
holding each other by the hand.
"Tom," said the dying man, "I have sent for you because there are
things which I would rather you should hear from my lips than learn
from others after my death."
"Oh, you will not die yet, father; you will be better soon," said Tom
uneasily, letting his glance wander restlessly round the room to avoid
the searching gaze of those luminous eyes.
"Life and death are in God's hands, boy; and I think my summons has
come. Tom, have you been counting upon being master here when I am
gone?"
"I don't know that I ever thought much about it," answered Tom, rather
taken aback; "but I suppose I come after you."

"Yes, Tom, you come after me; but not immediately. I have so settled
my affairs that your mother remains here and administers the estate
until you are five and twenty--that will be three years hence. By that
time the burdens will be cleared away--and I fear you would never
clear them off were you in power. By that time it will be possible for
you to come and live here (I trust a wiser and a better man), whilst the
estate can bear the charge upon it of a sufficient income to be paid to
your mother and sister to live in comfort at Little Gables, which has
been willed absolutely to your mother and to Rachel after her. At
present the estate could not bear that drain--unless only to get into fresh
difficulties; but three more years will put things right. During those
three years, Tom, you will not be master of Gablehurst. You will have
no more power than you have had in my lifetime. But I hope and trust
you will be a dutiful son to your mother, and will cause her no
heart-breaking anxieties, and oppose no vexatious obstacles to her
management of the estate."
It cannot be denied that Tom was taken aback at this. He had naturally
supposed that he would succeed to his father's position as squire of
Gablehurst without let or hindrance; and it was a decided blow to him
to feel that he was still to occupy a subordinate position, squire only in
name. It was all very well when his father lived--that was right and
natural enough--but to see his mother ruling, and himself submitting to
her rule!--that was a thing he had not bargained for. He felt as though
he would be the laughing-stock of all his friends.
The father saw the look upon his face, and it pained him.
"You do not like the arrangement, Tom; and yet I know it is the best
which can be